The American Baron Part 72

"If you think on your position last night, and Minnie's, ma'am,"

resumed the Baron, "you'll acknowledge, I expect, that it was pretty hard lines. What would you have given a few hours ago for a sight of my uniform in that old house yonder? If I had come then to save Minnie from the clutches of that _I_talian, wouldn't you have given her to me with all your heart, and your prayers too? You would, by thunder!

Think, ma'am, on your sufferings last night, and then answer me."

Mrs. Willoughby involuntarily thought of that night of horror, and shuddered, and said nothing.

"Now, ma'am, just listen to this. I find on coming here that this Italian had a priest here all ready to marry him and Minnie. If I'd been delayed or defeated, Minnie would have been that rascal's wife by this time. The priest was here. They would have been married as sure as you're born. You, ma'am, would have had to see this poor, trembling, broken-hearted, despairing girl torn from your arms, and bound by the marriage tie to a ruffian and a scoundrel whom she loathed. And now, ma'am, I save her from this. I have my priest too, ma'am. He ain't a Roman Catholic, it is true--he's an orthodox parson--but, at the same time, I ain't particular. Now I propose to avail myself this day of his invaluable services at the earliest hour possible; but, at the same time, if Min prefers it, I don't object to the priest, for I have a kind of Roman Catholic leaning myself.

"Now you may ask, ma'am," continued the Baron, as Mrs. Willoughby continued silent--"you may ask why I'm in such a thundering hurry. My answer is, because you fit me off so. You tried to keep me from Min.

You locked me out of your house. You threatened to hand me over to the police (and I'd like to see one of them try it on with me). You said I was mad or drunk; and finally you tried to run away. Then you rejected my advice, and plunged head-foremost into this fix. Now, in view of all this, my position is this--that I can't trust you. I've got Min now, and I mean to keep her. If you got hold of her again, I feel it would be the last of her. Consequently I ain't going to let her go.

Not me. Not by a long chalk.

"Finally, ma'am, if you'll allow me, I'll touch upon another point.

I've thought over your objections to me. It ain't my rank--I'm a n.o.ble; it ain't money--I'm worth a hundred thousand dollars; it ain't my name--for I call myself Atramonte. It must be something in me. I've come to the conclusion that it's my general style--my manners and customs. Very well. Perhaps they don't come up to your standard. They mayn't square with your ideas. Yet, let me inform you, ma'am, there are other standards of action and manner and speech than those to which you are accustomed, and mine is one of them. Minnie doesn't object to that. She knows my heart is all right, and is willing to trust herself to me. Consequently I take her, and I mean to make her mine this day."

As the Baron paused Mrs. Willoughby began, first of all, to express her grat.i.tude, and then to beg him to postpone the marriage. She declared that it was an unheard-of thing, that it was shameful, that it was shocking, that it was dreadful. She grew very much excited; she protested, she entreated. Finally she burst into tears, and appealed to Lord Hawbury in the most moving terms. Hawbury listened very gravely, with his eyes wandering over to where Ethel was; and Ethel caught the expression of his face, and looked quite confused.

"Oh, think, only think," said Mrs. Willoughby, after an eloquent and pathetic appeal--"think how the poor child will be talked about!"

"Well, really--ah--'pon my life," said Hawbury, with his eyes still wandering over toward Ethel, "I'm sure I don't--ah--share your views altogether, Mrs. Willoughby; for--ah--there _are_ times, you know, when a fellow finds it very uncommonly desirable--runaway matches, you know, and all that sort of thing. And, by Jove! to tell the truth, I really admire the idea, by Jove! And really--ah--I'm sure--I wish most confoundedly it was the universal fashion, by Jove!"

"But she'll be so talked about. She'll make herself so shockingly _conspicuous_."

"Conspicuous? By Jove!" said Hawbury, who seemed struck by the idea.

At that moment Minnie began talking to her sister, and Hawbury went off to Ethel, to whom he began talking in the most earnest manner. The two wandered off for some distance, and did not return for a full half hour. When they did return Ethel looked somewhat embarra.s.sed, and Hawbury was radiant. With this radiance on his face he went up to Mrs.

Willoughby, leaving Ethel in the background.

"Oh, by-the-way," said he, "you were remarking that your sister would be too conspicuous by such a hasty marriage."

"Yes," said Mrs. Willoughby, anxiously.

"Well, I thought I would tell you that she needn't be so _very_ conspicuous; for, in fact--that is, you know, Ethel and I--she told you, I suppose, about our mistake?"

"Oh yes."

"And I think I've persuaded her to save Minnie from being too conspicuous."

Mrs. Willoughby gave Hawbury a look of astonishment and reproach.

"You!" she cried; "and Ethel!"

"Why, I'm sure, we're the very ones you might expect it from. Think how infernally we've been humbugged by fate."

"Fate!" said Mrs. Willoughby. "It was all your own fault. She was chosen for you."

"Chosen for me? What do you mean?"

"By your mother."

"My mother?"

"Yes."

"She said one of Biggs's nieces."

"Ethel is that niece."

"The devil!" cried Hawbury. "I beg pardon. By Jove!"

Hawbury, overwhelmed by this, went back to Ethel, and they wandered off once more. The Baron had already wandered off with Minnie in another direction. Tozer and the priest had gone to survey the house.

Seeing Mrs. Willoughby thus left alone, Dacres drifted up to her. He came up silently.

"Kitty," said he, in a low voice, "you seem sad."

By which familiar address it will be seen that Dacres had made some progress toward intimacy with her.

Mrs. Willoughby did not seem at all offended at this, but looked up with one of her frankest smiles, and the clouds of perplexity pa.s.sed away. She was an exceedingly pretty woman, and she was certainly not over twenty-four.

"I'm so worried," she said, plaintively.

"What's the matter?" asked Dacres, in a tone of the deepest and tenderest sympathy.

"Why, these horrid men; and, what's worse, Lord Hawbury is actually encouraging Mr.--the--the Baron; and I'm _so_ worried. Oh dear!"

"But why should you be worried?"

"It's so horrid. It's shocking. It's not to be thought of."

"But why not?" asked Dacres.

"Why, it's--it's so horrid," said Mrs. Willoughby.

Dacres stood looking at her for a long time.

"Kitty," said he at last.

Mrs. Willoughby looked up.

Dacres looked all around. He then took her hand.

"Isn't it too bad," he said, "to let Minnie--"

"What?"

"To let her go through this ordeal alone?"

"Alone!" exclaimed Mrs. Willoughby, looking in wonder at him.

"Yes."