Can You Forgive Her? (6 page)

‘You don’t mean to say that you’ve walked from King Street,’ said Alice, doing as she was desired.

‘Indeed I do, —
every step of the way. Cabs are so ruinous. It’s a most unfortunate thing; they always say it’s just over the two miles here. I don’t believe a word of it, because I’m only a little more than the half-hour walking it; and those men will say anything. But how can I prove it, you know?’

‘I really think it’s too far for you to walk when it’s so warm.’

‘But what can I do, my dear? I must come, when
I’ve specially come up to London to see you. I shall have a cab back again, because it’ll be hotter then, and dear Lady Midlothian has promised to send her carriage at three to take me to the concert. I do so wish you’d go, Alice.’

It’s out of the question, aunt. The idea of my going in that way at the last moment, without any invitation!’

‘It wouldn’t be without an invitation, Alice. The marchioness
has said to me over and over again how glad she would be to see you, if I would bring you.’

‘Why doesn’t she come and call if she is so anxious to know me?’

‘My dear, you’ve no right to expect it; you haven’t indeed. She never calls even on me.’

‘I know I’ve no right, and I don’t expect it, and I don’t want it But neither has she a right to suppose that, under such circumstances, I shall go
to her house. You might as well give it up, aunt Cart ropes wouldn’t drag me there.’

‘I think you are very wrong, — particularly under your present circumstances. A young woman that is going to be married, as you are -’

‘As I am, — perhaps.’

‘That’s nonsense, Alice. Of course you are; and for his sake you are bound to cultivate any advantages that naturally belong to you. As to Lady Midlothian
or the marchioness coining to call on you here in your father’s house, after all that has passed, you really have no right to look for it.’

‘And I don’t look for it.’

That sort of people are not expected to call. If you’ll think of it, how could they do it with all the demands they have on their time?’

‘My dear aunt, I wouldn’t interfere with their time for worlds.’

‘Nobody can say of me,
I’m sure, that I run after great people or rich people. It does happen that some of the nearest relations I have, — indeed I may say the nearest relations, — are people of high rank; and I do not see that I’m bound to turn away from my own flesh and blood because of that, particularly when they are always so anxious to keep up the connection.’

‘I was only speaking of myself, aunt. It is very
different with you. You have known them all your life.’

‘And how are you to know them if you won’t begin? Lady Midlothian said to me only yesterday that she was glad to hear that you were going to be married so respectably, and then —’

‘Upon my word I’m very much obliged to her ladyship. I wonder whether she considered that she married respectably when she took Lord Midlothian?’

Now Lady Midlothian
had been unfortunate in her marriage, having united herself to a man of bad character, who had used her ill, and from whom she had now been for some years separated. Alice might have spared her allusion to this misfortune when speaking of the countess to the cousin who was so fond of her, but she was angered by the application of that odious word respectable to her own prospects; and perhaps
the more angered as she was somewhat inclined to feel that the epithet did suit her own position. Her engagement, she had sometimes told herself, was very respectable, and had as often told herself that it lacked other attractions which it should have possessed. She was not quite pleased with herself in having accepted John Grey, — or rather perhaps was not satisfied with herself in having loved
him. In her many thoughts on the subject, she always admitted to herself that she had accepted him simply because she loved him; — that she had given her quick assent to his quick proposal simply because he had won her heart But she was sometimes almost angry with herself that she had permitted her heart to be thus easily taken from her, and had rebuked herself for her girlish facility. But the
marriage would be at any rate respectable. Mr Grey was a man of high character, of good though moderate means; he was, too, well educated, of good birth, a gentleman, and a man of talent No one
could deny that the marriage would be highly respectable, and her father had been more than satisfied. Why Miss Vavasor herself was not quite satisfied will, I hope, in time make itself appear. In the meanwhile
it can be understood that Lady Midlothian’s praise would gall her.

‘Alice, don’t be uncharitable,’ said Lady Macleod severely. ‘Whatever may have been Lady Midlothian’s misfortunes no one can say they have resulted from her own fault.’

‘Yes they can, aunt, if she married a man whom she knew to be a scapegrace because he was very rich and an earl.’

‘She was the daughter of a nobleman herself,
and only married in her own degree. But I don’t want to discuss that. She meant to be good-natured when she mentioned your marriage, and you should take it as it was meant. After all she was only your mother’s second cousin —’

‘Dear aunt, I make no claim on her cousinship.’

‘But she admits the claim, and is quite anxious that you should know her. She has been at the trouble to find out everything
about Mr Grey, and told me that nothing could be more satisfactory.’

‘Upon my word I am very much obliged to her.’

Lady Macleod was a woman of much patience, and possessed also of considerable perseverance. For another half-hour she went on expatiating on the advantages which would accrue to Alice as a married woman from an acquaintance with her noble relatives, and endeavouring to persuade
her that no better opportunity than the present would present itself. There would be a place in Lady Midlothian’s carriage, as none other of the daughters were going but Lady Jane. Lady Midlothian would take it quite as a compliment, and a concert was not like a ball or any customary party. An unmarried girl might very properly go to a concert under such circumstances as now existed without any special
invitation. Lady Macleod ought to have known her adopted niece better. Alice was immoveable. As a matter of course she was immoveable. Lady Macleod had seldom been able to persuade her to anything, and ought to have been well sure that, of all things, she could not have persuaded her to this.

Then, at last, they came to another subject, as to which Lady
Macleod declared that she had specially
come on this special morning, forgetting, probably, that she had already made the same assertion with reference to the concert. But in truth the last assertion was the correct one, and on that other subject she had been hurried on to say more than she meant by the eagerness of the moment All the morning she had been full of the matter on which she was now about to speak. She had discussed it quite
at length with Lady Midlothian; — though she was by no means prepared to tell Alice Vavasor that any such discussion had taken place. From the concert, and the effect which Lady Midlothian’s countenance might have upon Mr Grey’s future welfare, she got herself by degrees round to a projected Swiss tour which Alice was about to make. Of this Swiss tour she had heard before, but had not heard who
were to be Miss Vavasor’s companions until Lady Midlothian had told her. How it had come to pass that Lady Midlothian had interested herself so much in the concerns of a person whom she did not know, and on whom she in her greatness could not be expected to call, I cannot say; but from some quarter she had learned who were the proposed companions of Alice Vavasor’s tour, and she had told Lady Macleod
that she did not at all approve of the arrangement.

‘And when do you go, Alice?’ said Lady Macleod.

‘Early in July, I believe. It will be very hot, but Kate must be back by the middle of August.’ Kate Vavasor was Alice’s first cousin.

‘Oh! Kate is to go with you?’

‘Of course she is. I could not go alone, or with no one but George. Indeed it was Kate who made up the party.’

‘Of course you
could not go alone with George,’ said Lady Macleod, very grimly. Now George Vavasor was Kate’s brother, and was therefore also first cousin to Alice. He was heir to the old squire down in Westmoreland, with whom Kate lived, their father being dead. Nothing, it would seem, could be more rational than that Alice should go to Switzerland with her cousins; but Lady Macleod was dearly not of this opinion;
she looked very grim as she made this allusion to cousin George, and seemed to be preparing herself for a fight.

That is exactly what I say,’ answered Alice. ‘But, indeed, he is simply going as an escort to me and Kate, as we don’t like the role of unprotected females. It is very good-natured of him, seeing how much his time is taken up.’

‘I thought he never did anything.’

‘That’s because you
don’t know him, aunt’

‘No; certainly I don’t know him.’ She did not add that she had no wish to know Mr George Vavasor, but she looked it. ‘And has your father been told that he is going?’

‘Of course he has.’

‘And does —’ Lady Macleod hesitated a little before she went on, and then finished her question with a little spasmodic assumption of courage. ‘And does Mr Grey know that he is going?’

Alice remained silent for a full minute before she answered this question, during which Lady Macleod sat watching her grimly, with her eyes very intent upon her niece’s face. If she supposed such silence to have been in any degree produced by shame in answering the question, she was much mistaken. But it may be doubted whether she understood the character of the girl whom she thought she knew so
well, and it is probable that she did make such mistake.

‘I might tell you simply that he does,’ said Alice at last, ‘seeing that I wrote to him yesterday, letting him know that such were our arrangements; but I feel that I should not thus answer the question you mean to ask. You want to know whether Mr Grey will approve of it. As I only wrote yesterday of course I have not heard, and therefore
cannot say. But I can say this, aunt, that much as I might regret his disapproval, it would make no change in my plans.’

‘Would it not? Then I must tell you, you are very wrong. It ought to make a change. What! the disapproval of the man you are going to marry make no change in your plans?’

‘Not in that matter. Come, aunt, if we must discuss this matter let us do it at any rate fairly. In an
ordinary way, if Mr Grey had asked me to give up for any reason my trip altogether, I should have given it up certainly, as I would give up any other indifferent project at the request of so dear a friend, — a friend with whom I
am so — so — so closely connected. But if he asked me not to travel with my cousin George, I should refuse him absolutely, without a word of parley on the subject, simply
because of the nature and closeness of my connection with him. I suppose you understand what I mean, aunt?’

‘I suppose I do. You mean that you would refuse to obey him on the very subject on which he has a right to claim your obedience.’

‘He has no right to claim my obedience on any subject,’ said Alice; and as she spoke Aunt Macleod jumped up with a little start at the vehemence of the words,
and of the tone in which they were expressed. She had heard that tone before, and might have been used to it; but, nevertheless, the little jump was involuntary. ‘At present he has no right to my obedience on any subject, but least of all on that,’ said Alice. ‘His advice he may give me, but I am quite sure he will not ask for obedience.’

‘And if he advises you you will slight his advice,’

‘If he tells me that I had better not travel with my cousin George I shall certainly not take his advice. Moreover, I should be careful to let him know how much I was offended by any such counsel from him. It would show a littleness on his part, and a suspicion of which I cannot suppose him to be capable.’ Alice, as she said this, got up from her seat and walked about the room. When she had finished
she stood at one of the windows with her back to her visitor. There was silence between them for a minute or two, during which Lady Macleod was deeply considering how best she might speak the terrible words, which, as Alice’s nearest female relative, she felt herself bound to utter. At last she collected her thoughts and her courage, and spoke out.

‘My dear Alice, I need hardly say that if you
had a mother living, or any person with you filling the place of a mother, I should not interfere in this matter.’

‘Of course. Aunt Macleod, if you think I am wrong you have quite a right to say so.’

‘I do think you are wrong, — very wrong, indeed; and if you persist in this I am afraid I must say that I shall think you wicked. Of course Mr Grey cannot like you to travel with George Vavasor.’

‘And why not, aunt?’ Alice, as she asked this question, turned round and confronted Lady Macleod boldly. She spoke with a steady voice, and fixed her eyes upon the old lady’s face, as though determined to show that she had no fear of what might be said to her.

‘Why not, Alice? Surely you do not wish me to say why not.’

‘But I do wish you to say why not How can I defend myself till the accusation
is made?’

‘You are now engaged to marry Mr Grey, with the consent and approbation of all your friends. Two years ago you had — had —’

‘Had what, aunt? If you mean to say that two years ago I was engaged to my cousin George you are mistaken. Three years ago I told him that under certain conditions I would become engaged to him. But my conditions did not suit him, nor his me, and no engagement
was ever made. Mr Grey knows the history of the whole thing. As far as it was possible I have told him everything that took place.’

‘The fact was, Alice, that George Vavasor’s’ mode of life was such that an engagement with him would have been absolute madness.’

‘Dear aunt, you must excuse me if I say that I cannot discuss George Vavasor’s mode of life. If I were thinking of becoming his wife
you would have a perfect right to discuss it, because of your constant kindness to me. But as matters are he is simply a cousin; and as I like him and you do not, we had better say nothing about him.’