“It is very easy for a woman to talk,” said the reluctant wooer again.
“I can tell you something it is not easy to do,” cried his sister. “It is frightfully hard for a woman to stand by and see a set of men making a mess of things, and not to dare to say a word till all is spoiled. What is this Archdeacon, I would like to know, or what could he say? If you only would have the least courage, and look him in the face, he would be disabled. As if no one had ever heard of mistaken identity before? And in the meantime go and see Lucilla, and get her consent. I can’t do that for you; but I could do a great deal of the rest, if you would only have a little pluck and not give in like this.”
“A little pluck, by George!” cried the unfortunate man, and he threw himself down again upon his chair. “I am not in love with Lucilla Marjoribanks, and I don’t want to marry her,” he added doggedly, and sat beating a tune with his fingers on the table, with but a poorly-assumed air of indifference. As for Mrs. Woodburn, she regarded him with a look of contempt.
“Perhaps you will tell me who you are in love with,” she said disdainfully; “but I did not ask to be taken into your confidence in such an interesting way. What I wish to know is, whether you want a wife who will keep your position for you. I am not in the least fond of her, but she is very clever. Whether you want the support of all the best people in Carlingford, and connections that would put all that to silence, and a real position of your own which nobody could interfere with—that is what I want to know, Harry; as for the sentimental part, I am not so much interested about that,” said Mrs. Woodburn, with a contemptuous smile. She was young still, and she was handsome in her way (for people who liked that style), and it jarred a little on the natural feelings to hear a young wife express herself so disdainfully; but, to be sure, her brother was not unaccustomed to that.
“You said once that Woodburn was necessary to your happiness,” he said, with a mixture of scorn and appeal, “though I can’t say I saw it, for my part.”
“Did I?” she said, with a slight shrug of her shoulders; “I saw what was necessary on another score, as you don’t seem to do. When a man has nobody belonging to him, it is connections he ought to try for: and Lucilla has very good connections; and it would be as good as securing the support of Grange Lane. Do it for my sake, Harry, if you won’t do it for your own,” said Mrs. Woodburn, with a change of tone. “If you were to let things be said, and give people an advantage, think what would become of me. Woodburn would not mind so much if somebody else were involved; but oh, Harry! if he should find out he had been cheated, and he only—”
“He was not cheated! You were always a great deal too good for him, Nelly,” said Mr. Cavendish, touched at last at an effectual point; “and as for his friends and family, and all that—”
“Oh, please, don’t speak of them,” said Mrs. Woodburn, with a shudder; “but there are only two of us in the world; and, Harry, for my sake—”
At this appeal Mr. Cavendish got up again, and began to pace the little arbour, two steps to the wall, and two steps back again. “I told you I had almost done it, when that confounded old woman came in,” he said: “that could not be called my fault?”
“And she said she was both your grandmothers,” said the mimic, with a slightly hysterical laugh, in Mrs. Chiley’s voice. “I know how she did it. She can’t be there still, you know—go now and try.”
“Let alone a little; don’t hurry a fellow,” said her brother, somewhat sullenly; “a man can’t move himself up to the point of proposing twice in one day.”
“Then promise that you will do it tomorrow,” said Mrs. Woodburn. “I shall have to go in, for there is somebody coming. Harry, before I go, promise that you will do it tomorrow, for my sake.”
“Oh, bother!” said Mr. Cavendish; and it was all the answer he deigned to give before Mrs. Woodburn was called away, notwithstanding the adjuration she addressed to him. It was then getting late, too late, even had he been disposed for such an exertion, to try his fortunes again that day, and Lucilla’s allusion had given him a great longing to see Barbara once more before his sacrifice was accomplished. Not that it was such a great sacrifice, after all. For Mr. Cavendish was quite aware that Miss Marjoribanks was a far more suitable match for him than Barbara Lake, and he was not even disposed to offer himself and his name and fortune, such as they were, to the drawing-master’s daughter. But, to tell the truth, he was not a person of fixed and settled sentiments, as he ought to have been in order to triumph, as his sister desired, over the difficulties of his position. Perhaps Mrs. Woodburn herself would have done just the same, had it been she from whom action was demanded. But she was capable of much more spirited and determined conduct in theory, as was natural, and thought she could have done a great deal better, as so many women do.
Mr. Cavendish lounged about the garden a little, with his hands in his pockets, and then strayed out quite accidentally, and in the same unpremeditating mood made his way to Grove
