Not Like Other Girls Part 47

d.i.c.k woke up at this.

"Oh, yes, I have plenty to say," he returned cheerfully; "but two cannot talk at once, you know. It was right for you to have the first innings, and all that; and I say, father,"--his filial feelings coming to the surface,--"I am awfully sorry, and so is Nan, to see you so vexed."

"Speak for yourself," was the wrathful answer. "Don't mention that girl's name in my hearing for the present."

"Whose name?--Nan's?" returned d.i.c.k, innocently. "I don't see how we are to keep it out of the conversation, when the row is all about her.

Look here, father: I say again I am awfully sorry you are vexed; but as N--she says, it is too late to mend matters now. I have made my choice, for better for worse, and I am sorry it does not please you."

"Please me!" retorted Mr. Mayne; and then he added, venomously: "The girl said you would not marry without my permission; but I will never give it. Come, d.i.c.k, it is no use thwarting me in this: you are our only child and we have other plans for you. Pshaw! you are only a boy!

You have not seen the world yet. There are dozens of girls far prettier than this Nan. Give this nonsense up, and there is nothing I will not do for you; you shall travel, have your liberty, do as you like for the next two or three years, and I will not worry you about marrying. Why, you are only one-and-twenty; and you have two more years of University life! What an idea,--a fine young fellow like you talking of tying yourself down to matrimony!"

"There is no use in my going back to Oxford, father," returned d.i.c.k, steadily; "thank you kindly all the same, but, it would be sheer waste of money. I have made up my mind to go into the City; it is the fashionable thing nowadays. And one does not need Greek and Latin for that, though, of course, it is an advantage to a fellow, and gives him a standing; but, as I have to get my own living, I cannot afford the two years. Your old chums Stanfield & Stanfield would give me a berth at once."

"Is the boy mad? What on earth do you mean by all this tomfoolery?"

demanded Mr. Mayne, unable to believe his ears. His small gray eyes opened widely and irately on his son; but d.i.c.k took no notice. He walked on, with his shoulders looking rather square and determined; the corners of his mouth were working rebelliously: evidently he did not dare to look at his father for fear of breaking into incontrollable laughter. Really the dear old boy was getting too absurd; he--d.i.c.k--could not stand it much longer. "What in the name of all that is foolish do you mean, sir?" thundered Mr. Mayne.

d.i.c.k executed a low whistle, and then he said, in an aggrieved voice,--

"Well, father, I don't call you very consistent. I suppose I know what being disinherited means? In plain language, you have told me about half a dozen times that if I stick to Nan I am not to expect a shilling of your money. Now, in my own mind, of course I call that precious hard on a fellow, considering I have not been such a bad sort of son after all. But I am not going to quarrel with you about that: a man has a right to do as he likes with his own money."

"Yes; but, d.i.c.k, you are going to be sensible, you know, and drop the girl?" in a wheedling sort of tone.

"Excuse me, father; I am going to do nothing of the kind," returned d.i.c.k, with sudden firmness. "I am going to stick to her, as you did to my mother; and for just as long, if it must be so. I am not a bit afraid that you will not give your permission, if we only wait long enough to prove that we are in earnest. The only thing I am anxious about is how I am to get my living; and that is why I will not consent to waste any more time at the University. The bar is too uphill work; money is made quickest in the City: so, if you will be good enough to give me an introduction to Stanfield & Stanfield,--I know they are a rattling good sort of people,--that is all I will trouble you about at present." And d.i.c.k drew in a long breath of relief after this weighty speech.

"Do you mean this, d.i.c.k?" asked Mr. Mayne, rather feebly.

They had reached the hotel now, and, as they entered the private room where their luncheon was awaiting them, he sat down as though he had grown suddenly old and tired, and rested his head on his hand, perhaps to hide the moisture that had gathered under his s.h.a.ggy eyebrows.

"Yes, father, I do," returned d.i.c.k; but he spoke very gently, and his hand touched his father's shoulder caressingly. "Let me give you some wine: all this business has taken it out of you."

"Yes, I have had a blow, d.i.c.k,--my only boy has given me a blow,"

returned Mr. Mayne, pathetically; but as he took the wine his hand trembled.

"I am awfully sorry," answered d.i.c.k, penitently: "if there were anything else you had asked me but this--but I cannot give up Nan."

And, as he p.r.o.nounced the name, d.i.c.k's eyes shone with pride and tenderness. He was a soft-hearted, affectionate young fellow, and this quarrel with his father was costing him a great deal of pain. In everything else he would have been submissive to his parents; but now he had a purpose and responsibility in his life: he had to be faithful to the girl whom he had won; he must think for her now as well as for himself. How sweet was this sense of dual existence, this unity of heart and aim!

Mr. Mayne fairly groaned as he read the expression on his son's face.

d.i.c.k's youthful countenance was stamped with honest resolution. "I am going to stick to her, as you did to my mother."--that was what he had said. If this were true, it was all over with d.i.c.k's chances with the pretty little heiress; he would never look at her or her thirty thousand pounds; "but all the same he, Richard Mayne, would never consent to his son marrying a dressmaker. If she had only not disgraced herself, if she had not brought this humiliation on them, he might have been brought to listen to their pleading in good time and at his own pleasure; but now, never!--never!" he muttered, and set his teeth hard.

"d.i.c.k," he said, suddenly, for there had been utter silence for a s.p.a.ce.

"Yes, father."

"You have upset me very much, and made me very unhappy; but I wish you to say nothing to your mother, and we will talk about this again.

Promise me one thing,--that you will go back to Oxford at least until Christmas."

"What is the good of that, sir?" asked his son, dubiously.

"What is the good of anything? for you have taken every bit of pleasure out of my life; but at least you can do as much as this for me."

"Oh, yes, father, if you wish it," returned d.i.c.k, more cheerfully; "but all the same I have fixed upon a City life."

"We will talk of that again," replied his father; "and, d.i.c.k, we go home to-morrow, and, unless you promise me not to come down to Hadleigh between this and Christmas, I shall be obliged to speak to Mrs. Challoner."

"Oh, there is no need for that," returned d.i.c.k, sulkily.

"You give me your word?"

"Oh, yes," pushing aside his chair with a kick. "It would be no use coming down to Hadleigh, for Nan would not speak to me. I know her too well for that. She has got such a conscience, you know. I shall write to her, but I do not know if she will answer my letters; but it does not matter: we shall both be true as steel. If you don't want me any more, I think I will have a cigar on the beach, for this room is confoundedly hot." And, without waiting for permission, d.i.c.k strode off, still sulky and fully aware that his father meant to follow him, for fear of his footsteps straying again down the Braidwood Road.

CHAPTER x.x.xII.

"d.i.c.k IS TO BE OUR REAL BROTHER."

Never was a father more devoted to his son's company than Mr. Mayne was that day. d.i.c.k's cigar was hardly alight before his father had joined him. When d.i.c.k grew weary of throwing stones aimlessly at imaginary objects, and voted the beach slow, Mr. Mayne proposed a walk with alacrity. They dined together,--not talking much, it is true, for d.i.c.k was still sulky, and his father tired and inclined to headache, but keeping up a show of conversation for the waiter's benefit. But when that functionary had retired, and the wine was on the table, d.i.c.k made no further effort to be agreeable, but placed himself in the window-seat and stared moodily at the sea, while his father watched him and drank his wine in silence.

Mr. Mayne was fighting against drowsiness valiantly.

d.i.c.k knew this, and was waiting for an opportunity to make his escape.

"Had we not better ring for lights and coffee?" asked his father, as he felt the first ominous sensations stealing over him.

"Not just yet. I feel rather disposed for a nap myself; and it is a shame to shut out the moonlight," returned that wicked d.i.c.k, calling up a fib to his aid, and closing his eyes as he spoke.

The bait took. In another five minutes Mr. Mayne was nodding in earnest, and d.i.c.k on tiptoe had just softly closed the door behind him, and was taking his straw hat from its peg.

Nan was walking up and down the little dark lawn, feeling restless and out of sorts after the agitation of the morning, when she heard a low whistle at the other side of the wall, and her heart felt suddenly as light as a feather.

d.i.c.k saw her white gown as she came down the flagged path to the gate to let him in. The moonlight seemed to light it up with a sort of glory.

"You are a darling not to keep me waiting, for we have not a moment to lose," he whispered, as she came up close to him. "He is asleep now, but he will wake up as soon as he misses me. Have you expected me before, Nan? But indeed I have not been left to myself a moment."

"Oh, I knew all about it, my poor d.i.c.k," she answered, looking at him so softly. "Phillis is reading to mother in the parlor, and Dulce is in the work-room. I have nowhere to ask you unless you come in and talk to them. But mother is too upset to see you, I am afraid."

"Let us wait here," returned d.i.c.k, boldly. "No one can hear what we say, and I must speak to you alone. No; I had better not see your mother to-night, and the girls would be in the way. Shall you be tired, dear, if you stand out here a moment talking to me? for I dare not wait long."

"Oh, no, I shall not be tired," answered Nan gently. Tired, when she had her own d.i.c.k near her!--when she could speak to him,--look at him!

"All right; but it is my duty to look after you, now you belong to me," returned d.i.c.k, proudly. "Whatever happens,--however long we may be separated,--you must remember that--that you belong to me,--that you will have to account to me if you do not take care of yourself."

Nan smiled happily at this, and then she said,--

"I have told mother all about it, and she is dreadfully distressed about your father's anger. She cried so, and took his part, and said she did not wonder that he would not listen to us; he would feel it such a disgrace, his son wanting to marry a dressmaker. She made me unhappy, too, when she put it all before me in that way," and here Nan's face paled perceptibly in the moonlight, "for she made me see how hard it is on him, and on your mother, too! Oh, d.i.c.k don't you think you ought to listen to them, and not have anything more to do with me?"

"Nan, I am shocked at you!"