Can You Forgive Her? (94 page)

‘She does not look well,’ said Grey as
soon as she had left the room.

‘Well; – no: how can she look well after what she has gone through? I sometimes think, that of all the people I ever knew, she has been the most foolish. But, of course, it is not for me to say
anything against my own child; and, of all people, not to you.’

‘Nothing that you could say against her would make any difference to me. I sometimes fancy that I know her
better than you do.’

‘And you think that she’ll still come round again?’

‘I cannot say that I think so. No one can venture to say whether or not such wounds as hers may be cured. There are hearts and bodies so organized, that in them severe wounds are incurable, whereas in others no injury seems to be fatal. But I can say that if she be not cured it shall not be from want of perseverence on
my part’

‘Upon my word, Grey, I don’t know how to thank you enough. I don’t, indeed.’

‘It doesn’t seem to me to be a case for thanking.’

‘Of course it isn’t. I know that well enough. And in the ordinary way of the world no father would think of thanking a man for wanting to marry his daughter. But things have come to such a pass with us, that, by George! I don’t feel like any other father.
I don’t mind saying anything to you, you know. That claret isn’t very good, but you might as well take another glass.’

‘Thank you, I will. I should have said that that was rather good wine, now.’

‘It’s not just the thing. What’s the use of my having good wine here, when nobody comes, to drink it? But, as I was saying about Alice, of course I’ve felt all this thing very much. I feel as though
I were responsible, and yet what could I do? She’s her own mistress through it all. When she told me she was going to marry that horrible miscreant, my nephew, what could I do?’

‘That’s over now, and we need not talk about it’

‘It’s very kind of you to say so, – very. I believe she’s a good girl. I do, indeed, in spite of it all.’

‘I’ve no doubt of her being what you call a good girl, – none
in the least. What she has done to me does not impair her goodness. I don’t think you have ever understood how much all this has been a matter of conscience with her.’

‘Conscience!’ said the angry father. ‘I hate such conscience. I like the conscience that makes a girl keep her word, and not bring disgrace upon those she belongs to.’

‘I shall not think that I am disgraced,’ said Grey, quietly,
‘if she will come and be my wife. She has meant to do right, and has endeavoured to take care of the happiness of other people rather than her own.’

‘She has taken very little care of mine,’ said Mr Vavasor.

‘I shall not be at all afraid to trust mine to her, – if she will let me do so. But she has been wounded sorely, and it must take time.’ ‘And, in the meantime, what are we to do when she
tells us that Mr George Vavasor wants another remittance? Two thousand pounds a quarter comes heavy, you know!’

‘Let us hope that he has had enough.’

‘Enough! Did such a man ever have enough?’

‘Let us hope, then, that she thinks he has had enough. Come; – may I go upstairs?’

‘Oh, yes. I’ll follow you. She’ll think that I mean something if I leave you together.’

From all this it will be seen
that Alice’s father and her lover still stood together on confidential terms. Not easily had Mr Vavasor brought himself to speak of his daughter to John Grey, in such language as he had now used; but he had been forced by adverse circumstances to pass the Rubicon
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of parental delicacy; he had been driven to tell his wished-for son-in-law that he did wish to have him as a son-in-law; he had been
compelled to lay aside those little airs of reserve with which a father generally speaks of his daughter, – and now all was open between them.

‘And you really start tomorrow?’ said Grey, as he stood close over Alice’s work-table. Mr Vavasor had followed him into the drawing-room, but had seated himself in an easy-chair on the other side of the fire. There was no tone of whispering in Grey’s voice,
but yet he spoke in a manner which showed that he did not intend to be audible on the other side of the room.

‘I start for Westmoreland tomorrow. We do not leave London for the continent till the latter end of next week.’

‘But you will not be here again?’

‘No; I shall not come back to Queen Anne Street’

‘And you will be away for many months?’

‘Mr Palliser talked of next Easter as the term
of his return. He
mentioned Easter to Lady Glencora. I have not seen him myself since I agreed to go with him.’

‘What should you say if you met me somewhere in your travels?’ He had now gently seated himself on the sofa beside her; – not so close to her as to give her just cause to move away, but yet so near as to make his conversation with her quite private.

‘I don’t think that will be very
likely,’ she replied, not knowing what to say.

‘I think it is very likely. For myself, I hate surprises. I could not bring myself to fall in upon your track unawares. I shall go abroad, but it will not be till the late autumn, when the summer heats are gone, – and I shall endeavour to find you.’

‘To find me, Mr Grey!’ There was a quivering in her voice, as she spoke, which she could not prevent,
though she would have given worlds to prevent it. ‘I do not think that will be quite fair.’

‘It will not be unfair, I think, if I give you notice of my approach. I will not fall upon you and your friends unawares.’

‘I was not thinking of them. They would be glad to know you, of course.’

‘And equally, of course! or, rather, much more of course, you will not be glad to see me? That’s what you
mean?’

‘I mean that we had better not meet more than we can help.’

‘I think differently, Alice, – quite differently. The more we meet the better, – that is what I think. But I will not stop to trouble you now. Good night!’ Then he got up and went away, and her father went with him. Mr Vavasor, as he rose from his chair, declared that he would just walk through a couple of streets; but Alice
knew that he was gone to his club.

D
URING
these days mrs greenow was mistress of the old Hall down in Westmoreland, and was nursing kate assiduously through the calamity of her broken arm. there had come to be a
considerable amount of confidence between the aunt and the niece. Kate bad acknowledged to her aunt that her brother bad behaved badly, – very badly; and the aunt had confessed to the niece
that she regarded Captain Bellfield as a fit subject for compassion.

‘And he was violent to you, and broke your arm? I always knew it was so,’ Mrs Greenow had said, speaking with reference to her nephew. But this Kate had denied. ‘No,’ said she; ‘that was an accident. When he went away and left me, he knew nothing about it. And if he had broken both my arms I should not have cared much. I could
have forgiven him that.’ But that which Kate could not forgive him was the fault which she had herself committed. For his sake she had done her best to separate Alice and John Grey, and George had shown himself to be unworthy of the kindness of her treachery. I would give all I have in the world to bring them together again,’ Kate said. They’ll come together fast enough if they like each other,’
said Mrs Greenow. ‘Alice is young still, and they tell me she’s as good looking as ever. A girl with her money won’t have far to seek for a husband, even if this paragon from Cambridge shire should not turn up again.’

‘You don’t know Alice, aunt’

‘No, I don’t. But I know what young women are, and I know what young men are. All this nonsense about her cousin George, – what difference will it
make? A man like Mr Grey won’t care about that, – especially not if she tells him all about it. My belief is that a girl can have anything forgiven her, if shell only tell it herself.’

But Kate preferred the other subject, and so, I think, did Mrs Greenow herself. ‘Of course, my dear,’ she would say, ‘marriage with me, if I should marry again, would be a very different thing to your marriage,
or that of any other young person. As for love, that has been all over for me since poor Greenow died. I have known nothing of the softness of affection since I laid him in his cold grave, and never can again. “Captain Bellfield,” I said to him, “if you were to kneel at my feet for years, it would not make me care for you in the way of love.”’

‘And what did he say to that?’

‘How am I to tell
you what he said? He talked nonsense about my beauty, as all the men do. If a woman were humpbacked, and had only one eye, they wouldn’t be ashamed to tell her she was a Venus.’

‘But, aunt, you are a handsome woman, you know.’

‘Laws, my dear, as if I didn’t understand all about it; as if I didn’t know what makes a woman run after? It isn’t beauty, – and it isn’t money altogether. I’ve seen women
who had plenty of both, and not a man would come nigh them. They didn’t dare. There are some of them, a man would as soon think of putting his arm round a poplar tree, they are so hard and so stiff. You know you’re a little that way yourself, Kate, and I’ve always told you it won’t do.’

‘I’m afraid I’m too old to mend, aunt’

‘Not at all, if youil only set your wits to work and try. You’ve plenty
of money now, and you’re good-looking enough, too, when you take the trouble to get yourself up. But, as I said before, it isn’t that that’s wanted. There’s a stand-off about some women, – what the men call a “nollimy tangere”, that a man must be quite a furious Orlando
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to attempt to get the better of it. They look as though matrimony itself were improper, and as if they believed that little
babies were found about in the hedges and ditches. They talk of women being forward! There are some of them a deal too backward, according to my way of thinking.’

‘Yours is a comfortable doctrine, aunt.’

‘That’s just what I want it to be. I want things to be comfortable. Why shouldn’t things be nice about one when one’s got the means? Nobody can say it’s a pleasant thing to live alone. I always
thought that man in the song hit it off properly. You remember what he says? “The poker and tongs to each other belongs.”
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So they do, and that should be the way with men and women.’

‘But the poker and tongs have but a bad life of it sometimes.’

‘Not so often as the people say, my dear. Men and women ain’t like lumps of sugar. They don’t melt because the water is sometimes warm. Now, if I do
take Bellfield, – and I really think I shall; but if I do he’ll give me a deal of trouble. I know he will. Hell always be wanting my money, and, of course, he’ll get more than
he ought. I’m not a Solomon, nor yet a Queen of Sheba, no more than anybody else. And he’ll smoke too many cigars, and perhaps drink more brandy-and-water than he ought. And hell be making eyes, too, at some of the girls
who’ll be fools enough to let him.’

‘Dear me, aunt, if I thought all that ill of him, I’m sure I wouldn’t marry him; – especially as you say you don’t love him.’

‘As for love, my dear, that’s gone, – clear gone!’ Whereupon Mrs Greenow put up her handkerchief to her eyes. ‘Some women can love twice, but I am not one of them. I wish I could, – I wish I could!’ These last words were spoken in a
tone of solemn regret, which, however, she contrived to change as quickly as she had adopted it ‘But my dear, marriage is a comfortable thing. And then, though the Captain may be a little free, I don’t doubt but what I shall get the upper hand with him at last. I shan’t stop his cigars and brandy-and-water you know. Why shouldn’t a man smoke and have a glass, if he don’t make a beast of himself?
I like to see a man enjoy himself. And then,’ she added, speaking tenderly of her absent lover, ‘I do think he’s fond of me, – I do, indeed.’

‘So is Mr Cheesacre for the matter of that’

‘Poor Cheesy! I believe he was, though he did talk so much about money. I always like to believe the best I can of them. But then there was no poetry about Cheesy. I don’t care about saying it now, as you’ve
quite made up your mind not to have him.’

‘Quite, aunt’

‘Your grandfather’s will does make a difference, you know. But, as I was saying, I do like a little romance about them, – just a sniff, as I call it, of the rocks and valleys. One knows that it doesn’t mean much; but it’s like artificial flowers, – it gives a little colour, and takes off the dowdiness. Of course, bread-and-cheese is the
real thing. The rocks and valleys are no good at all, if you haven’t got that But enough is as good as a feast. Thanks to dear Greenow,’ – here the handkerchief was again used – ‘Thanks to dear Greenow, I shall never want Of course I shan’t let any of the money go into his hands, – the Captain’s, I mean. I know a trick worth two of that, my dear. But, lord love you! I’ve enough for him and me. What’s
the good of a woman’s wanting to keep it all to herself?’

‘And you think you’ll really take him, aunt, and pay his
washerwoman’s bills for him? You remember what you told me when I first saw him?’

‘Oh, yes; I remember. And if he can’t pay his own washerwoman, isn’t that so much more of a reason that I should do it for him? Well; yes; I think I will take him. That is, if he lets me take him just
as I choose. Beggars mustn’t be choosers, my dear.’

In this way the aunt and niece became very confidential, and Mrs Greenow whispered into Kate’s ears her belief that Captain Bellfield might possibly make his way across the country to Westmoreland. There would be no harm in offering him a bed, would there?’ Mrs Greenow asked. ‘You see the inn at Shap is a long way off for morning calls.’ Kate
could not take upon herself to say that there would be any harm, but she did not like the idea of having Captain Bellfield as a visitor. ‘After all, perhaps he mayn’t come,’ said the widow. ‘I don’t see where he is to raise the money for such a journey, now that he has quarrelled with Mr Cheesacre.’

‘If Captain Bellfield must come to Vavasor Hall, at any rate let him not come till Alice’s visit
had been completed.’ That was Kate’s present wish, and so much she ventured to confide to her aunt But there seemed to be no way of stopping him. ‘I don’t in the least know where he is, my dear; and as for writing to him, I never did such a thing in my life, and I shouldn’t know how to begin.’ Mrs Greenow declared that she had not positively invited the Captain; but on this point Kate hardly gave
full credit to her aunt’s statement.