THE unlikely pair retraced their steps rapidly, turning towards the house of the Bates’; but the effect of Durant’s revelation soon died off from the mind of Sarah Jane. She had done what duty required in taking him at once to her mother. Once told to that supreme authority, Sarah Jane felt that her mind was clear of all responsibility, and, indeed, as a matter of fact, she dismissed the burden of this new revelation long before her companion ceased his efforts to impress it upon her. She tried what she could to beguile him into lighter talk; she broke in upon him with lively observations, and little essays of friendly familiarity. The momentary agitation of sympathy which had almost interested Durant in her died away. She began to pout as he went on.
“Oh, please don’t talk for ever about Arthur; I ain’t in love with Arthur, though Nancy is. I think you might find another subject,” she said. “They make a deal too much of him at home; I think, and so does Matilda, that there are nicer-looking and as gentlemanlike-looking in Underhayes as he is. What do you think of Underhayes, Mr. Durant? Is not it a pretty little place? If I had my choice I would live in London, and every night of my life I’d go to a dance or to the play. I don’t pretend to be good, as some girls are. I shouldn’t go about among the poor, or sing in church. What I’d like, would be to go to a party every night, or else to the play.”
“I should think you would soon be tired of that,” said Durant; “fashionable people get quite worn out. They get pale and colourless, not fresh and blooming, like you.”
“Oh,” cried Sarah Jane, feeling that this was the kind of talk in which she shone, “tell me about fashionable people, Mr. Durant! Are they a great deal prettier than we are? I suppose they look so with all their grand dresses; but I should not care to catch people by dress, and make them think me good-looking when I wasn’t; I would much rather look what I am, and then nobody would be deceived.”
“You could have no inducement to look anything but what you are,” said Durant amused, giving this young savage, since she asked for it so plainly, the gewgaw of compliment which she wanted. Sarah Jane brightened, and coloured, and bridled with pleasure. Let Nancy fare as she might, here was an immediate advantage her sister could have, without any evil effect on Nancy’s future.
“Oh, you are just like all the gentlemen,” she said, “always paying compliments; if the girls were not a deal more sensible than you think, you would turn our heads. But if there is one thing I despise, it is the silly girls that believe everything that is said to them. A little experience teaches you better than that,” said Sarah Jane.
“And what does experience teach Miss Bates,” said Durant, suppressing his laugh.
“I told you before I was not Miss Bates; I am Miss Sarah Jane. Some people don’t think it very pretty, but I will never be ashamed of my name. Is it true that they go to five or six parties in a night, one after the other? I should not like that; where I am enjoying myself I like to stay. If it was dull, perhaps it would be a good thing to try another, but fancy a ball being dull! it is, I suppose, for the old wallflowers that don’t dance, but I think a ball heavenly. Don’t you think so, Mr. Durant? I have been at three—the volunteers’ ball, and the—two others that you wouldn’t know about; and I nearly danced my shoes to pieces at all the three.”
“It was natural then that you should enjoy them,” said Durant.
“Yes, wasn’t it? I never would miss one if I could help it. Now Nancy was so foolish she never went at all, but started out for a long walk with Arthur, just as we were going. Wasn’t it silly? I think she was sorry though next day, when she heard us talking of it and counting our partners, Matilda and me. A girl may be going to be married, without giving up all her pleasures. But Nancy is a deal too good; I believe she would not mind giving up a ball even, if Arthur was not there, to let me go.”
“I am glad to hear she is so kind.”
“Oh yes, she is very kind. But she wanted me to wear an old dress of aunt’s, and that I would not put up with. She does not mind looking a guy herself. I danced seven waltzes straight off, without ever sitting down, but I was not tired—not a bit tired. Oh, what fun it was! I wish there was one to-night—I wish there was one every night. I could dance till six o’clock in the morning, and never tire.”
“I hope then for your sake,” said Durant, “that there are a great many balls at Underhayes.”
“No, indeed. It requires to be some public thing, like the Volunteers. I have seen dances in the houses on the Green; but then we were not asked, and it was dreadful to stand and look in at the windows, and hear the music. I am sure there were plenty of people there that were not a bit better than we were. That girl that teaches the little Smithards—a bit of a governess. Mamma said it was ridiculous having her, and not us—a little bit of a governess! Now we have never been required to do anything for our living. We have always been kept at home, and have had everything we wanted. That makes a deal of difference; don’t you think it does, Mr. Durant?”
“I am not very clever in such subjects. I have to work very hard for my living, Miss Sarah Jane.”
“Have you now? I should not have thought it, you look so like a gentleman. I suppose it is the clothes,” said Sarah Jane thoughtfully. “But even then,” she added with magnanimous indulgence, “that is quite different; men may work without losing caste, mamma says, but not women. And we have always been kept at home. I would not be a governess for the world.”
“I do not suppose it can be a pleasant occupation,” said Durant.
“No, indeed. What are you, Mr. Durant? You don’t teach, do you? I wish you had been in the army; I do so like officers, their manners are so nice. Here we are at home already, I declare. What a pity, we have had such a nice walk. Mamma, here’s Mr. Durant,” she said, rushing into the little parlour; “and oh! look here, he is come to say that Arthur ain’t at all rich—and that Nancy won’t be my lady—and that it’s all a mistake.”
“What are you saying, Sarah Jane? Shut the door, can’t you, and not shriek like that in the passage; should you like the girl to hear? I wonder at you, child. Good evening, Mr. Durant,” said the mother, stiffly. She did not hold out her hand to him, or ask him to sit down, with the effusive hospitality of last night, but her daughters were more kind; Matilda lifted the paper with all her materials off the sofa to make room for him, and Sarah Jane dragged forth the most comfortable chair.
“This is the coolest place, Mr. Durant,” she said. “Oh, isn’t it warm here, with such a big fire? and it is quite a lovely morning, though there is a breeze; and Mr. Durant and I have had the most delightful walk!”
The former speech made the mother cold and Matilda kind; this had the reverse effect—Matilda froze and Mrs. Bates began to thaw. The gentleman who had taken a delightful walk with her youngest daughter, was not a man to be frowned upon. Who could tell what might come out of such a beginning? Mrs. Bates was governed by a different code of laws from those which move the careful mothers of other spheres. She was not afraid of delightful walks, or those meetings which are not always accidental; besides, was not the stranger Arthur’s friend, and consequently no stranger at all?
“I am sure it is very good of Mr. Durant to take the trouble of talking to a little scatterbrain like you,” she said; “but girls will be girls; we can’t put old heads on young shoulders; and indeed, poor things, why shouldn’t they be light-hearted? We haven’t got much more than good spirits and good constitutions to give them, Mr. Durant.”
“La, mamma! a great deal Mr. Durant must care for our spirits and our constitutions!” cried Matilda; “I daresay he has come about business, as Sarah Jane says. Was it something about Arthur, Sir? But you can’t tell us anything that will hurt Arthur. We are so fond of him. We would not believe any harm of him, whatever you might say.”
“I have no wish to say any harm of him,” said Durant; “I may claim, indeed, to have more affection for him than a stranger can have. He has been like a brother to me.”
“And I am sure he is very fond of you,” said Mrs. Bates, “a gentleman couldn’t be fonder of another gentleman than he is of you. But, of course, you know, Mr. Durant, when people are in love, they think of nothing else.”
“Poor Curtis!” said Durant unawares. It was true enough that he “was fond of” his friend; and yet, for the sake of this girl, Arthur had quarrelled even with his old companion. He felt a profound pity for him in his heart. What was he doing here, the foolish fellow—in this place, so unlike everything he had ever known?
“Well!” said Mrs. Bates, “I wouldn’t say poor Curtis. So far as I have seen, ’tis a happy time. After, when the cares of the world come on, and there’s not means enough, or so forth, I might call ’em poor; but not just now when everything is colour de rose. And, thank Heaven! there cannot be any trouble about means with dear Arthur. Sarah Jane says, you say he isn’t rich? that may be, Mr. Durant. I don’t look for wealth when young folks are happy together, and fond of each other. Money ain’t everything, as I always tell my girls.”
“No,” said Durant, taken aback. “I only thought, from what Miss Bates said, that you might be deceived in respect to Curtis’s true position, that was all. Of course, he has excellent prospects; but his father, Sir John, is comparatively a young man. He will flourish for the next twenty years, I hope. And as for the title, that of course—”
“Of course,” said Mrs. Bates with dignity. “And I do hope Sir John will long be spared to his family. You must not take all that a silly girl says for Gospel. I think we are quite aware of Mr. Curtis’s position, Mr. Bates and me. Naturally, we made inquiries. He is not rich, but he will have enough, I hope, to make a start—and my daughter has a little of her own.”
“Oh, mamma! what’s two hundred and fifty pounds?” said Matilda, “that’s Nancy’s fortune. It won’t last long, will it, Mr. Durant? And Arthur hasn’t got a business, or anything to help him to a living. I think it’s very kind of Mr. Durant to come and tell us all this about Sir John.”
“And”—said Durant pursuing his advantage, “I must speak plainly, though it may not be pleasant. Sir John is not a man to take a lenient view of anything that appears like disobedience. I do not think it likely, pardon me for saying so, that the family will like the marriage. They do not know, for one thing, the excellence of Miss Nancy.”
“Oh, Nancy!” said Matilda, under her breath, with a little toss of her head, and Sarah Jane laughed. Nancy was only Nancy after all, and as for excellence! Mrs. Bates took the matter differently, as may be supposed.
“I am not going to hear anyone talk disrespectful of my girl,” she said. “She is as good a girl as ever breathed. I wish Sir John, or the Queen herself, may have as good, and that ain’t a bad wish, Mr. Durant. She is one that would do credit to any family, though I say it that shouldn’t. She’s pretty and she’s good, and knows her duty a deal better than most. Them that find fault with my Nancy, it’s because they don’t know what she is. Me and her father could tell them a different story. She never was one to go after pleasure like the other two.”
“Mamma!” said Matilda and Sarah Jane in a breath.
“Oh yes! I know what I am saying. You are good girls enough, but you’re not like your sister. You were always the troublesome ones. You’d talk and laugh with anybody. You have got no proper pride. But Nancy has always kept herself to herself. However she got to be so fond of Arthur, I never could make out, for she was not one to take up with strangers; and never had any affair of the sort, nor so much as kept company with a gentleman in all her days, till she met with Arthur. Oh! my Nancy is a very uncommon girl, Mr. Durant. There are very few like her.”
“I am quite ready to believe it,” said Durant, proceeding on his remorseless career, though compunctions pricked him for what he was doing. “But Sir John does not know Miss Nancy. And there is Lady Curtis to be taken into consideration.”
“Ah,” said Mrs. Bates, subdued for the moment, “I don’t deny a lady may have prejudices. I know by myself—that time when Charley was supposed to be paying attention to—you remember, girls?—oh yes! a mother is to be considered. But still—we have no reason to think Lady Curtis is disagreeable, Mr. Durant, or will not hear reason. The time I am talking of, about Charley—I took my measures. I got a friend of mine to speak to the girl; and I met her myself—by accident like; and, I am glad to say, it all came to nothing,” Mrs. Bates added with a sigh of relief.
“Then you perceive,” said Durant, “that you felt exactly as Lady Curtis may be expected to feel.”
“Yes—mothers is the same everywhere, I suppose,” said Mrs. Bates, not without complacence. “A little more money don’t make much difference, Mr. Durant. If it was the Queen, a mother can’t be more than a mother. And we’re all alike, never out of anxiety one way or other—thinking of our children—a deal more than our children ever think of us,” she added, shaking her head at her daughters with a sigh. “But I suppose that’s the way of the world.”
“Let us return to Lady Curtis,” said the Devil’s advocate. “She, you acknowledge, is likely to be prejudiced. You understand that, judging from the feelings with which you heard of Mr. Charley’s entanglement—”
“It never went so far as an entanglement. Dear, no! you must not think it was so serious.”
“But this is very serious, Mrs. Bates. Curtis has settled everything to marry your daughter—so he tells me—and what will Lady Curtis think? She does not know Miss Nancy, nor you. She will think these are some designing people who have caught my son—”
At this there was a universal outcry, through which, however, Durant threaded his way with composure, notwithstanding the threatening and angry glances which surrounded him on every side.
“Designing people,” he repeated, “who have caught my son. You don’t suppose I think so, who know you? But Lady Curtis does not know you—and there is a certain difference between your rank and theirs. It is, vulgarly speaking, a good match for Miss Nancy. I am speaking from their point of view—this is how they must think of it, you know. In their rank of life, people generally meet and consult over a marriage. One man’s son does not marry another man’s daughter on the same level of society, without a great many consultations over it, and advances from one to the other. The young lady has to be introduced to her future husband’s family, and all the steps towards the marriage are taken jointly. But there has been nothing of the kind in this case. The Curtises have not even been informed of it. They found it out by chance. Fancy then, Mrs. Bates, what their feelings must be? They find themselves deceived and defied by their son; and they find that you are quite willing to allow him to marry your daughter without the slightest communication with his family—”
“Mr. Durant,” said Mrs. Bates, whimpering, “who gave you any right to come like this and insult us? What have we done to you that you dare to speak so? Oh! it is well seen that my husband is out, and we have no one to protect us, girls. But I say it is mean to come here in the morning, when there’s no one to stand up for us, and trample upon women. I say it’s a poor sort of thing to do. You daren’t do it—no, he daren’t do it—if your papa was here.”
“Oh, don’t talk nonsense, mother,” said Matilda, “what could father do? Is he the one to take care of anybody? Mr. Durant, look here, I don’t think you’re any way against us, are you? It’s in kindness that you’re talking, ain’t it? I can’t think that a gentleman would come into a house, if it was the house of poor folks, like this might be, and put on a show of being friendly—and mean different. Folks learn a deal in this world,” said the young woman, pushing away her bonnet-making, and looking at him more and more keenly with rising suspicion; “but without you owned to it, I wouldn’t believe that.”
“Miss Bates!” faltered Durant, rising to his feet. He grew crimson under her honest straightforward look. It was honest and straightforward, notwithstanding that there must, he felt, have been a certain double-dealing, more or less, about Arthur; but he was in no position now to find fault with the double-dealing of others—had he not acted equivocally himself?
“I did not mean to deceive you,” he said, faltering. “I did not mean to conceal from you that I was the friend of the Curtis family. I have never said I approved of the marriage. I have naturally looked upon it from their point of view.”
“He never said anything different,” said Sarah Jane, crying in sympathy with her mother. “He never said he was our friend. This is what he has been saying to me since ever I met him. As if nobody was ladies but those that are rich! and as if the rest of the world was dirt—as if we cared for his Curtises and his fine folks!”
“If it is on account of the family you care, Mr. Durant,” said Matilda, more moderate, “it would be better if you said it straight out.”
“I beg your pardon,” he said, recovering himself, “it was not necessary. I am not the agent of that family—nor am I the enemy of this family. But the marriage is very unsuitable, as any man may see; it ought to be opposed. What happiness can come of it? Judge for yourselves. Curtis can’t do anything for his living, as Miss Bates says; and your daughter’s little money, what is it? And if they marry, they will be altogether dependent on Sir John, who does not like it—who goes further than that—hates it, and is furious with his son. He would cut him off with a shilling, if he could. But anyhow, he can stop his allowance; he would throw them on their own resources—and then what would they do? You have always kept her at home your daughter tells me; so that she could do nothing to help. And he could do nothing—what could he do? He has always been used to live expensively. Mrs. Bates, if you let it go on, I am very sorry for you. The most likely thing that can happen is, that they will be dependent on you.”
“Dependent on us!” this was such a dreadful suggestion, that all lesser impulses of offence were forgotten. They gathered round him in tremulous anxiety. “You don’t mean to say, Mr. Durant, that they would leave him without a penny? I am speaking to you like a friend,” said Mrs. Bates, “I am not particular to ask if you meant it or not. Would they leave him without a penny?—a young man with all his extravagant ways.”
“Would not you do it yourself, if you thought it would stop such a marriage?” said Durant.