The Irrational Knot Part 49

"Perhaps so," said he, smiling. "But I have been listening carefully at the window for ten minutes; and I certainly dreamt that I heard Auld Robin Gray."

Marian blushed. Conolly did not seem to have been moved by the song. He was alert and loquacious: before he had finished his greeting and apology to Douglas, they all felt as little sentimental as they had ever done in their lives. Marian, after asking whether he had dined, became silent, and dropped the pretty airs of command which, as hostess, she had worn before.

"Have you any news?" said Marmaduke at last. "Douglas knows the whole business. We are all friends here."

"Only what we expected," said Conolly. "Affairs are exactly as they were. I called to-day at her address--"

"How did you get it?" said Marmaduke.

"I wrote for it to her at the theatre."

"And did she send it?"

"Of course. But she did not give me any encouragement to call on her, and, in fact, evidently did not want to see me. Her appearance has altered very much for the worse. She is a confirmed dipsomaniac; and she knows it. I advised her to abstain in future. She asked me, in her sarcastic, sisterly way, whether I had any other advice to give her. I told her that if she meant to go on, her proper course was to purchase a hogshead of brandy; keep it by her side; and condense the process of killing herself, which may at present take some years, into a few days."

"Oh, Ned, you did not really say that to her!" said Marian.

"I did indeed. The shocking part of the affair is not, as you seem to think, my giving the advice, but that it should be the very best advice I could have given."

"I do not think I would have said so."

"Most likely not," said Conolly, with a smile. "You would have said something much prettier. But dipsomania is not one of the pretty things of life; nor can it by any stretch of benevolent hypocrisy be made to pa.s.s as one. When Susanna and I get talking, we do not waste time in trying to spare one another's feelings. If we did, we should both see through the attempt and be very impatient of it."

"Did she tell you what she intends to do?" said Marmaduke.

"She has accepted an American engagement. When that draws to a close, it will, she says, be time enough for her to consider her next step. But she has no intention of leaving the stage until she is compelled."

"Has she any intention of reforming her habits?" said Elinor, bluntly.

"I should say every intention, but no prospect of doing so.

Dipsomaniacs are always intending to reform; but they rarely succeed.

Has Lucy been put to bed?"

"Lucy is in disgrace," said Elinor. Marian looked at her apprehensively.

"In disgrace!" said Conolly, more seriously. "How so?"

Elinor described what had taken place in the garden. When she told how the child had disregarded Marian's appeal, Conolly laughed.

"Lucy has no sense of how pretty she would have looked toddling in obediently because her aunt asked her to," he said. "She is, like all children, very practical, and will not a.s.sist in getting up amiable little scenes without good reason rendered."

Elinor glanced at Marian, and saw that though Douglas was speaking to her in a low voice, she was listening nervously to her husband. So she said sharply, "It is a pity you were not here to tell us what to do."

"Apparently it is," said Conolly, complacently.

"What would you have done?" said Marian suddenly, interrupting Douglas.

"I suppose," said Conolly, looking round at her in surprise, "I should have answered her question--told her what she was wanted for. If I asked you to do anything, and you enquired why, you would be extremely annoyed if I answered, 'because I ask you.'"

"I would not ask why," said Marian. "I would do it."

"That would be very nice of you," said Conolly; "but you cannot: expect such a selfish, mistrustful, and curious animal as a little child to be equally kind and confiding. Lucy is too acute not to have learned long since that grown people systematically impose on the credulity and helplessness of children."

"Thats true," said Elinor, reluctantly. Marian turned away and quietly resumed her conversation with Douglas. After a minute she strolled with him into the garden, whither Marmaduke had already retired to smoke.

"Has the evening been a pleasant one, Miss McQuinch?" said Conolly, left alone with her.

"Yes: we have had a very pleasant evening indeed. We played chess and _ecarte_; and we all agreed to make old times of it. Marmaduke sang for us; and Marian had us nearly in tears with those old ballads of hers."

"And then I came in and spoiled it all. Eh?"

"Certainly not. Why do you say that?"

"Merely a mischievous impulse to say something true: jealousy, perhaps, because I missed being here earlier. You think, then, that if I had been here, the evening would have been equally pleasant, and Marian equally happy in her singing?"

"Dont you like Marian's singing?"

"Could you not have refrained from that most indiscreet question?"

"I ought to have. It came out unawares. Do not answer it."

"That would make matters worse. And there is no reason whatever why the plain truth should not be told. When I was a child I heard every day better performances than Marian's. She believes there is something pretty and good in music, and patronizes it accordingly to the best of her ability. I do not like to hear music patronized; and when Marian, lovely as she is, gives her pretty renderings of songs which I have heard a hundred times from singers who knew what they were about, then, though I admire her as I must always, my admiration is rather increased than otherwise when she stops; because then I am no longer conscious of a deficiency which even my unfortunate sister could supply."

"Your criticism of her singing sounds more sincere than your admiration of her loveliness. I am not musician enough to judge. All I know is that her singing is good enough for me."

"I know you are displeased because it is not good enough for me; but how can I help myself? Poor Marian----"

"Do hush!" said Elinor. "Here she is."

"You need not be in such a hurry, Duke," said Marian. "What can it matter to you how late you get back?"

"No," said Marmaduke. "I've got to write home. The governor is ill; and my mammy will send me a five-sheet sermon if I neglect writing to-night.

You will keep Lucy for another week, wont you? Box her ears if she gives you any cheek. She wants it: she's been spoiled."

"If we find we can do no better than that with her, we shall hand her back to you," said Conolly. Then the visitors took their leave. Marian gently pressed Douglas's hand and looked into his eyes as he bade her farewell. Elinor, seeing this, glanced uneasily at Conolly, and unexpectedly met his eye. There was a gleam of cynical intelligence in it that did not rea.s.sure her. A few minutes later she went to bed, leaving the couple alone together. Conolly looked at his wife for a moment with an amused expression; but she closed her lips irresponsively, and went to the table for a book which she wanted to bring upstairs. She would have gone without a word had he not spoken to her.

"Marian: Douglas is in love with you."

She blushed; thought a moment; and said quietly, "Very well. I shall not ask him to come again."

"Why?"

She colored more vividly and suddenly, and said, "I thought you cared. I beg your pardon."

"My dear," he replied, amiably: "if you exclude everybody who falls in love with you, we shall have no one in the house but blind men."

"And do you like men to be in love with me?"