But even of this there was much doubt. Application to Herbert’s father could not be judiciously made for some months. The earliest period at which, in accordance with old Hatto Heine’s agreement, young Onslow might be admitted to the bank, was still distant by four years; and the present moment was thought to be inopportune for applying to him for any act of grace. Let them wait, said papa and mamma Heine—at any rate till New Year’s Day, then ten months distant. Isa quietly said that she would wait till New Year’s Day. Herbert fretted, fumed, and declared that he was ill-treated. But in the end he also agreed to wait. What else could he do?
“But we shall see each other daily, and be close to each other,” he said to Isa, looking tenderly into her eyes. “Yes,” she replied, “we shall see each other daily—of course. But, Herbert—”
Herbert looked up at her and paused for her to go on.
“I have promised mamma that there shall be no change between us—in our manner to each other, I mean. We are not betrothed as yet, you know, and perhaps we may never be so.”
“Isa!”
“It may not be possible, you know. And therefore we will go on as before. Of course we shall see each other, and of course we shall be friends.”
Herbert Onslow again fretted and again fumed, but he did not have his way. He had looked forward to the ecstasies of a lover’s life, but very few of those ecstasies were awarded to him. He rarely found himself alone with Isa, and when he did do so, her coldness overawed him. He could dare to scold her, and sometimes did do so, but he could not dare to take the slightest liberty. Once, on that night when the qualified consent of papa and mamma Heine had first been given, he had been allowed to touch her lips with his own; but since that day there had been for him no such delight as that. She would not even allow her hand to remain in his. When they all passed their evenings together in the beer-garden, she would studiously manage that his chair should not be close to her own. Occasionally she would walk with him, but not more frequently now than of yore. Very few, indeed, of a lover’s privileges did he enjoy. And in this way the long year wore itself out, and Isa Heine was one-and-twenty.
All those family details which had made it inexpedient to apply either to old Hatto or to Herbert’s father before the end of the year need not be specially explained. Old Hatto, who had by far the greater share in the business, was a tyrant somewhat feared both by his brother and sister-in-law; and the elder Onslow, as was known to them all, was a man straitened in circumstances. But soon after New Year’s Day the proposition was made in the Schrannen Platz, and the letter was written. On this occasion Madame Heine went down to the bank, and together with her husband, was closeted for an hour with old Hatto. Uncle Hatto’s verdict was not favourable. As to the young people’s marriage, that was his brother’s affair, not his. But as to the partnership, that was a serious matter. Who ever heard of a partnership being given away merely because a man wanted to marry? He would keep to his promise, and if the stipulated moneys were forthcoming, Herbert Onslow should become a partner—in four years. Nor was the reply from England more favourable. The alliance was regarded by all the Onslows very favourably. Nothing could be nicer than such a marriage! They already knew dear Isa so well by description! But as for the money—that could not in any way be forthcoming till the end of the stipulated period.
“And what shall we do?” said Herbert to Papa Heine.
“You must wait,” said he.
“For four years?” asked Herbert.
“You must wait—as I did,” said Papa Heine. “I was forty before I could marry.” Papa Heine, however, should not have forgotten to say that his bride was only twenty, and that if he had waited, she had not.
“Isa,” Herbert said to her, when all this had been fully explained to her, “what do you say now?”
“Of course it is all over,” said she, very calmly.
“Oh, Isa, is that your love?”
“No, Herbert, that is not my love; that is my discretion;” and she even laughed with her mild low laughter, as she answered him. “You know you are too impatient to wait four years, and what else therefore can I say?”
“I wonder whether you love me?” said Herbert, with a grand look of injured sentiment.
“Well; in your sense of the word I do not think I do. I do not love you so that I need make everyone around us unhappy because circumstances forbid me to marry you. That sort of love would be baneful.”
“Ah no, you do not know what love means!”
“Not your boisterous, heartbreaking English love, Herbert. And, Herbert, sometimes I think you had better go home and look for a bride there. Though you fancy that you love me, in your heart you hardly approve of me.”
“Fancy that I love you! Do you think, Isa, that a man can carry his heart round to one customer after another as the huckster carries his wares?”
“Yes; I think he can. I know that men do. What did your hero Waverley do with his heart in that grand English novel which you gave me to read? I am not Flora Mac Ivor, but you may find a Rose Bradwardine.”
“And you really wish me to do so?”
“Look here, Herbert. It is bad to boast, but I will make this boast. I am so little selfish, that I desire above all that you should do that which may make you most happy and contented. I will be quite frank with you. I love you
