“Have you heard about Arabella’s good fortune?” young Glossop asked the next morning at the office.
“You forget, my boy,” said Mounser Green, “that the young lady of whom you speak is a friend of mine.”
“Oh lord! So I did. I beg your pardon, old fellow.” There was no one else in the room at the moment, and Glossop in asking the question had in truth forgotten what he had heard of this new intimacy.
“Don’t you learn to be ill-natured, Glossop. And remember that there is no form so bad as that of calling young ladies by their Christian names. I do know that poor Morton has left Miss Trefoil a sum of money which is at any rate evidence that he thought well of her to the last.”
“Of course it is. I didn’t mean to offend you. I wouldn’t do it for worlds—as you are going away.” That afternoon, when Green’s back was turned, Glossop gave it as his opinion that something particular would turn up between Mounser and Miss Trefoil, an opinion which brought down much ridicule upon him from both Hoffmann and Archibald Currie. But before that week was over—in the early days of April—they were forced to retract their opinion and to do honour to young Glossop’s sagacity. Mounser Green was engaged to Miss Trefoil, and for a day or two the Foreign Office could talk of nothing else.
“A very handsome girl,” said Lord Drummond to one of his subordinates. “I met her at Mistletoe. As to that affair with Lord Rufford, he treated her abominably.” And when Mounser showed himself at the office, which he did boldly, immediately after the engagement was made known, they all received him with open arms and congratulated him sincerely on his happy fortune. He himself was quite contented with what he had done and thought that he was taking out for himself the very wife for Patagonia.
LXXVI
The Wedding
No sooner did the new two lovers, Mounser Green and Arabella Trefoil, understand each other, than they set their wits to work to make the best of their natural advantages. The latter communicated the fact in a very dry manner to her father and mother. Nothing was to be got from them, and it was only just necessary that they should know what she intended to do with herself. “My dear mamma. I am to be married some time early in May to Mr. Mounser Green of the Foreign Office. I don’t think you know him, but I daresay you have heard of him. He goes to Patagonia immediately after the wedding, and I shall go with him. Your affectionate daughter, Arabella Trefoil.” That was all she said, and the letter to her father was word for word the same. But how to make use of those friends who were more happily circumstanced was matter for frequent counsel between her and Mr. Green. In these days I do not think that she concealed very much from him. To tell him all the little details of her adventures with Lord Rufford would have been neither useful nor pleasant; but, as to the chief facts, reticence would have been foolish. To the statement that Lord Rufford had absolutely proposed to her she clung fast, and really did believe it herself. That she had been engaged to John Morton she did not deny; but she threw the blame of that matter on her mother, and explained to him that she had broken off the engagement down at Bragton, because she could not bring herself to regard the man with sufficient personal favour. Mounser was satisfied, but was very strong in urging her to seek, yet once again, the favour of her magnificent uncle and her magnificent aunt.
“What good can they do us?” said Arabella, who was almost afraid to make the appeal.
“It would be everything for you to be married from Mistletoe,” he said. “People would know then that you were not blamed about Lord Rufford. And it might serve me very much in my profession. These things do help very much. It would cost us nothing, and the proper kind of notice would then get into the newspapers. If you will write direct to the Duchess, I will get at the Duke through Lord Drummond. They know where we are going, and that we are not likely to want anything else for a long time.”
“I don’t think the Duchess would have mamma if it were ever so.”
“Then we must drop your mother for the time;—that’s all. When my aunt hears that you are to be married from the Duke’s, she will be quite willing that you should remain with her till you go down to Mistletoe.”
Arabella, who perhaps knew a little more than her lover, could not bring herself to believe that the appeal would be successful, but she made it. It was a very difficult letter to write, as she could not but allude to the rapid transference of her affections. “I will not conceal from you,” she said, “that I have suffered very much from Lord Rufford’s heartless conduct. My misery has been aggravated by the feeling that you and my uncle will hardly believe him to be so false, and will attribute part of the blame to me.
