“Not stay at Oileymead?”
“No, indeed. I’ll let the place, and go and travel somewheres. What’s the use of my hanging on there without the woman of my heart? I couldn’t do it, Mrs. Greenow; I couldn’t, indeed. Of course I’ve got everything there that money can buy—but it’s all of no use to a man that’s in love. Do you know, I’ve come quite to despise money and stock, and all that sort of thing. I haven’t had my banker’s book home these last three months. Only think of that now.”
“But how can I help you, Mr. Cheesacre?”
“Just say one word, and the thing’ll be done. Say you’ll be my wife? I’ll be so good to you. I will, indeed. As for your fortune, I don’t care that for it! I’m not like somebody else; it’s yourself I want. You shall be my pet, and my poppet, and my dearest little duck all the days of your life.”
“No, Mr. Cheesacre; it cannot be.”
“And why not? Look here, Arabella!” At these words he rose from his chair, and coming immediately before her, went down on both knees so close to her as to prevent the possibility of her escaping from him. There could be no doubt as to the efficacy of the cherry-brandy. There he was, well down on his knees; but he had not got down so low without some little cracking and straining on the part of the gaiters with which his legs were encompassed. He, in his passion, had probably omitted to notice this; but Mrs. Greenow, who was more cool in her present temperament, was painfully aware that he might not be able to rise with ease.
“Mr. Cheesacre, don’t make a fool of yourself. Get up,” said she.
“Never, till you have told me that you will be mine!”
“Then you’ll remain there forever, which will be inconvenient. I won’t have you take hold of my hand, Mr. Cheesacre. I tell you to have done.” Whereupon his grasp upon her hand was released; but he made no attempt to rise.
“I never saw a man look so much like a fool in my life,” said she. “If you don’t get up, I’ll push you over. There; don’t you hear? There’s somebody coming.”
But Cheesacre, whose senses were less acute than the lady’s, did not hear. “I’ll never get up,” said he, “till you have bid me hope.”
“Bid you play the fiddle. Get away from my knees, at any rate. There;—he’ll be in the room now before—”
Cheesacre now did hear a sound of steps, and the door was opened while he made his first futile attempt to get back to a standing position. The door was opened, and Captain Bellfield entered. “I beg ten thousand pardons,” said he, “but as I did not see Jeannette, I ventured to come in. May I venture to congratulate my friend Cheesacre on his success?”
In the meantime Cheesacre had risen; but he had done so slowly, and with evident difficulty. “I’ll trouble you to leave the room, Captain Bellfield,” said he. “I’m particularly engaged with Mrs. Greenow, as any gentleman might have seen.”
“There wasn’t the slightest difficulty in seeing it, old fellow,” said the Captain. “Shall I wish you joy?”
“I’ll trouble you to leave the room, sir,” said Cheesacre, walking up to him.
“Certainly, if Mrs. Greenow will desire me to do so,” said the Captain.
Then Mrs. Greenow felt herself called upon to speak.
“Gentlemen, I must beg that you will not make my drawing-room a place for quarrelling. Captain Bellfield, lest there should be any misconception, I must beg you to understand that the position in which you found Mr. Cheesacre was one altogether of his own seeking. It was not with my consent that he was there.”
“I can easily believe that, Mrs. Greenow,” said the Captain.
“Who cares what you believe, sir?” said Mr. Cheesacre.
“Gentlemen! gentlemen! this is really unkind. Captain Bellfield, I think I had better ask you to withdraw.”
“By all means,” said Mr. Cheesacre.
“As it is absolutely necessary that I should give Mr. Cheesacre a definite answer after what has occurred—”
“Of course,” said Captain Bellfield, preparing to go. “I’ll take another opportunity of paying my respects to you. Perhaps I might be allowed to come this evening?”
To this Mrs. Greenow half assented with an uncertain nod, and then the Captain went. As soon as the door was closed behind his back, Mr. Cheesacre again prepared to throw himself into his former position, but to this Mrs. Greenow decidedly objected. If he were allowed to go down again, there was no knowing what force might be necessary to raise him. “Mr. Cheesacre,” she said, “let there be an end to this little farce between us.”
“Farce!” said he, standing with his hand on his heart, and his legs and knickerbockers well displayed.
“It is certainly either a farce or a mistake. If the latter—and I have been at all to blame—I ask your pardon most sincerely.”
“But you’ll be Mrs. Cheesacre; won’t you?”
“No, Mr. Cheesacre; no. One husband is enough for any woman, and mine lies buried at Birmingham.”
“Oh, damn it!” said he, in utter disgust at this further reference to Mr. Greenow. The expression, at such a moment, militated against courtesy; but even Mrs. Greenow herself felt that the poor man had been subjected to provocation.
“Let us part friends,” said she, offering him her hand.
But he turned his back upon her, for there was something in his eye that he wanted to hide. I believe that he really did love her, and that at this moment he would have taken her, even though he had learned that her fortune was gone.
“Will you not give me your hand,” said she, “in token that there is no anger between us?”
“Do think about it again—do!” said he. “If there’s anything you like to have changed, I’ll change it at once. I’ll give up Oileymead altogether, if you don’t like being so near the farmyard. I’ll give up anything;
