The Duke of Ormskirk considered the affair, a mild amusement waking in his plump face.
'Old friend,' said he, at length, 'it is my opinion that we are perilously near to being a couple of fools. We planned this marriage, you and I—dear, dear, we planned it when Marian was scarcely out of her cradle! But we failed to take nature into the plot, Harry. It was sensible—Oh, granted! I obtained a suitable mistress for Ingilby and Bottreaux Towers, a magnificent ornament for my coach and my opera-box; while you—your pardon, old friend, if I word it somewhat grossly,—you, in effect, obtained a wealthy and not uninfluential husband for your daughter. Nay, I think you are fond of me, but that is beside the mark; it was not Jack Bulmer who was to marry your daughter, but the Duke of Ormskirk. The thing was as logical as a sale of bullocks,—value for value. But now nature intervenes, and'—he snapped his fingers,—'eh, well, since she wants this Humphrey Degge, of course she must have him.'
Lord Brudenel mentioned several penalties which he would voluntarily incur in case of any such preposterous marriage.
'Your style,' the Duke regretfully observed, 'is somewhat more original than your subject. You have a handsome daughter to barter, and you want your price. The thing is far from uncommon. Yet you shall have your price, Harry. What estate do you demand of your son-in-law?'
'What the devil are you driving at?' said Lord Brudenel.
Composedly the Duke of Ormskirk spread out his hands. 'You have, in effect, placed Marian in the market,' he said, 'and I offer to give Lord Humphrey Degge the money with which to purchase her.'
'Tis evident,' the Earl considered, 'that you are demented!'
'Because I willingly part with money? But then I have a great deal of money. I have money, and I have power, and the King occasionally pats me upon the shoulder, and men call me 'your Grace,' instead of 'my Lord,' as they do you. So I ought to be very happy, ought I not, Harry? Ah, yes, I ought to be entirely happy, because I have had everything, with the unimportant exception of the one thing I wanted.'
But Lord Brudenel had drawn himself erect, stiffly. 'I am to understand, then, from this farrago, that on account of the—um—a—incident we have just witnessed you decline to marry my daughter?'
'I would sooner cut off my right hand,' said the Duke, 'for I am fonder of Marian than I am of any other living creature.'
'Oh, very well!' the Earl conceded, sulkily. 'Umfraville wants her. He is only a marquis, of course, but so far as money is concerned, I believe he is a thought better off than you. I would have preferred you as a son-in-law, you understand, but since you withdraw—why, then, let it be Umfraville.'
Now the Duke looked up into his face for some while. 'You would do that! You would sell Marian to Umfraville—[Footnote: 'Whose entrance blushing Satan did deny Lest hell be thought no better than a sty.'] to a person who unites the continence of a partridge with the graces of a Berkshire hog—to that lean whoremonger, to that disease-rotted goat! Because he has the money! Why, Harry, what a car you are!'
Lord Brudenel bowed, 'My Lord Duke, you are to-day my guest. I apprehend you will presently be leaving Halvergate, however, and as soon—as that regrettable event takes place, I shall see to it a friend wait upon you with the length of my sword. Meanwhile I venture to reserve the privilege of managing my family affairs at my own discretion.'
'I do not fight with hucksters,' the Duke flung at him, 'and you are one. Oh, you peddler! Can you not understand that I am trying to buy your daughter's happiness?'
'I intend that my daughter shall make a suitable match,' replied the Earl, stubbornly, 'and she shall. If Marian is a sensible girl—and, barring to-day, I have always esteemed her such,—she will find happiness in obeying her father's mandates: otherwise—' He waved the improbable contingency aside.
'Sensible! Faith, can you not see, even now, that to be sensible is not the highest wisdom? You and I are sensible as the world goes,—and in God's name, what good does it do us? Here we sit, two miserable and empty- veined old men squabbling across a deal-table, breaking up a friendship of thirty years. And yonder Marian and this Humphrey Degge—who are within a measurable distance of insanity, if their conversation be the touchstone,—yet tread the pinnacles of some seventh heaven of happiness. April has brought them love, Harry. Oh, I concede their love is folly! But it is all folly, Harry Heleigh. Purses, titles, blue ribbons, and the envy of our fellows are the toys which we struggle for, we sensible men; and in the end we find them only toys, and, gaining them, we gain only weariness. And love, too, is a toy; but, gaining love, we gain, at least, a temporary happiness. There is the difference, Harry Heleigh.'
'Oh, have done with your, balderdash!' said Lord Brudenel. He spoke irritably, for he knew his position to be guaranteed by common-sense, and his slow wrath was kindling at opposition.
His Grace of Ormskirk rose to his feet, all tension. In the act his hand struck against the open despatch-box; afterward, with a swift alteration of countenance, he overturned this box and scattered the contents about the table. For a moment he seemed to forget Lord Brudenel; quite without warning Ormskirk flared into rage.
'Harry Heleigh, Harry Heleigh!' he cried, as he strode across the terrace, and caught Lord Brudenel roughly by the shoulder, 'are you not content to go to your grave without killing another woman? Oh, you dotard miser!— you haberdasher!—haven't I offered you money, an isn't money the only thing you are now capable of caring for? Give the girl to Degge, you huckster!'
Lord Brudenel broke from the Duke's grasp. Brudenel was asplutter with anger. 'I will see you damned first. You offer money,—I fling the money in your fat face. Look you, you have just insulted, me, and now you offer— money! Another insult. John Bulmer, I would not accept an affront like this from an archangel. You are my guest, but I am only flesh and blood. I swear to you this is the most deliberate act of my life.' Lord Brudenel struck him full upon the cheek.
'Pardon,' said the Duke of Ormskirk. He stood rigid, his arms held stiff at his sides, his hands clenched; the red mark showed plain against an ashy countenance. 'Pardon me for a moment.' Once or twice he opened and shut his eyes like an automaton. 'And stop behaving so ridiculously. I cannot fight you. I have other matters to attend to. We are wise, Harry,—you and I. We know that love sometimes does not endure; sometimes it flares up at a girl's glance, quite suddenly, and afterward smoulders out into indifference or even into hatred. So, say we, let all sensible people marry for money, for then in any event you get what you marry for,—a material benefit, a tangible good, which does no vanish when the first squabble, or perhaps the first gray hair, arrives. That is sensible; but women, Harry, are not always sensible—'
'Draw, you coward!' Lord Brudenel snarled at him. The Earl had already lugged out his ineffectual dress sword, and would have been, as he stood on guard, a ludicrous figure had he not been rather terrible. His rage shook him visibly, and his obstinate mouth twitched and snapped like that of a beast cornered. All gray he was, and the sun glistened on his gray tye-wig as he waited. His eyes were coals.
But Ormskirk had regained composure. 'You know that I am not a coward,' the Duke said, equably. 'I have proven it many times. Besides, you overlook two details. One is that I have no sword with me, I am quite unarmed. The other detail is that only gentlemen fight duels, and just now we are hucksters, you and I, chaffering over Marian's happiness. So I return to my bargaining. You will not sell Marian's happiness to me for money? Why, then —remember, we are only hucksters, you and I,—I will purchase it by a dishonorable action. I will show you a woman's letters,—some letters I was going to burn romantically before I married—Instead, I wish you to read them.'
He pushed the papers lying upon the table toward Lord Brudenel. Afterward Ormskirk turned away and stood looking over the ivy-covered balustrade into the gardens below. All white and green and blue the vista was, and of a monastic tranquillity, save for the plashing of the fountain behind the yew-hedge. From the gardens at his feet irresolute gusts brought tepid woodland odors. He heard the rustling of papers, heard Lord Brudenel's sword fall jangling to the ground. The Duke turned.
'And for twenty years I have been eating my heart out with longing for her,' the Earl said. 'And—and I thought you were my friend, Jack.'
'She was not your wife when I first knew her. But John Bulmer was a penniless nobody,—so they gave her to you, an earl's heir, those sensible parents of hers. I never saw her again, though—as you see,—she wrote to me sometimes. And her parents did the sensible thing; but I think they killed her, Harry.'
'Killed her?' Lord Brudenel echoed, stupidly. Then on a sudden it was singular to see the glare in his eyes puffed out like a candle. 'I killed her,' he whispered; 'why, I killed Alison,—I!' He began to laugh. 'Now that is amusing, because she was the one thing in the world I ever loved. I remember that she used to shudder when I kissed her. I thought it was because she was only a brown and thin and timid child, who would be wiser in love's tricks by and by. Now I comprehend 'twas because every kiss was torment to her, because every time I touched her
