Englefield Grange Part 29

"Why did you not mention it, James?" she asked.

"I did not think it necessary, for I supposed you and Kate would hear of the new arrangement from Henry, as he is so friendly at Lime Grove."

The mother glanced at her son. In spite of his utmost efforts he could not conceal his agitation, yet he did manage to say--

"I have seen nothing of Mr. Armstrong's family for weeks, father."

"No, Henry, I daresay not," said his mother, quickly, "you are studying too closely to have time to spare for visiting. Besides, the loss of one little pupil is not a matter of great importance to us."

After a glance at Henry's pale face, Kate Marston took the first opportunity of turning the subject, and though by so doing she enabled her cousin to recover himself and join in the conversation, he very soon left the tea-table.

Mrs. Halford heard the door of his little study close on her son, but that did not deter her from her purpose. As soon as the tea was removed she rose and left the room.

Henry Halford, after leaving the tea-table and locking the door of his study, was for a few moments unable to touch a book. Resting his head on his hands, he gave himself up to reflection.

He had made a venture and failed; and deeply as he felt the mortification caused by Mr. Armstrong's letter, yet in his cooler moments he could clearly see that, in a worldly point of view, his proposal would appear an act of presumption.

He was still sitting in listless idleness, indulging in these painful thoughts, when a knock at the door startled him, and he impatiently exclaimed--

"Who is there?"

"I, your mother, Henry. I want to speak to you."

Without a moment's delay the lock was drawn back, and mother and son stood together in the room.

Mrs. Halford closed the door gently and locked it, and Henry, placing a chair near the table for his mother, seated himself and looked inquiringly at her.

"Mother," he exclaimed, suddenly, "you have guessed my secret."

"I know there must be something on your mind," she replied. "Close study has never before made you listless and unhappy."

"I fly to books to drown thought, they are my only relief."

"Would it not relieve you to confide in your mother, Henry?"

There was a pause.

"You used to tell me all your troubles when you were a child, and why not now?"

He raised his head, and the words burst forth impulsively--

"Mother, if I had told you weeks ago, instead of acting on impulse as I always do, I might have spared myself bitter mortification."

"In what way, my son? Explain yourself."

"You know I met Miss Armstrong at Oxford, mother, and on the evening before she left I said something to her under an impulse I could not resist, and now I regret it."

"On what account?"

"Because I have written to ask her father's consent to make her my wife, and he has refused me. Don't tell me I am a fool," he added, seeing her about to speak, "I know it now. What have I to offer as an equivalent to a young lady with such superior attractions and accomplishments as Mary Armstrong, setting aside the large fortune which her father can give her?"

"Does he write kindly?" asked the mother, whose heart ached for her son.

"Yes, and sensibly; here is the letter;" and he took Mr. Armstrong's letter from the desk and handed it to her.

She read it and returned it to him in silence.

"You will not allow this disappointment to interfere with your future intentions, Henry?"

"No, indeed," he replied, "I am throwing off the memory of my folly by degrees, and I own I am relieved by telling you all about it. I am not vain enough to suppose that Miss Armstrong will be influenced by the impulsive, unmeaning words I said to her, so there is no harm done. I have no doubt little Freddy was removed to prevent the possibility of any further intercourse. So ends my first and last dream of love."

"Better so, my son, better so, both for your sake and Miss Armstrong's.

I quite agree with Mr. Armstrong about long courtship. You would not be in a position to marry for three or four years at the earliest, and not even then to such a girl as Miss Armstrong unless you had a living of some real value."

For nearly an hour Mrs. Halford remained with her son, listening to his account of the pleasant days at Oxford, and their result, and when at last she rose to go, he said--

"Please do not allow the subject to be spoken of by Kate, if you tell her, but I should like my father to know, and by-and-by I may be able to laugh over my folly as a thing of the past."

"No reference shall be made, Henry, I promise you," said Mrs. Halford, as her son rose to open the door for her with the family courtesy now so seldom seen.

He closed it after her, but without locking it. This little interview had done him good. A painful secret loses more than half its bitterness when it has been listened to with sympathising love by a true friend.

And who such a true friend as a mother? She had purposely said very little to her son of her own opinion on the matter, but as she slowly ascended the stairs to be alone in her own room for a time, she said to herself--

"I will pay Mrs. Armstrong and her daughter a visit some day. I should like to become acquainted with this girl who has so fascinated my son."

And then, as she seated herself to reflect on what she had heard, her thoughts reverted to her own only daughter, whom she had not seen for nearly fifteen years. Mrs. Franklyn had written once only since the birth of little Albert, and although she spoke of being weaker than usual, and longing to visit England again and see them all, yet she was careful not to alarm her mother.

This reticence on f.a.n.n.y's part, and her husband's lively and sanguine letters, removed all fear of anything serious about the health of the dearly-loved daughter. And yet at this very moment a letter from f.a.n.n.y was on its way to England, in which she touched gently on the possibility that she might not live to reach England in the following spring, and enclosing one to her brother to be opened in case of her death.

This letter, however, which did not arrive till the end of October, was accompanied as usual by one from Arthur, written in good spirits, and attributing f.a.n.n.y's illness and gloomy letters to nervousness.

But we must not antic.i.p.ate the sorrowful news contained in our last chapter, which will reach Englefield Grange all too soon, and be the more bitterly mourned because almost unexpected.

At this particular time of which we write, Mrs. Halford could think of nothing but her son's disappointment, and the more she reflected on the subject the more indignant she felt.

On what could Mr. Armstrong base his objections to her son beyond the fact that his daughter was rich and her son poor? After all, a schoolmaster in Dr. Halford's position was at least equal to a tradesman, as Mr. Armstrong undoubtedly was. And if his wife could lay claim to good birth, she had been told that Mr. Armstrong was only the son of a Hampshire farmer. Whereas her son, Henry Halford, could boast that the ancestors of both his parents were quite equal in position to those of Mrs. Armstrong. She had seen that lady, and could trace in her not one spark of upstart pride, but the thorough good-breeding of a well-born gentlewoman. Besides all this, would not her son in a few years be a clergyman, and as such, to the honour of England be it said, admissible, on account of his education and the sacredness of his office, to any society?

What else then could influence Mr. Armstrong's refusal but a love of money and what it can buy? He had spoken in his letter of other plans in view for his daughter, and these no doubt were attempts on the father's part to purchase position for her, or to sacrifice her girlish affections for riches and a t.i.tle.

So reflected Mrs. Halford, and she was not far wrong.

Like many men of strong prejudices, Mr. Armstrong had only overcome these prejudices to go into extremes.

The peculiar ideas which influenced him during his early married life had all disappeared with the increase of wealth. No talk now of "aping the gentry." Money and education had raised him to their level, and therefore far above schoolmasters and curates, or any such poverty-stricken members of society.

But Mrs. Halford's reflections were not made known to her son by even a hint. Had she been only a fond and foolish mother, she would have openly expressed her indignation at the treatment he had received, and aroused in him wounded pride and angry resentment, which would have unsettled his mind for his studies, and made him unfit to a.s.sist his father in the schoolroom.