“Miss Trefoil is very fond of hunting.”
“I don’t believe she ever went out hunting in her life before she saw you. You mounted her—and gave her a horse—and took her out—and brought her home. Everybody at Mistletoe knew all about it. My brother and the Duchess were told of it. It was one of those things that are plain to everybody as the nose on your face. What did you say to her when you were coming home in that postchaise?”
“She was fainting.”
“What has that to do with it? I don’t care whether she fainted or not. I don’t believe she fainted at all. When she got into that carriage she was engaged to you, and when she got out of it she was engaged ever so much more. The Duchess knew all about it. Now what have you got to say?” Lord Rufford felt that he had nothing to say. “I insist upon having an answer.”
“It’s one of the most unfortunate mistakes that ever were made.”
“By G⸺!” exclaimed Lord Augustus, turning his eyes up against the wall, and appealing to some dark ancestor who hung there. “I never heard of such a thing in all my life; never!”
“I suppose I might as well go now,” said Lord Rufford after a pause.
“You may go to the D⸺, Sir—for the present.” Then Lord Rufford took his departure leaving the injured parent panting with his exertions.
As Lord Rufford went away he felt that that difficulty had been overcome with much more ease than he had expected. He hardly knew what it was that he had dreaded, but he had feared something much worse than that. Had an appeal been made to his affections he would hardly have known how to answer. He remembered well that he had assured the lady that he loved her, and had a direct question been asked him on that subject he would not have lied. He must have confessed that such a declaration had been made by him. But he had escaped that. He was quite sure that he had never uttered a hint in regard to marriage, and he came away from the Duke’s house almost with an assurance that he had done nothing that was worthy of much blame.
Lord Augustus looked at his watch, rang the bell, and ordered a cab. He must now go and see his daughter, and then he would have done with the matter—forever. But as he was passing through the hall his nephew caught hold of him and took him back into the room. “What does he say for himself?” asked Lord Mistletoe.
“I don’t know what he says. Of course he swears that he never spoke a word to her.”
“My mother saw him paying her the closest attention.”
“How can I help that? What can I do? Why didn’t your mother pin him then and there? Women can always do that kind of thing if they choose.”
“It is all over, then?”
“I can’t make a man marry if he won’t. He ought to be thrashed within an inch of his life. But if one does that kind of thing the police are down upon one. All the same, I think the Duchess might have managed it if she had chosen.” After that he went to the lodgings in Orchard Street, and there repeated his story. “I have done all I can,” he said, “and I don’t mean to interfere any further. Arabella should know how to manage her own affairs.”
“And you don’t mean to punish him?” asked the mother.
“Punish him! How am I to punish him? If I were to throw a decanter at his head, what good would that do?”
“And you mean to say that she must put up with it?” Arabella was sitting by as these questions were asked.
“He says that he never said a word to her. Whom am I to believe?”
“You did believe him, papa?”
“Who said so, Miss? But I don’t see why his word isn’t as good as yours. There was nobody to hear it, I suppose. Why didn’t you get it in writing, or make your uncle fix him at once? If you mismanage your own affairs I can’t put them right for you.”
“Thank you, papa. I am so much obliged to you. You come back and tell me that every word he says is to be taken for gospel, and that you don’t believe a word I have spoken. That is so kind of you! I suppose he and you will be the best friends in the world now. But I don’t mean to let him off in that way. As you won’t help me, I must help myself.”
“What did you expect me to do?”
“Never to leave him till you had forced him to keep his word. I should have thought that you would have taken him by the throat in such a cause. Any other father would have done so.”
“You are an impudent, wicked girl, and I don’t believe he was ever engaged to you at all,” said Lord Augustus as he took his leave.
“Now you have made your father your enemy,” said the mother.
“Everybody is my enemy,” said Arabella. “There are no such things as love and friendship. Papa pretends that he does not believe me, just because he wants to shirk the trouble. I suppose you’ll say you don’t believe me next.”
LVII
Mrs. Morton Returns
A few days after that on which Lady Augustus and her daughter left Bragton old Mrs. Morton returned to that place. She had gone away in very bitterness of spirit against her grandson in the early days of his illness. For some period antecedent to that there had been causes for quarrelling. John Morton had told her that he had been to Reginald’s house, and she, in her wrath, replied that he had disgraced himself by doing so. When
