“No servant announced me.”
“And did you dare to force your way into my private house, and into my daughter’s presence unannounced? It is indeed time that I should take her abroad to undergo a prolonged residence in some foreign parts. But the laws of the country which you have outraged will punish you. In the meantime why do you not withdraw? Am I to be obeyed?”
“I have just one word which I wish to say to Miss Greenmantle.”
“Not a word. Withdraw! I tell you, sir, withdraw to the bank. There your presence is required. Here it will never be needed.”
“Goodbye, Emily,” he said, putting out his hand in his vain attempt to take hers.
“Withdraw, I tell you.” And Mr. Greenmantle, with all the stiffness of the poker apparent about him, backed poor young Philip Hughes through the doorway on to the staircase, and then banged the door behind him. Having done this, he threw himself on to the sofa, and hid his face with his hands. He wished it to be understood that the honour of his family had been altogether disgraced by the lightness of his daughter’s conduct.
But his daughter did not see the matter quite in the same light. Though she lacked something of that firmness of manner which Polly Peppercorn was prepared to exhibit, she did not intend to be altogether trodden on. “Papa,” she said, “why do you do that?”
“Good heavens!”
“Why do you cover up your face?”
“That a daughter of mine should have behaved so disgracefully!”
“I haven’t behaved disgracefully, papa.”
“Admitting a young man surreptitiously to my drawing-room!”
“I didn’t admit him; he walked in.”
“And on his knees! I found him on his knees.”
“I didn’t put him there. Of course he came—because—because—”
“Because what?” he demanded.
“Because he is my lover. I didn’t tell him to come; but of course he wanted to see me before we went away.”
“He shall see you no more.”
“Why shouldn’t he see me? He’s a very good young man, and I am very fond of him. That’s just the truth.”
“You shall be taken away for a prolonged residence in foreign parts before another week has passed over your head.”
“Dr. Freeborn quite approves of Mr. Hughes,” pleaded Emily. But the plea at the present moment was of no avail. Mr. Greenmantle in his present frame of mind was almost as angry with Dr. Freeborn as with Emily or Philip Hughes. Dr. Freeborn was joined in this frightful conspiracy against him.
“I do not know,” said he grandiloquently, “that Dr. Freeborn has any right to interfere with the private affairs of my family. Dr. Freeborn is simply the Rector of Plumplington—nothing more.”
“He wants to see the people around him all happy,” said Emily.
“He won’t see me happy,” said Mr. Greenmantle with awful pride.
“He always wishes to have family quarrels settled before Christmas.”
“He shan’t settle anything for me.” Mr. Greenmantle, as he so expressed himself, determined to maintain his own independence. “Why is he to interfere with my family quarrels because he’s the Rector of Plumplington? I never heard of such a thing. When I shall have taken up my residence in foreign parts he will have no right to interfere with me.”
“But, papa, he will be my clergyman all the same.”
“He won’t be mine, I can tell him that. And as for settling things by Christmas, it is all nonsense. Christmas, except for going to church and taking the Sacrament, is no more than any other day.”
“Oh, papa!”
“Well, my dear, I don’t quite mean that. What I do mean is that Dr. Freeborn has no more right to interfere with my family at this time of the year than at any other. And when you’re abroad, which you will be before Christmas, you’ll find that Dr. Freeborn will have nothing to say to you there.” “You had better begin to pack up at once,” he said on the following day.
“Pack up?”
“Yes, pack up. I shall take you first to London, where you will stay for a day or two. You will go by the afternoon train tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow!”
“I will write and order beds today.”
“But where are we to go?”
“That will be made known to you in due time,” said Mr. Greenmantle.
“But I’ve got no clothes,” said Emily.
“France is a land in which ladies delight to buy their dresses.”
“But I shall want all manner of things—boots and underclothing—and—and linen, papa.”
“They have all those things in France.”
“But they won’t fit me. I always have my things made to fit me. And I haven’t got any boxes.”
“Boxes! what boxes? work-boxes?”
“To put my things in. I can’t pack up unless I’ve got something to pack them in. As to going tomorrow, papa, it’s quite impossible. Of course there are people I must say goodbye to. The Freeborns—”
“Not the slightest necessity,” said Mr. Greenmantle. “Dr. Freeborn will quite understand the reason. As to boxes, you won’t want the boxes till you’ve bought the things to put in them.”
“But, papa, I can’t go without taking a quantity of things with me. I can’t get everything new; and then I must have my dresses made to fit me.” She was very lachrymose, very piteous, and full of entreaties; but still she knew what she was about. As the result of the interview, Mr. Greenmantle did almost acknowledge that they could not depart for a prolonged residence abroad on the morrow.
Early on the following morning Polly Peppercorn came to call. For the last month she had stuck to her resolution—that she and Miss Greenmantle belonged to different sets in society, and could not be brought together, as Polly had determined to wear her second-rate dresses in preparation for a second-rate marriage—and this visit was supposed to be something altogether out of the way. It was clearly a visit with a cause, as it was made at eleven o’clock in the morning. “Oh, Miss Greenmantle,” she
