“But you would not marry him out of obedience?”
“I would—and did so intend. I would, certainly; if in doing so I did him no injury. You say that your mother would give her life for him. So would I;—that or anything else that I could give, without hurting him or others. It was not I that sought for this marriage; nor did I think of it. If you were in my place, Mr. Orme, you would know how difficult it is to refuse.”
Peregrine again got up, and standing with his back to the fire, thought over it all again. His soft heart almost relented towards the woman who had borne his rough words with so much patient kindness. Had Sir Peregrine been there then, and could he have condescended so far, he might have won his grandson’s consent without much trouble. Peregrine, like some other generals, had expended his energy in gaining his victory, and was more ready now to come to easy terms than he would have been had he suffered in the combat.
“Well,” he said after a while, “I’m sure I’m very much obliged to you for the manner in which you have taken what I said to you. Nobody knows about it yet, I suppose; and perhaps, if you will talk to the governor—”
“I will talk to him, Mr. Orme.”
“Thank you; and then perhaps all things may turn out right. I’ll go and dress now.” And so saying he took his departure, leaving her to consider how best she might act at this crisis of her life, so that things might go right, if such were possible. The more she thought of it, the less possible it seemed that her affairs should be made to go right.
XXXVIII
Oh, Indeed!
The dinner on that day at The Cleeve was not very dull. Peregrine had some hopes that the idea of the marriage might be abandoned, and was at any rate much better disposed towards Lady Mason than he had been. He spoke to her, asking her whether she had been out, and suggesting roast mutton or some such creature comfort. This was lost neither on Sir Peregrine nor on Mrs. Orme, and they both exerted themselves to say a few words in a more cheery tone than had been customary in the house for the last day or two. Lady Mason herself did not say much; but she had sufficient tact to see the effort which was being made; and though she spoke but little she smiled and accepted graciously the courtesies that were tendered to her.
Then the two ladies went away, and Peregrine was again left with his grandfather. “That was a nasty accident that Graham had going out of Monkton Grange,” said he, speaking on the moment of his closing the dining-room door after his mother. “I suppose you heard all about it, sir?” Having fought his battle so well before dinner, he was determined to give some little rest to his half-vanquished enemy.
“The first tidings we heard were that he was dead,” said Sir Peregrine, filling his glass.
“No; he wasn’t dead. But of course you know that now. He broke an arm and two ribs, and got rather a bad squeeze. He was just behind me, you know, and I had to wait for him. I lost the run, and had to see Harriet Tristram go away with the best lead anyone has had to a fast thing this year. That’s an uncommon nasty place at the back of Monkton Grange.”
“I hope, Peregrine, you don’t think too much about Harriet Tristram.”
“Think of her! who? I? Think of her in what sort of a way? I think she goes uncommonly well to hounds.”
“That may be, but I should not wish to see you pin your happiness on any lady that was celebrated chiefly for going well to hounds.”
“Do you mean marry her?” and Peregrine immediately made a strong comparison in his mind between Miss Tristram and Madeline Staveley.
“Yes; that’s what I did mean.”
“I wouldn’t have her if she owned every fox-cover in the county. No, by Jove! I know a trick worth two of that. It’s jolly enough to see them going, but as to being in love with them—in that sort of way—”
“You are quite right, my boy; quite right. It is not that that a man wants in a wife.”
“No,” said Peregrine, with a melancholy cadence in his voice, thinking of what it was that he did want. And so they sat sipping their wine. The turn which the conversation had taken had for the moment nearly put Lady Mason out of the young man’s head.
“You would be very young to marry yet,” said the baronet.
“Yes, I should be young; but I don’t know that there is any harm in that.”
“Quite the contrary, if a young man feels himself to be sufficiently settled. Your mother I know would be very glad that you should marry early;—and so should I, if you married well.”
What on earth could all this mean? It could not be that his grandfather knew that he was in love with Miss Staveley; and had this been known his grandfather would not have talked of Harriet Tristram. “Oh yes; of course a fellow should marry well. I don’t think much of marrying for money.”
“Nor do I, Peregrine;—I think very little of it.”
“Nor about being of very high birth.”
“Well; it would make me unhappy—very unhappy if you were to marry below your own rank.”
“What do you call my own rank?”
“I mean any girl whose father is not a gentleman, and whose mother is not a lady; and of whose education among ladies you could not feel certain.”
“I
