Of Colonel Marchant’s existence at the Homestead local society had very little to say, except in a general way that he was not “nice.” He neglected his daughters, he never went to church, and he was always in debt. Maiden ladies and old women of the masculine gender used to speculate upon how long he would be able to go on before his creditors took desperate measures. How long would Midhurst and Haslemere bear and forbear with a man who was known to be deep in debt in both towns? All this and much more had John Vansittart heard from various people since the night of the hunt ball, for he had laid himself out with considerable artfulness to hear all he could about the Marchant family. In the beginning of things, albeit Eve appeared to him in all the innocent loveliness of Titania, he had told himself that he could not marry into such a family. Such an alliance would blight his life. He would have those four sisters upon his shoulders. He would be disgraced by a disreputable father-in-law.
And now in the night watches he told himself a very different story. He told himself that he should be a craven and a cur if he allowed Eve Marchant to suffer for her father’s sins. What was it to him that the Colonel had squandered his money on third-rate racers, and had been suspected of in and out running on second-rate racecourses? He loved the Colonel’s daughter; and as an honest man it was his duty to take her away from unworthy surroundings. Inclination and honesty pointing the same way, he was determined to do his duty—yes, even at the risk of disappointing the mother he loved.
So much for the night watches. He saw before him a fierce battle between love and prejudice, but he was determined to fight that battle.
The war began while this resolve was yet a new thing.
“So you have been calling at the Homestead, Jack,” said his sister at luncheon next day.
“Who told you that?” he asked curtly, reddening a little.
“One of those little birds of which we have a whole aviary. I drove into Midhurst this morning to talk to the fishmonger, and met the two Miss Etheringtons. They saw you going in at Colonel Marchant’s gate yesterday afternoon.”
“I wonder they didn’t wait outside to see when I came out again,” said Vansittart.
“I dare say they would have waited if it had been warmer weather. What could have induced you to call upon Colonel Marchant? Colonel, indeed! Colonel of a Yorkshire Volunteer regiment! I don’t believe he was ever any higher than ensign in the 107th.”
“Very likely not. But I didn’t call upon the Colonel; I called upon my partners at the hunt ball.”
“And no doubt they received you with open arms!”
“They received me with true Yorkshire hospitality, and gave me some excellent tea, to say nothing of buttered plum-loaf.”
“And I dare say they were not in the least embarrassed at doing the honours to a strange young man, without mother, or aunt, or so much as a governess to keep them in countenance.”
“Why should they require to be kept in countenance? Surely five girls ought to be chaperon enough for each other?”
“They are the most unconventional young women I ever met with,” said the eldest Miss Champernowne, who was a good judge of the conventional.
“They are very pretty, poor things,” said Mrs. Vansittart. “It is sad for them to belong to such a father.”
“You might spare your pity, mother,” exclaimed her son, growing angry. “I don’t know anything about Colonel Marchant; but I haven’t the slightest doubt that the things that are said about him in this neighbourhood are the usual exaggerations and distortions of the truth. As for his daughters, I never made the acquaintance of five brighter, healthier, merrier girls. The household is full of interest for me; and I want you to call at the Homestead with me, mother, and see with your own eyes what manner of girls Eve Marchant and her sisters are.”
“I call upon them, Jack!” exclaimed his mother. “I, who am only a visitor here! What good could that do?”
“Plenty of good, if you like. You don’t live quite at the other end of England. From Haslemere to Liss is not half an hour’s journey; and if you happen to like Miss Marchant—as I think you will—you might ask her to visit you at Merewood.”
A light dawned upon the hitherto unsuspecting mother, a light which was far from welcome. She sat looking at her son dumbly.
“Why not ask the whole five, while you are about it, Mrs. Vansittart?” said Claudia Champernowne, her thin lips contracting a little, as if she, too, saw cause for offence in Vansittart’s suggestion.
“My dear Jack, you must know I am the last person in the world to invite strange young women to my house—young women whose Bohemian ways would make me miserable,” remonstrated Mrs. Vansittart, severely. “I can’t think what can have put such an idea into your head.”
“Christian charity, no doubt,” sneered Claudia.
“Well, after all, these girls are not actually disreputable,” pleaded Lady Hartley, who was always good-natured; “one sees them at all the omnium gatherums in the neighbourhood, and they don’t behave worse than the general run of girls. If you had asked me to take notice of them, Jack, I could understand you—but to bother mother—mother who lives in another county, and who can’t be supposed to care about taking up strange girls.”
“So be it, Maud. You shall go with me the next time I call at the Homestead.”
“What, you are actually going to keep up a calling acquaintance with the Marchant girls? How very eccentric!”
“Yes, I am going to keep up my acquaintance with the Miss Marchants. I am going to make myself acquainted with their father. I am going to see with my own eyes whether Lucifer is quite as black as he is painted,” answered Vansittart,
