CHAPTER V.
THE EARL OF NOXTON.
SATURDAY morning was cloudy.
“I am so glad the sun is not shining to-day,” remarked Jack, as the little party took their seats at the breakfast table.
“Why so?” asked Bertha, and she cast an inquiring glance at the speaker.
“Because it will be so much better for fishing, and I never like to fish unless I catch something.”
“I see,” remarked Bertha, “you are a practical angler, not a political one.”
“Exactly,” said Jack. “I remember reading somewhere the definition of a person who fishes for compliments.”
“The answer to that must be a joke,” said Clarence.
Jack laughed. “Something near. I think it was this: A man who fishes for compliments is one who uses himself for bait.”
At this they laughed, Mr. Thomas Glynne the loudest of them all.
After breakfast Bertha said: “You must come with me, Mr. De Vinne, and see Guardy’s beautiful flowers. They say he has the finest greenhouses and the most beautiful conservatory in this part of England—some say, in all England.”
As they entered the conservatory, Bertha turned towards Jack and remarked: “I am sorry I cannot agree with you, Mr. De Vinne, but I wish very much that the sun was shining. Flowers never look so beautiful as when the sun falls upon them. They are always beautiful, but the sunlight makes them more so.”
They were alone and Jack grew venturesome.
“There is something else that the sun has the same effect upon,” he remarked.
“Why, what can that be?”
“A pretty girl,” answered Jack, with a laugh. “Especially if she has”—he hesitated, but decided to finish his speech—“especially if she has golden hair.”
Bertha avoided the compliment. “I have heard that it is still more effective when it falls upon a certain shade of red.”
“That may be so,” said Jack, “but my acquaintance is rather limited and I must confess I never knew a young lady with red hair.”
They walked about, Bertha extolling the beauty of the flowers and calling many of them by name.
“I do not think you love flowers as I do, Mr. De Vinne.”
“I will be honest, Miss Renville, I prefer fish. Now, could I induce you to come with me on the river this morning?”
“I am no great lover of Father Thames,” she replied. “I have been in his embrace once and it was not very pleasant.”
“They say lightning never strikes twice in the same place,” remarked Jack, “and I don’t think you are in any danger of falling overboard again. If you refuse I shall consider it as a personal reflection upon my ability as a sailor.”
“Oh, Mr. De Vinne, you must not think that I meant such a thing. It is no lack of confidence in you; it is the other fellow who doesn’t know how to manage a boat that I’m afraid of. I am a pretty good sailor myself, and I could have swum ashore that day had I not been encumbered with my dress. Women are at a great disadvantage, on account of their dress, in all sports and games.”
“Well,” said Jack, “if you object to a voyage on the briny deep, what do you say to a land trip? I have no doubt Mr. Glynne has a turnout in his stable. Do you know I am a great admirer of the poet Gray? You know he is buried at Stoke Pogis, not very far from here. I should be delighted to go there, and it will add greatly to my pleasure if you will accompany me.”
Bertha smiled archly. “I have heard that sailors make very poor landsmen and know very little about horses.”
“Oh, now, you’re joking me, Miss Renville.” A cloud passed over his face and his voice grew grave.
“Pardon me, Mr. De Vinne, I have to supply the fun for the family. Perhaps my familiarity with those whom I meet every day has led me to be wanting in the respect due to a stranger.”
“How can you call me a stranger?” cried Jack.
“Well, now,” cried Bertha, “I see that I am making a mess of it. So we had better stop just where we are. You have asked me to go to drive with you. I accept your invitation with pleasure.”
When they arrived at Stoke Pogis, Jack tied the horse to a convenient hitching-post and they went into the secluded churchyard.
As they stood by the tomb of the poet’s mother, Jack read aloud the inscription upon it.
“He must have loved his mother devotedly,” said Bertha.
“All really good men love their mothers,” said Jack. “To me my mother is the dearest creature in the world.” Then it suddenly occurred to him that he had made two unfortunate admissions. By implication he had given his hearer to understand that he was a really good man, and in the second case he had told her that he loved his mother better than any person else. “What a blundering fool I have been,” he said to himself. “The old Greek was right when he wrote that silence is the greatest of all virtues.”
He had been very brave while sitting in Victor’s room, when he had declared his fixed purpose to propose to Miss Renville at sight, but as he gazed into her beautiful face his courage left him.
Miss Renville, fortunately, changed the subject. “My mother died when I was very young, and I was but six years old when I lost my father, but Guardy has been very good to me. If my parents had lived longer, I should have felt their loss much more than I have. Is your father living, Mr. De Vinne?”
“Oh, yes,” said Jack. “He is hale and hearty. They used to say that there was no stronger, sturdier man in the House of Lords.”
“What?” cried Bertha, with astonishment. “Is your father a peer?”
“Why, didn’t you know?” asked Jack. “I imagined Clarence must have told you. My father is the Earl of Noxton. My home is at Noxton Hall in Surrey.”
Bertha turned her face away.
“Why, Miss Renville, are you sorry that I am the son of an earl? It does not amount to much in my case, for I am only a second son. My brother Carolus is the heir to the title and estates. You know there is nothing for second sons to do in England but to go into the Army or Navy or to enter the Church. I expect to be ordered on a cruise very shortly.”
“I should not like that,” said Bertha. “If I were a young man, I should look forward to a happy home life.”
“So do I, one of these days,” said Jack. “There may be a war and I may come home covered with glory, and perhaps Parliament will give me a pension.”
Then he reflected that he had made another blunder. How could he ask the beautiful being who stood beside him to become his wife when he, of his own accord, had said that such happiness could only come to him in the, perhaps, far distant future. A thought came to him suddenly that sent a cold chill through his frame. How near he had come to trespassing on his friend’s hospitality. What right had he to ask Miss Renville to become his wife until he had spoken to her guardian on the subject? No, he must drop the whole matter just where it was until he had obtained an interview with Mr. Glynne, Sr.
The opportunity came to him that evening, for his host invited him into the library to inspect the fine editions of rare books with which the shelves were filled.
While examining the flowers in the conservatory, Jack had kept his eyes fixed, most of the time, upon Miss Renville, but in the library he devoted his attention to the fine bindings and beautiful illustrations rather than to his companion.
“I suppose you smoke,” said Mr. Glynne. “I do not, and I have made it an inflexible rule not to allow smoking in this room, but when you join my son Clarence in the billiard room, you will have all the opportunity you desire to indulge in your love of tobacco.”
“All the boys at the Academy smoked,” said Jack, “and I fell into it with the rest of them.”
“The late Mrs. Glynne abhorred smoking,” said his host, “and I felt that I should be untrue to her memory if I should take up the habit now. Clarence has the most reprehensible habit of smoking cigarettes. I am not so averse to the odour of good tobacco, but I think the odour of burnt paper is positively vile.”
“I agree with you,” said Jack. “When I smoke I fill my pipe and make a business of it.”
“Well, my advice to you, Mr. De Vinne, is to give up the habit before it becomes too firmly fixed upon you. You will be getting married one of these days. Perhaps your wife may not object openly to your smoking, but secretly she will wish you did not.”
Jack felt that Mr. Glynne had broken the ice for him. “If I can get the girl I wish for my wife,” he said, “I will throw my pipe into the river and the tobacco after it.”
There was a broad smile upon Mr. Glynne’s face. “Then you have not asked her?”
“Oh, no,” said Jack, “there was a preliminary step that must come first.”
“And when will that be taken?”
“I think now is a good time,” said Jack, in a nonchalant way. “The fact is, Mr. Glynne, I have fallen deeply in love with your ward, Miss Renville.”
Mr. Glynne recoiled and would have measured his length on the floor if Jack had not sprung forward and prevented.
“I must have caught my boot-heel in the rug,” said Mr. Glynne, as he recovered his physical equilibrium; his mental equilibrium, though, was greatly out of joint. “Mr. De Vinne,” he began, “I am really surprised at what you say. Take it altogether, you have not known the young lady more than forty-eight hours. Of course, under the circumstances of your first meeting, it is but natural that you should feel an interest in her, for she is really a very beautiful girl.”
“She is an angel,” ejaculated Jack, fervently.
“You have done very wisely, Mr. De Vinne, in speaking to me about this before revealing the state of your feelings to Miss Renville, and I would advise you not to mention the subject to her until after you have spoken to your father, the Earl. You should know the truth of the matter. Miss Renville is beautiful, but she is poor; in fact, she is a dependent upon my bounty. I do not grudge it to her, for her father and I were the best of friends, and on his death-bed I promised him that I would treat her as though she were my own daughter.”
“That was noble of you,” cried Jack, and before Mr. Glynne could object the young man grasped his hand and shook it warmly.
“I do not ask any praise for my action,” said Mr. Glynne. “Bertha is the light of our household, and I shall miss her greatly when the time comes, if it ever does, for her to go from us. I will tell you a little secret, but you must not mention it to my son. I had hoped in my heart that Clarence and Bertha would fall in love with each other and in that way I should be in no danger of losing her; but some young men are as fickle as women, and my son does not seem to know his own heart.” He was going to say “what is best for him,” but changed the form of the remark just in time.
“I do not blame you for not wishing to lose her,” said Jack.
“I think Clarence must be waiting for you in the billiard room,” suggested Mr. Glynne, “but before you go, Mr. De Vinne—as I stand in the relation of a father to Miss Renville—I wish you would give me your promise not to make any direct proposal to my ward until you have talked the matter over with your father.”
When Jack joined Clarence in the billiard room, the latter exclaimed: “Where have you been, old boy?”
“I have been having a talk with your father.”
“Oh, yes,” said Clarence. “He has been showing you the beautiful pictures in his library, I suppose. Well, he hung on to you longer than he could have hung on to me.”
“Mr. Glynne,” said Jack, “I have known you but a short time, but I want to ask you a question.”
“Go ahead, old fellow. If I can’t answer it, I’ll keep still.”
“It is a serious matter,” said Jack. “You may think the inquiry is an impertinent one and refuse to answer for that reason.”
“Well,” said Clarence, “as you stand about four inches taller than I do, and weigh about forty pounds more, I don’t think I shall resort to personal violence even if my feelings are injured.”
“Well,” said Jack, “I think we understand each other, so I will ask you the question in the bluntest possible way. Are you in love with Miss Renville, or are you likely to be, and is it probable that you will ever ask her to become your wife?”
“Well,” said Clarence, with a laugh, “that’s not one question, that’s three, but fortunately I can answer all with one little word—No. Now, Mr. De Vinne, will you allow me to ask you a question?”
“Why, certainly,” said Jack, whose face showed that Clarence’s reply to his question had greatly pleased him.
“Well,” began Clarence, “Mr. Jack De Vinne, I would like to ask you if you are in love with Miss Renville, or if not, are you likely to be, and is there any probability of your ever asking her to become your wife?”
“Fortunately,” said Jack, “I can answer you with a monosyllable—Yes.”
Clarence extended his hand. “Shake, old boy! Go ahead and win.”
“I have been talking to your father,” said Jack, “and although what he told me does not lessen my love for Miss Renville in any way, it must postpone our happiness. He says his ward is very poor.”
Involuntarily, Clarence gave a loud whistle.
Jack looked astonished. “What did you do that for?” he asked.
“Oh,” said Clarence, “when the governor talks to me about his generosity I always whistle.”
“Pardon me, Mr. Glynne,” said Jack, “but cannot you add a word or two to the whistle?”
“Well,” said Clarence, “perhaps I can put in a word. A thought that usually runs through my mind when the governor is talking to me, is, don’t believe all he says. Take my advice, Mr. De Vinne, follow the course your heart dictates and I believe everything will come out right in the end. Now, I have been waiting nearly an hour for you for this little game of billiards and I must insist upon you taking your cue.”
It was late that night when Clarence parted from Jack at the door of the latter’s room. Young Mr. Glynne had smoked cigarettes incessantly while they had been playing billiards, and he felt the necessity of a walk in the open air before going to bed.
As he passed the door of the library, he was surprised to find it open, for he had supposed that his father had already retired.
“Is that you, Clarence?”
“Yes, father. I thought you had gone to bed.”
“Come in,” said the elder Mr. Glynne. “I want to talk to you.”
Clarence sauntered into the room, his hands in his pockets, wondering what was in store for him. His father shut the door and then turned upon him sharply.
“Clarence, what an infernal fool you were to bring that fellow down here.”
“On the contrary,” said Clarence, “I think it was a very gentlemanly and courteous act, under the circumstances. He saved Bertha’s life, and I think it was due to him to give him an opportunity to see her.”
“Oh, yes,” snarled his father, “it is all right for him to come and see her, but she is a silly girl. She knows how to swim and she could have gotten ashore all right that day, but she thinks she owes her life to him and, no doubt, if he asked her to marry him, she would be agreeable; not because she loved him, but out of gratitude.”
“Well,” said Clarence, “I may be the infernal fool you say I am, but I do not think Bertha is so bereft of sense that she would marry any man out of simple gratitude. If she loves Jack De Vinne, she will marry him because she loves him and not for any other reason.”
“Well,” said his father, “she shan’t marry him, and you know the reason. I shall count upon you to help me; besides, it is for your interest to do so. You remember I told you that, if she does not marry you, she shall not marry any one else. If she tries to, I shall find a way to stop it.”
“Is that all you’ve got to say?” asked Clarence. “This conversation is very disagreeable to me; in fact, I can’t see the point to it. If Mr. De Vinne had asked Bertha to marry him and she had consented, there would be an exigency for us both to face but, under the circumstances, I see no reason why either you or I should be deprived of our night’s rest. I’m going out for a little walk in the park. I will tell Brinkley to wait up for me until I get back. Good-night, father, and pleasant dreams.”
When Monday morning came and Jack’s visit was at an end, he had no inclination to return to London. Victor had gone to join his ship. Clarence was going to the city to attend to business, and Jack, naturally, accompanied him.
Mr. Glynne, Sr., invited him to come again, but there was no great warmth in the invitation.
Jack had hoped that he would be able to speak a few words to Bertha in private, but Mr. Glynne was omnipresent, and beyond a shake of the hand and a parting glance—friendly in its nature but nothing more—Jack’s romance came to an end, for the time, at least.
When he reached London he determined to go at once to Noxton Hall. Mr. Glynne had advised him to talk the matter over with his father and he had decided to do so.
When he reached home the dogs and the stable-boys ran out to greet him.
His father extended the fingers of a cold, clammy hand and remarked: “Glad to see you, Jack, of course. Greatly pleased that you have passed. Had hoped that it would have been with a higher standing, but I presume there were many young men of exceptional ability in your class.”
“Yes, there were,” said Jack, “and I did not belong to that class.”
The Earl sniffed. “You have had every advantage of heredity and every opportunity for preparation. I do not see any reason why you should not have ranked with the highest. Being in the Navy is the same as being in public life, and when I was in public life I always kept my eyes upon the topmost round of the ladder.”
“Yes,” said Jack, “and I am very proud of the fact that you finally put your foot upon it.”
The Earl acknowledged the compliment with a stiff bow. “I believe,” he said, “in the transmission of ability from one generation to another. I am proud to say that my ancestors were men of eminence. I cannot help feeling some regret that one of my descendants——”
Jack broke in: “But you have Carolus. All the virtues and ability of our ancestors must descend to him. I am only a second son, and it makes little difference what becomes of me.”
“That is not the right way to look at it,” said the Earl, severely. “To be sure, Carolus is heir-apparent, but in the midst of life we are in death. You know Carolus is not in good health. If anything should happen to him you become the heir, and you should be as well-fitted for the position as is my elder son.”
“Well, I’m sorry I’m not,” said Jack. “I think I could keep the stables up to a high standard, but as regards the rest of the estate, I’m afraid I should have to depend on the steward.”
“I am glad you have come as you have,” said the Earl, changing the subject. “Your mother received a letter this morning from the Countess of Ashmont. She’s in Paris now with her daughter, Lady Angeline, who, you know, is betrothed to your brother Carolus. They expected that Carolus would return from the baths in Germany in time to escort them back to London, but as he cannot do so, the Countess has written to know if I could possibly spare time from my estates and official duties. I really cannot do so, but I am fortunate in having a son who can perform that pleasant duty for me and for his brother. You know, in case anything should happen to Carolus, which Heaven forbid, I should expect you to——”
“To marry Lady Angeline?” asked Jack. “I really could not do that. To tell you the truth, father, since I left the Academy I have had a most surprising adventure. I rescued a beautiful young girl from drowning and have fallen, in love with her.”
“Who is she?” asked the Earl.
“She is an orphan,” said Jack. “She is the ward of Mr. Thomas Glynne, of Buckholme, in Berkshire.”
“I never heard of him. What is he?”
“He is the senior member of the firm of Walmonth and Company in London. They are in the iron and steel business, I believe. They sell a good deal to the Admiralty.”
“Has she money in her own right?”
Jack was honest; in fact, too honest for his own good. It is not always advisable to tell all the truth upon the slightest provocation.
“Her guardian says she is poor—in fact, entirely dependent upon his bounty.”
“Then,” said the Earl, “I think the sooner you go to Paris the better. After you return with the Countess and her daughter, we are all going to Scotland. Carolus will be back by that time, and I think the northern air will do him good.”
“But you say nothing about the young lady with whom I am in love,” persisted Jack.
“I do not see that there is anything to be said,” rejoined the Earl. “You have told me that the young lady is penniless; for the second son of an earl to take a penniless bride is more than foolish—it would be a crime.”
Jack went up to his mother’s room. His path of love was not strewn with rose-leaves and no sunlight fell upon it. Both guardian and father were against him. Perhaps he had been building a castle in the air, for she, too, might refuse him after all. His brother Carolus was his father’s pride, but his mother had always seemed to love him more than her elder son.
Jack felt that he must confide in her, and took the first opportunity, after family affairs had been talked over, to tell of his adventure and of the beautiful girl who had won his love.
His mother proved sympathetic. “I do not see why your father should speak as he did. I was a penniless girl, too, when he made me his bride. We have been very happy together and he has never reproached me for my lack of a fortune. Take courage, Jack; follow the course that the young man whom you call Clarence advised you to take. As he said, all may come out well in the end.”
“But father says that if Carolus should die, he would expect me to marry Lady Angeline.”
“He has no right to expect any such thing,” said his mother. “He has no right to move you about as though you were a pawn on a chess-board, and I have too high an opinion of Lady Angeline to think that she would so soon forget your brother Carolus, to whom she is most devoted. It is possible that in time she might learn to love you, but if you did not love her, why,—“and the Countess laughed,—“there is nothing more to it, Jack, than there is to the light of the firefly. It beckons us on, but it cannot be relied upon to lead us to our destination.”
“I have only one ray of hope,” said Jack. “Mr. Glynne’s son made a very strange remark, and, I nearly forgot, he gave a whistle before he spoke.”
“And what did he say?” asked his mother.
“He told me not to believe all his father said.”
“Ah!” said Lady De Vinne. “Perhaps there is a mystery there. I had a box of books come down from Mudie’s a few days ago, and I have been reading a novel in which a beautiful young girl, being left an orphan, was committed to the charge of her father’s most intimate friend. She was the rightful owner of a large fortune, but her guardian concealed that fact from her and told everybody that she was penniless. I have not finished the story yet, but I have no doubt that in the end the guardian’s duplicity will be shown and that she will regain her fortune and marry the young man whom she loves.”
“Why,” cried Jack, “that fits the case exactly.”
“Well, then,” said his mother, “do not lose hope,” and putting her arms about his neck she drew him towards her and kissed him. “You know, Jack, you have always been very dear to me and I wish you to be happy. Whenever you need advice or consolation, always come to your mother.”
“I will,” said Jack.
He went downstairs feeling much happier than he had after his interview with his father.
He made his preparations to go to Paris, for he saw that nothing was to be gained by refusing to comply with his father’s request. He was to leave for London the next afternoon.
Soon after breakfast he went to the stables. Joe Grimm, his favorite stable-boy, had saddled his horse.
“I am going to take a little gallop,” he said, as he threw a shilling to the youngster.
He came back in about an hour, looking much refreshed, with his head clear, his mind light, and a great hope, restored by his mother’s words, in his heart. As he dismounted, he saw Hodson coming towards him in great haste.
“Your father wants you at once in the library.”
“What’s the matter?” cried Jack. “Is he ill?”
“No,” said Hodson, “but something terrible has happened. I don’t know what it is. He is crying. Your mother is with him, and she is crying, too.”
As Jack entered the room he saw that what Hodson had told him was true. He did not know what to say, and stood expectantly waiting for his father or mother to speak.
His father arose and came towards him. Placing his hand on Jack’s shoulder, he said: “What I feared has come to pass. Your brother Carolus is dead, and you are the heir to the Earldom of Noxton and its estates. I hope, my son, that you will prove worthy of them both.”