“Why do you want to take Emma away?” she said. “She seems to be happy here.”
“Do you think she makes the old people happier? They don’t say anything, but she seems to me to worry my old grandfather. I don’t want to take her away. She has her little schemes on hand, no doubt, and means to settle or something; but I cannot let her tire out the old people. They are part of my religion,” Roland said. This, too, was meant as provocation to draw Hester on to discuss the question of religion, perhaps to an attempt to convert him to sounder views, which is a very fruitful method. He looked at her with a pleased defiance in his eyes. But Hester was not to be drawn out on this subject. She had no dogmatic teaching in her, and did not feel qualified to discuss a man’s religion. Instead, she returned to the subject of their previous discussion, herself abandoning Emma’s cause.
“What do you do on the Stock Exchange?” she said.
“That is a tremendous question. I don’t know how to answer it. I should have to give you a lecture upon shares, and companies, and all the vicissitudes of the Funds.”
“These, I suppose, are your material, just as written things are the material of a newspaper editor. I understand that,” said Hester, “what I want to know is what you do.”
“We buy and we sell,” he said, with a laugh. “We are no better than any shopkeeper. We buy a thing when it is cheap, and hold it till it becomes dear, and then we sell it again.”
“But who,” said Hester, with a little scorn, “is so silly as to buy things when they are dear? Is it to oblige you? I thought that was against political economy—and everything of that kind,” she added vaguely. It was not the subject Roland would have chosen, but out of that, too, he could draw the thread of talk.
“Political economy is not infallible,” he said. “We praise our wares so, and represent their excellence so warmly, that there comes a moment when everybody wishes to buy them. Sometimes they deserve the commendations we bestow, sometimes they—don’t. But in either case people buy. And then political economy comes in, and the demand being great increases the value; so that sometimes we make a nice little bit of profit without spending a penny.”
Hester looked at him with a blank face. She knew nothing about these mysteries. She shook her head.
“I don’t understand business,” she said; “but how can you buy without spending a penny? I wish I knew how to do that.”
“I should like to do it for you,” said Roland, with a look that said still more; for even stockbroking will do as a vehicle for flirtation. “I should like to buy you a quantity of Circassians, for instance, exactly at the right moment, neither too soon nor too late, and sell them next day, perhaps, when the market had turned, and hand you over a thousand pounds or two which you should have made without, as I said, spending a penny. That would make the profession romantic, poetic, if one could conduct such operations for you. Probably I shall put that money into the pocket of some bilious city person who does not want it, instead of into your fair hands—”
“Which do. I don’t know if they are fair hands, but they want it certainly. A thousand or two! enough to make people comfortable for life. And what are Circassians?” Hester asked.
“They are stock. You must accept certain words as symbols, or we shall never make it clear. And my business is to watch the market for you, to catch the moment when the tide is turning. There is a great deal of excitement in it.”
“And is that how Edward loses his head?”
She spoke in a low tone, and Roland stopped suddenly in what he was about to say, and turned upon her with real surprise. After this he put on an air of mock mortification—mock, yet not without a mixture of the true.
“Is it for this,” he said, “that I have been devising delicate operations for you, and explaining all my mysteries? to find you at the end not in the least interested in my work or in your possible fortune, but considering everything in the light of Edward Vernon? Acknowledge that this is hard upon me.”
“I was thinking only,” said Hester, with again that sudden flush of colour, “of what you said, that Edward lost his head. It is not much wonder if what you say can be. He would like to be rich; he would like to be free. He would prefer to get a fortune of his own, especially if it can be done that way, rather than to wait for years and years, till he has made money, or till Catherine dies. That is generous, you know. He does not want to wait till she dies, as if he grudged her life. It would be terrible for her to think that he did not wish her to live as long as she could. But at the same time he wants, and so do we all, to be free.”
“I am so much obliged to you for explaining Edward Vernon’s motives,” said Roland, much piqued.
