The postscript was the Squire’s own, and was inserted in opposition to the cousin’s judgment. “She won’t come for the sake of the books,” said the cousin. But the Squire thought that the attractions should be piled up. “I wouldn’t talk of the honeymoon till I’d got her to come round a little,” said the cousin. The Squire thought that the cousin was falsely delicate, and pleaded that all girls like to be taken abroad when they’re married. The second half of the body of the letter was very much disfigured by the Squire’s petulance; so that the modesty with which he commenced was almost put to the blush by a touch of arrogance in the conclusion. That sentence in which the Squire declared that an estate ought not to be crippled for the sake of the widow was very much questioned by the cousin. “Such a word as ‘widow’ never ought to go into such a letter as this.” But the Squire protested that he would not be mealymouthed. “She can bear to think of it, I’ll go bail; and why shouldn’t she hear about what she can think about?” “Don’t talk about furniture yet, Tom,” the cousin said; but the Squire was obstinate, and the cousin became hopeless. That word about loving her with all his heart was the cousin’s own, but what followed, as to her being mistress of Spoon Hall, was altogether opposed to his judgment. “She’ll be proud enough of Spoon Hall if she comes here,” said the Squire. “I’d let her come first,” said the cousin.
We all know that the phraseology of the letter was of no importance whatever. When it was received the lady was engaged to another man; and she regarded Mr. Spooner of Spoon Hall as being guilty of unpardonable impudence in approaching her at all.
“A red-faced vulgar old man, who looks as if he did nothing but drink,” she said to Lady Chiltern.
“He does you no harm, my dear.”
“But he does do harm. He makes things very uncomfortable. He has no business to think it possible. People will suppose that I gave him encouragement.”
“I used to have lovers coming to me year after year—the same people—whom I don’t think I ever encouraged; but I never felt angry with them.”
“But you didn’t have Mr. Spooner.”
“Mr. Spooner didn’t know me in those days, or there is no saying what might have happened.” Then Lady Chiltern argued the matter on views directly opposite to those which she had put forward when discussing the matter with her husband. “I always think that any man who is privileged to sit down to table with you is privileged to ask. There are disparities of course which may make the privilege questionable—disparities of age, rank, and means.”
“And of tastes,” said Adelaide.
“I don’t know about that.—A poet doesn’t want to marry a poetess, nor a philosopher a philosopheress. A man may make himself a fool by putting himself in the way of certain refusal; but I take it the broad rule is that a man may fall in love with any lady who habitually sits in his company.”
“I don’t agree with you at all. What would be said if the curate at Long Royston were to propose to one of the FitzHoward girls?”
“The Duchess would probably ask the Duke to make the young man a bishop out of hand, and the Duke would have to spend a morning in explaining to her the changes which have come over the making of bishops since she was young. There is no other rule that you can lay down, and I think that girls should understand that they have to fight their battles subject to that law. It’s very easy to say, ‘No.’ ”
“But a man won’t take ‘No.’ ”
“And it’s lucky for us sometimes that they don’t,” said Lady Chiltern, remembering certain passages in her early life.
The answer was written that night by Lord Chiltern after much consultation. As to the nature of the answer—that it should be a positive refusal—of course there could be no doubt; but then arose a question whether a reason should be given, or whether the refusal should be simply a refusal. At last it was decided that a reason should be given, and the letter ran as follows:—
My dear Mr. Spooner,
I am commissioned to inform you that Miss Palliser is engaged to be married to Mr. Gerard Maule.
The young lady had consented to be thus explicit because it had been already determined that no secret should be kept as to her future prospects.
“He is one of those poverty-stricken wheedling fellows that one meets about the world every day,” said the Squire to his cousin—“a fellow that rides horses that he can’t pay for, and owes some poor devil of a tailor for the breeches that he sits in. They eat, and drink, and get along heaven only knows how. But they’re sure to come to smash at last. Girls are such fools nowadays.”
“I don’t think there has ever been much difference in that,” said the cousin.
“Because a man greases his whiskers, and colours his hair, and paints his eyebrows, and wears kid gloves, by George, they’ll go through fire and water after him. He’ll never marry her.”
“So much the better for her.”
“But I hate such d⸺ impudence. What right has a man to come forward in that way who hasn’t got a house over his head, or the means of getting one? Old Maule is so hard up that he can barely get a dinner at his club in London. What I wonder at is that Lady Chiltern shouldn’t know better.”
XXX
Regrets
Madame Goesler remained at Matching till after the return of
