The Marriage of Elinor Part 26

Mrs. Dennistoun received him when he came in obedience to her call, as a child might do who had the power of receiving its future corrector. She abased herself before him, servilely choosing his favourite subjects, talking of what she thought would please him, of former times at the Cottage, of Elinor, and her great affection for Cousin John, and so forth. I imagine that he had a suspicion of the cause of all this sweetness. He looked at her suspiciously, though he allowed himself to be drawn into reminiscences, and to feel a half pleasure, half pain in the affectionate things that Elinor had said. At length, after some time had pa.s.sed, he asked, in a pause of the conversation, "Was this all you wanted with me, aunt, to talk of old times?"

"Wasn't it a good enough pretext for the pleasure of seeing you, John?"

He laughed a little and shook his head.

"An excellent pretext where none was wanted. It is very kind of you to think it a pleasure: but you had something also to say?"

"It seems there is no deceiving you, John," she said, and with many hesitations and much difficulty, told him her story. She saw him begin to flame. She saw his eyes light up, and Mrs. Dennistoun shook in her chair. She was not a woman apt to be afraid, but she was frightened now.

Nevertheless, when she had finished her story, John at first spoke no word: and when he did find a tongue it was only to say,

"You want to get back the money you have on that mortgage. My dear aunt, why did not you tell me so at once?"

"But I have just told you, John."

"Well, so be it. You know it will take a little time; there are some formalities that must be gone through. You cannot make a demand on people in that way to pay you cash at once."

"Oh, I thought it was so easy to get money--on such very good security and paying such a good adequate rate of interest."

"It is easy," he said, "perfectly easy; but it wants a little time: and people will naturally wonder, if it is really good security and good interest, why you should be in such a hurry to get out of it."

"But surely, to say private reasons--family reasons, that will be enough."

"Oh, there is no occasion for giving any reason at all. You wish to do it; that is reason enough."

"Yes," said Mrs. Dennistoun, with diffidence, yet also a little self-a.s.sertion, "I think it is enough."

"Of course, of course." But his eyes were flaming, and Mrs. Dennistoun would not allow herself to believe that she had got off. "And may I ask--not that I have any right to ask, for of course you have better advisers--what do you mean to put the money in, when you have got it back?"

"Oh, John," said Mrs. Dennistoun, "you are implacable, though you pretend different. You know what I want with the money, and you disapprove of it, and so do I. I am going to throw it away. I know that just as well as you do, and I am ashamed of myself: but I am going to do it all the same."

"You are going to give it to Elinor? I don't think there is anything to disapprove of in that. It is the most natural thing in the world."

"If I could be sure that Elinor would get any good by it," she said.

And then his face suddenly blazed up, so that the former flame in his eyes was nothing. He sat for a moment staring at her, and then he said, "Yes, if--but I suppose you take the risk." There were a great many things on his lips to say, but he said none of them, except hurriedly, "You have a motive, I suppose----"

"I have a motive--as futile probably as my act--if I could by that means, or any other, acquire an influence----"

John was very seldom, if ever, rude--it was not in his way--but at this moment he was so bitterly exasperated that he forgot his manners altogether. He burst out into a loud laugh, and then he jumped up to his feet and said, "Forgive me. I really have a dozen engagements. I can't stay. I'll see to having this business done for you as soon as possible.

You would rather old Lynch had no hand in it? I'll get it done for you at once."

She followed him out to the door as if they had been in the country, and that the flowery cottage door, with the great world of down and sky outside, instead of Curzon Street: longing to say something that would still, at the last moment, gain her John's approval, or his understanding at least. But she could think of nothing to say. He had promised to manage it all for her: he had not reproached her; and yet not content with that she wanted to extort a favourable word from him before he should go. But she could not find a word to say. He it was only who spoke. He asked when she was going to return home, with his hand upon the street door.

"I don't know. I have not made any plans. The house is taken till July."

"And you have enjoyed it?" he said. "It has answered?"

What a cruel, cruel question to put to her! She going so unsuspectingly with him to the very door! Philip Compton's servant, always about when he was not wanted, spying about to see whom it was that "down-stairs"

was letting out, came strolling into sight. Anyhow, whether that was the reason or not, she made him no reply. He caught her look--a look that said more than words--and turned round quickly and held out his hand. "I did not mean to be cruel," he said.

"Oh, no, no, no--you did not mean it--you were not cruel. The reverse--you are always so kind. Yes, it has answered--I am more glad than I can tell you--that I came."

He it was now that looked at her anxiously, while she smiled that well-worn smile which is kept for people in trouble. She went in afterwards and sat silent for some time, covering her face with her hands; in which att.i.tude Elinor found her after her afternoon visitors had gone away.

"What is it, mother? What is it, dear mother? Something has happened to vex you."

"Nothing, nothing, Elinor. John Tatham has been here. He is going to do that little piece of business for me."

"And he--has been bullying you too? poor mamma!"

"On the contrary, he did not say a word. He considered it--quite natural."

Elinor gave her mother a kiss. She had nothing to say. Neither of them had a word to say to the other. The thought that pa.s.sed through both their minds was: "After all it is only two thousand pounds"--and then, _apres_? was Elinor's thought. And then, never more, never more! was what pa.s.sed through Mrs. Dennistoun's mind.

Phil Compton smiled upon her that day she handed him over the money. "It is a great pity you took the trouble," he said. "It is a pity to change an investment for such a bagatelle as two thousand pounds. Still, if you insist upon it, mamma. I suppose Nell's been bragging of the big interest, but you never will feel it on a sc.r.a.p like this. If you would let me double your income for you now."

"You know, Philip, I cannot. The trustees would never consent."

"Bother trustees. They are the ruin of women," he said, and as he left the room he turned back to ask her how long she was going to stay in town.

"How long do you stay?"

"Oh, till Goodwood always," said Phil. "Nell's looking forward to it, and there's generally some good things just at the end when the heavy people have gone away; but I thought you might not care to stay so long."

"I came not for town, but for Elinor, Philip."

"Exactly so. But don't you think Elinor has shown herself quite able to take care of herself--not to say that she has me? It's a thousand pities to keep you from the country which you prefer, especially as, after all, Nell can be so little with you."

"It would be much better for her at present, Philip, to come with me, and rest at home, while you go to Goodwood. For the sake of the future you ought to persuade her to do it."

"I daresay. Try yourself to persuade her to leave me. She won't, you know. But why should you bore yourself to death staying on here? You don't like it, and n.o.body----"

"Wants me, you mean, Philip."

"I never said anything so dashed straightforward. I am not a chap of that kind. But what I say is, it's a shame to keep you hanging on, disturbed in your rest and all that sort of thing. That noisy beggar, Dismar, that came in with us last night must have woke you up with his idiotic bellowing."

"It doesn't matter for me; but Elinor, Philip. It does matter for your wife. If her rest is broken it will react upon her in every way. I wish you would consent to forego those visitors in the middle of the night."

He looked at her with a sort of satirical indifference. "Sorry I can't oblige you," he said. "When a girl's friends fork out handsomely a man has some reason for paying a little attention. But when there's nothing, or next to nothing, on her side, why of course he must pick up a little where he can, as much for her sake as his own."

"Pick up a little!" said Mrs. Dennistoun.

"I wish you wouldn't repeat what I say like that. It makes a fellow nervous. Yes, of course, a man that knows what he's about does pick up a little. About your movements, however. I advise you to take my advice and go back to your snug little house. It would kill me in a week, but I know it suits you. Why hang on for Nell? She's as well as can be, and there's a few things that it would be good for us to do."

"Which you cannot do while I am here? Is that what you mean, Philip?"

"I never saw any good in being what the French call brutal," he said, "I hate making a woman cry, or that sort of thing. But you're a woman of sense, and I'm sure you must see that a young couple like Nell and me, who have our way to make in the world----"