He Knew He Was Right

had made a proposition to his ladylove, that she should walk out of the house one fine morning, and get herself married without any reference to her father’s or her mother’s wishes. But she had not been willing to take upon herself as yet independence so complete as this would have required. She had assured her lover that she did mean to marry him some day, even though it should be in opposition to her father, but that she thought that the period for filial persuasion was not yet over; and then, in explaining all this to her mother, she had given a promise neither to write nor to receive letters during the short period of her sojourn in Italy. She would be an obedient child for so long;⁠—but, after that, she must claim the right to fight her own battle. She had told her lover that he must not write; and, of course, she had not written a word herself. But now, when her mother threw it in her teeth that Stanbury would not be ready to marry her, she thought that an unfair advantage was being taken of her⁠—and of him. How could he be expected to say that he was ready⁠—deprived as he was of the power of saying anything at all?

“Mamma,” she said, the day before they went to Florence, “has papa fixed about your leaving England yet? I suppose you’ll go now on the last Saturday in July?”

“I suppose we shall, my dear.”

“Has not papa written about the berths?”

“I believe he has, my dear.”

“Because he ought to know who are going. I will not go.”

“You will not, Nora. Is that a proper way of speaking?”

“Dear mamma, I mean it to be proper. I hope it is proper. But is it not best that we should understand each other? All my life depends on my going or my staying now. I must decide.”

“After what has passed, you do not, I suppose, mean to live in Mr. Glascock’s house?”

“Certainly not. I mean to live with⁠—with⁠—with my husband. Mamma, I promised not to write, and I have not written. And he has not written⁠—because I told him not. Therefore, nothing is settled. But it is not fair to throw it in my teeth that nothing is settled.”

“I have thrown nothing in your teeth, Nora.”

“Papa talks sneeringly about chairs and tables. Of course, I know what he is thinking of. As I cannot go with him to the Mandarins, I think I ought to be allowed to look after the chairs and tables.”

“What do you mean, my dear?”

“That you should absolve me from my promise, and let me write to Mr. Stanbury. I do not want to be left without a home.”

“You cannot wish to write to a gentleman and ask him to marry you!”

“Why not? We are engaged. I shall not ask him to marry me⁠—that is already settled; but I shall ask him to make arrangements.”

“Your papa will be very angry if you break your word to him.”

“I will write, and show you the letter. Papa may see it, and if he will not let it go, it shall not go. He shall not say that I broke my word. But, mamma, I will not go out to the Islands. I should never get back again, and I should be brokenhearted.” Lady Rowley had nothing to say to this; and Nora went and wrote her letter. “Dear Hugh,” the letter ran, “Papa and mamma leave England on the last Saturday in July. I have told mamma that I cannot return with them. Of course, you know why I stay. Mr. Glascock is to be married the day after tomorrow, and they have asked me to go with them to Monkhams some time in August. I think I shall do so, unless Emily wants me to remain with her. At any rate, I shall try to be with her till I go there. You will understand why I tell you all this. Papa and mamma know that I am writing. It is only a business letter, and, therefore, I shall say no more, except that I am ever and always yours⁠—Nora.” “There,” she said, handing her letter to her mother, “I think that that ought to be sent. If papa chooses to prevent its going, he can.”

Lady Rowley, when she handed the letter to her husband, recommended that it should be allowed to go to its destination. She admitted that, if they sent it, they would thereby signify their consent to her engagement;⁠—and she alleged that Nora was so strong in her will, and that the circumstances of their journey out to the Antipodes were so peculiar, that it was of no avail for them any longer to oppose the match. They could not force their daughter to go with them. “But I can cast her off from me, if she be disobedient,” said Sir Marmaduke. Lady Rowley, however, had no desire that her daughter should be cast off, and was aware that Sir Marmaduke, when it came to the point of casting off, would be as little inclined to be stern as she was herself. Sir Marmaduke, still hoping that firmness would carry the day, and believing that it behoved him to maintain his parental authority, ended the discussion by keeping possession of the letter, and saying that he would take time to consider the matter. “What security have we that he will ever marry her, if she does stay?” he asked the next morning. Lady Rowley had no doubt on this score, and protested that her opposition to Hugh Stanbury arose simply from his want of income. “I should never be justified,” said Sir Marmaduke, “if I were to go and leave my girl as it were in the hands of a penny-a-liner.” The letter, in the end, was not sent; and Nora and her father hardly spoke to each other as they made their journey back to Florence together.

Emily Trevelyan, before the arrival of that