Dust. Julian Hawthorne
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you are very good,” said the lady softly, and with a little movement of one of her hands that seemed to indicate confidence and gratitude. Sir Francis moved his chair a little nearer. The lady continued: “My husband, you must know, has left me the entire control of his property, which I believe is very large. I think his income was what you would call, in your money, ten thousand pounds—is it not?—every year; but I may be mistaken: I am so stupid in those affairs: at least it was more than three hundred thousand francs.”
“In that case, madam, you would be rather under than over the truth in your estimate,” said the baronet, bowing with increased tenderness of manner, and bringing his chair so close to that of his visitor that she drew back a little, with a movement half-startled, half-coquettish. “We must speak low,” the baronet hastened to say; “this room is not quite so secluded as I could wish, and curious ears … but to the point! This property—”
“I feel so helpless,” said the lady, leaning forward with an impulse of confidence. “I do not care for money: I do not understand its value, nor how to manage it. I am overwhelmed with this responsibility, which I would gladly have escaped. But my husband’s will was very stringent and precise in its terms, and I have no choice but to accept the burden he has laid upon me.”
“Very right, my dear madam: your sentiments do you every honor. ’Tis a responsibility, indeed, but one which, with good advice, you can easily support. I may say, without vanity, that my experience in matters of finance is as extensive—”
“Oh, sir, I am already convinced of it,” interposed the lady cordially. “Your reputation is as high on the Continent as here. A friend of my husband’s—known, I believe, also to you—counseled me to come to you and to put myself unreservedly in your hands. The name of the gentleman was Mr. Lancaster—Mr. Philip Lancaster, I think.”
“Lancaster! yes, yes,” said Sir Francis, genially. “I have seen Philip—a fine young fellow, though with a turn for poetry; but he is still young. The Lancasters, madam, as I doubt not you are aware, are kin to the Barons Croftus: it is the family name. They are relatives of my own through my late wife, who was a Lancaster. Philip is my nephew by marriage, though not by blood. In sending you to me he has placed me under a very heavy obligation—ahem!”
“You cannot expect me to believe, sir, that the management of a property like that of my late husband can be much of an object to one who is accustomed to lend money to empires.”
“My dear madam, you misapprehend me. The obligation has reference to yourself, not to your property. As to that, I trust you will not think so ill of me as to imagine that I would seek my own profit in any transactions I might be fortunate enough to carry out for you.”
“What you say, sir, persuades me that the English are the most genteel people in the world. And besides,” added the lady, looking down and turning the pearl and diamond ring upon the finger of her ungloved hand, “it relieves me from an embarrassment.” Here she looked up again, and Sir Francis felt the dark eyes meeting his own. He was by this time in a mood to exchange a great deal that financiers hold dear for something not more substantial than a draft upon the bank of sentiment. He had been open to romantic impressions in his youth, and his mature age was not entirely emancipated from occasional bondage of that sort. But never, he thought, in all his experience, had he encountered aught so bewitching in the shape of woman as she who now sat before him. There could be no doubt that she was already extremely well-disposed toward him; and his redoubtable heart, which had seen him through many a tough experience of more kinds than one, actually beat with anticipation as he pictured to himself the felicity that might be in store for him.
“Never!” he exclaimed fervently, laying his hand upon his heart, and allowing the ardor of his feelings to glow through the handsome dignity of his countenance—“never, madam, need you be a prey to any embarrassment from which the utmost of my humble endeavors may suffice to free you.”
“I am convinced of your kindness and goodness; but, dear sir, I am aware that matters of business cannot be controlled by the dictates of generous feeling. For my own part I should never have dreamed of making any stipulations; but, as I observed just now, the directions in my late husband’s will are painfully stringent. I must confess to you that it was not altogether in accordance with his wishes that I should reside in England after his death.”
There was a slight tremor in the tone in which she made this confession. Sir Francis leaned forward, devoured with tender curiosity.
“In fact, sir, he was opposed to it. But it had always been my dream to revisit my native land, for I am an Englishwoman by birth, though so long an exile. I therefore resolved, if it were possible, to overcome the obstacles which he had placed in my way. It rests with you, dear sir, to decide whether or not I am to succeed.”
“With me! my dear—my very dear madam,” cried the baronet, impulsively extending his hands and imprisoning one of hers between them. “Do I hear you say that it is my happy privilege to be so far the arbiter of your destiny? Oh, charming woman! command me! enlighten me! show me how I can prevent you from ever putting a greater distance between us than—ahem!—than—”
“You must not speak like this,” gently interposed the lady, as the baronet hesitated for a phrase. She withdrew her hand from his own, yet so that the deprivation seemed to convey more of regard than would the caress of another woman. “You make me regret my coming to you on this errand. It would be better, I think, if you could direct me to some other banker—”
“Some other! Impossible! How have I been so unhappy as to make you regret this interview?”
“It could be for only one reason,” said the lady, still more kindly. “You lead me to esteem so highly the value of your friendship that I cannot but regret it should be mingled with interests of a less elevated character. I could prize you so much as a friend that I am reluctant to think of myself as your customer.”
Sir Francis positively blushed, and it was some moments before he recovered himself. “Do not think of yourself as my customer!” he then exclaimed, yielding himself completely to the fascinations of this veiled enchantress; “think of me as yours—as the customer who applies to you for all that renders his existence a blessing to him—for your friendship, your favor, your. …”
“Oh, sir!” murmured the lady, rising in confusion.
“Charming creature!” supplicated the baronet; “be to me what you will, but do not rob me of the gift of your presence! Do not distrust me—I am all gentleness and veneration. I am impulsive; but a look, a word, restrains me. Come, we will speak of business; business shall be the lowly yet honorable route by which we may in due course travel to better things. But, business first! How can I be of service to you? Is it your desire to make any deposit? Is there any negotiation … but pray, honor me by resuming your seat.”
“I blame myself for detaining you so long; but I will try to be brief. It amounts to a question of the rate of interest. I am so little acquainted with money matters, sir, as to be ignorant of the current rate in England.”
“Your ignorance does you no discredit, madam. The fluctuations in the money market have of late years been great; at present, happily, confidence is being restored, and interest is lower. Six per cent, would I think represent a liberal—”
“Six per cent.? Ah, I understand now the full potency of the conditions my late husband imposed upon me. It would be useless for me to attempt to contend against them. I must return, then, to France.” In saying this the lady repressed a sigh, and made a movement as if to close the interview.
“But, for pity’s sake, explain yourself, dear madam!” cried Sir Francis.
“It would humiliate me to reveal to you the severity—I must not call it the unkindness—of which my husband. … No, indeed, sir, you must excuse me—”
Sir Francis interrupted her by an eloquent gesture, as much as to say, “At least, trust me!”
“If I must speak, then let it be as to a friend,