Volume Two – Chapter Nine.
Going to Court
Marcus Glen was not a man given to deep thinking, but one of those straightforward, trusting fellows who, when once he placed faith in another, gave his whole blind confidence, and whom it was difficult afterwards to shake in his belief. He had had his flirtations here and there where his regiment had been stationed, and fancied himself deeply in love; been jilted in a fashionable way, smoked a cigar over it, and enjoyed his meals at the mess as usual. But he had found in Clotilde one so different to the insipid girls of former acquaintance: she was far more innocent in most things, thoroughly unworldly, and at the same time so full of loving passion, giving herself, as it were, to his arms with a full trust and faith, that his pulses had been thoroughly stirred. She told him of her past, and he soon found out for himself that hers had been no life of seasons, with half a dozen admirers in each. He was her first lover, and he told himself – doubtingly – that she was the first woman, and would be the only one, he could ever love.
Their meetings became few and seldom, and were nearly all of a stolen nature, for there could be no disguising the fact that when the young officer called the Honourable Philippa Dymcox was cold and stately; and though her sister seemed to nervously desire to further Glen’s wishes, she stood too much in awe of her sister, and with a sigh forebore.
Dick Millet then had to put his plan in force, and Joseph began to grow comparatively wealthy with the weight of the Queen’s heads that accompanied the notes he bore to the young ladies, and visions of the lodging-house he meant some day to take grew clearer and less hazy in the distance that they had formerly seemed to occupy.
Visits were paid to Lady Littletown’s, and that dame was quite affectionate in her ways, but Clotilde and Marie were rarely encountered there; and when fortune did favour Glen to the extent of a meeting, there were no more inspections of her ladyship’s exotics, no encounters alone, for Lady Littletown was always present; and at last Glen felt that, if he wished to win, it must be by extraordinary, and not by ordinary means.
The slightest hint of this seemed to set Dick on fire.
“To be sure,” he cried; “the very thing! We must carry them off, Glen, dear boy. Like you know who.”
“And do you think our friend Marie will consent to be carried off?”
“Well – er – yes; I dare say she would oppose it at first, but the moment she feels certain that her aunts mean to force her into a marriage with old Moorpark, I feel sure that she will yield.”
“Ah, well,” said Glen, “we shall see; but look here, most chivalrous of youths, and greatest among lovers of romance – ”
“Oh, I say, how I do hate it when you take up that horrible chaffing tone!”
“Chaff, my dear boy? No, no, this is sound commonsense! I do not say that under certain circumstances I might not have a brougham in waiting, and say to a lady ‘Here is the licence, let us be driven straight to the church and made one;’ but believe me, my dear Dick, all those romantic, elopement-loving days are gone by. We have grown too matter-of-fact now.”
“Hang matter-of-fact! I mean to let nothing stand in my way, so I tell you! But, I say, have you heard?”
“About your sisters? Yes.”
“Hang it, no!” cried Dick angrily; “let that rest. It’s bad enough meeting Black Malpas at the mess-table, and being kept back by etiquette from hurling knives. I mean about the dinner.”
“What dinner?”
“Dymcoxes’. And we’re not asked. Our dinner’s cold shoulder.”
“A dinner-party?”
“Yes; and those two old buffers are to be there.”
Dick was right, for a dinner was given in the private apartments, where the ladies did their best; but it certainly was not a success, and Marie could not help bitterly contrasting the difference between the repast and its surroundings and that given by Lady Littletown. For the Honourable Misses Dymcox had been unfortunate in the purveyor to whom they had applied to furnish the dinner and all the necessaries. All the linen, the plate, the glass, and, above all, the ornamentation, had a cheap, evening-party supper aspect. There was the plated épergne which showed so much copper that it seemed to be trying to out-brazen the battered Roman cup-shaped wine-coolers, in each of which stood icing a bottle of champagne, quite unknown to fame – a wine with which a respectable bottle of Burton ale would have considered it beneath its dignity to associate. There were flowers upon the table furnished by the pastrycook; and though a couple of shillings would have supplied a modest selection of the real, according to well-established custom these were artificial, many of them being fearfully and wonderfully made.
That artificiality pervaded the whole repast, which from beginning to end was suggestive of oil-made, puffed-up pastry, which would crush into nothing at a touch; while soups, gravies, and the preparations of animal flesh, purveyed and presented under names in John Bull French, with a good deal of
à la
in the composition, one and all tasted strongly of essence of beef, that delicious combination of tin-pot, solder, resin, and molten glue, which flavours so many of our cheaper feasts.
To give the whole a
distingué
air, the London pastrycook had sent down, beside his red-nosed
chef
and dubiously bright stewpans, those two well-known, ghastly-white temples, composed of sugar and chalk, which do duty at scores of wedding-breakfasts, and then stand in the pastrycook’s window afterwards covered with glass shades, to keep them from the unholy touch of flies, and their sides from desecration by rubbing shoulders with the penny buns.
It was a mistake, too, to engage Mortimer, the gentleman who waited table for the gentry of Hampton Court, and invariably took the lead in single-handed places and played the part of butler. Mr Mortimer had been in service —
the
service, he called it – saved money, applied to a rising brewer, and taken a public-house “doing” a great number of barrels per week, so he was informed; but the remarkable fact about that house was that as soon as Mr Mortimer had paid over his hard-earned savings and taken his position as landlord, the whole district became wonderfully temperate, and, to use his own words, “If I hadn’t taken to paying for glasses of ale myself, and so kept the engine going, there would have been next to nothing to do.” The result was that in six months Mr Mortimer had to leave the house, a poorer and a wiser man, picking up odd jobs in waiting afterwards in the Palace and neighbourhood, but retaining his habit of buying himself glasses of ale to a rather alarming extent.
This habit was manifest upon the entrance of the first course, and had greatly exercised Joseph in spirit lest it should be detected. In fact, it became so bad by the time that the remove in the second course was due, that the footman made a strategic movement, inveigling Mr Mortimer into the big cupboard where knives and boots and shoes were cleaned, and then and there locking him up in company with a glass and jug.
Perhaps a viler dinner, worse managed, was never set before guests; but to Lord Henry Moorpark it was a banquet in dreamland, to Mr Elbraham it was a feast, for from the moment he took down Clotilde to that when the ladies rose to return to the drawing-room, he literally gloated over and devoured the Honourable Misses Dymcox’s niece.
Good dinners, served in the most refined style, had lost their charm for the visitors, who seemed perfectly satisfied, Elbraham’s face shining like a sun when he smiled blandly at his
vis-à-vis
, whose deeply-lined, aristocratic countenance wore an aspect of pleasant satisfaction as he gazed back at the millionaire.
“I say, Moorpark, they look well, don’t they?” said Elbraham.
“They do, indeed,” assented Lord Henry, smiling.
“Make some of them stare on the happy day, I think.”
“They are certainly very, very beautiful women,” replied Lord Henry, smiling and thoughtful.
“Eh – what? Oh, ah – yes: coffee. Thanks; I’ll take coffee.”
This to Joseph, who brought in a black mixture with some thin hot milk and brown sugar to match. Lord Henry also took a cup, but it was observable that neither gentleman got much farther than a couple of spoonfuls.
“Well,” said Elbraham suddenly, stretching out his hairy paws, and examining their fronts and backs, “it’s of no use our sitting here drinking wine, is it?”
“Certainly not,” said Lord Henry, who had merely sipped the very thin champagne at dinner and taken nothing since.
So the gentlemen adjourned to the drawing-room, where certain conversations took place before they left, the effect of which was to send Mr Elbraham back to town highly elate, and Lord Henry to his old bachelor home a sadder, if not a wiser, man.
He had found his opportunity, or, rather, it had been made for him, and he had plainly asked Marie to be his wife.
“I know I ask you to make a sacrifice,” he said – “you so youthful and beautiful, while I am old, and not possessed of the attraction a young man might have in your eyes; but if you will be my wife, nothing that wealth and position can give shall be wanting to make yours a happy home.”
He thought Marie had never looked so beautiful before, as with flushed cheeks she essayed to speak, and, smiling as he took her soft, white hand in his, he asked her to be calm and patient with him.
“I dread your refusal,” he said; “and yet, old as I am, there is no selfishness in my love. I wish to see you happy, my child – I wish to make you happy.”
“She has accepted him,” thought Marie; and her heart began to beat with painful violence, for, Clotilde away, who could say that Marcus Glen would not come to her for sympathy, and at last ask her love. She felt that she could not accept Lord Henry’s proposal, and she turned her face towards him in an appealing way.
“You look troubled, my child,” he said tenderly. “I want you to turn to me as you would to one who has your happiness thoroughly at heart. I want to win your love.”
“My – my aunts know that you ask me this, Lord Henry?” she faltered.
“Yes, they know it; and they wish it, for we have quietly discussed the matter, and,” he added, with a sad smile, “I have not omitted to point out to them how unsuited to you I am as a match. I throw myself then upon your mercy, Marie, but you must not let fear influence you; I must have your heart, my child, given over to my safe-keeping.”
She looked at him wildly.
“Is this hand to be mine?” he whispered. “Will you make the rest of my days blessed with your young love? Tell me, is it to be?”
“Oh, no, no, no, Lord Henry,” she said, in a low, excited tone; “I could not, I dare not say yes. Pray, pray do not ask me.”
“Shall I give you time?” he whispered; “shall I wait a week – a month, for your answer, and then come again and plead?”
“Oh, no, no, no,” she said; “I could – I never could say yes. I like you, Lord Henry, I respect and esteem you – indeed, indeed I do; but I could not become your wife.”
“You could not become my wife,” he said softly. “No, no, I suppose not. It was another foolish dream, and I should have been wiser. But you will not ridicule me when I am gone? I ask you to try and think of the old man’s love with respect, even if it is mingled with pity, for, believe me, my child, it is very true and honest.”
“Ridicule! oh, no, no,” cried Marie eagerly, “I could not do that. You ask me to be your wife, Lord Henry: I cannot, but I have always felt that I loved you as – like – ”
“You might say a father or some dear old friend?” said Lord Henry sadly.
“Yes, indeed yes!” she cried.
“Be it so, then,” he said, holding her hand in his in a sad, resigned way. “You are right; it is impossible. Your young verdant spring and my frosted winter would be ill matched. But let me go on loving you – if not as one who would be your husband, as a very faithful friend.”
“Yes, yes, please, Lord Henry,” she said; “I have so few friends.”
“Then you shall not lose me for one,” he continued sadly. “There, there, the little dream is over, and I am awake again. See here, Marie,” he said, drawing a diamond and sapphire ring from his pocket, “this was to be your engaged ring: I am going to place it on your finger now as a present from the dear old friend.”
She shrank from him, but he retained her hand gently, and she felt the ring glide over her finger, a quick glance showing her that her aunts were seeing everything from behind the books they were reading, becoming deeply immersed, though, as they saw how far matters seemed to have progressed.
Mr Elbraham’s wooing was moulded far differently to Lord Henry’s.
It was an understood thing that he was to propose that evening, the dinner being given for the purpose.
“There’s no confounded tom-fool nonsense about me;” and each time Mr Elbraham said this he took out of the morocco white satin-lined case a brilliant half-hoop ring, set with magnificent stones, breathed on it, held it to the light, moistened it between his lips, held it up again, finished by rubbing it upon his sleeve, and returning it to the case.
“That’ll fetch her,” he said. “My! what you can do with a woman if you bring out a few diamonds. I shan’t shilly-shally: I shall come out with it plump;” but all the same, when by proper manoeuvring the Honourable Misses Dymcox had arranged themselves behind books and left the two couples at opposite ends of the room, while they themselves occupied
dos-à-dos
the ottoman in the centre, Mr Elbraham did not “out with it plump.”
He seated himself as close as decency would permit to Clotilde, and stared at her, and breathed hard, while she returned his look with one that was half mocking, half defiant.
“Been to many parties lately?” he said at last, nothing else occurring to his mind except sentences that he would have addressed to ballet-girls upon their good looks, their agility, and the like.
No; Clotilde had not been to many parties.
“But you like ’em; I’ll bet a wager you like ’em?” said Elbraham with a hoarse laugh.
Oh yes, Clotilde dearly liked parties when they were nice.
There was another interval of hard breathing, during which Mr Elbraham took out and consulted his watch.
The act of replacing that made him remember the ring in the morocco case, and he thrust his finger and thumb in his vest pocket, but it was not there, and he remembered that he had placed it in his trousers pocket.
This was awkward, for Mr Elbraham was stout and his garments tight. Still, he would want it directly, and he made a struggle and dragged it out, growing rather red in the face with the effort.
This gave him something else to talk about.
“Ha! it’s nice to be you,” he said, dropping the case in his vest.
“Why?” said Clotilde, looking amused.
“Because you gal – ladies dress so well; not like us, always in black. That’s a pretty dress.”
“Think so?” said Clotilde carelessly.
“Very pretty. I like it ever so, but it isn’t half good enough for you. – That’s getting on at last,” he muttered to himself.
“Oh yes, but it is. Aunt Philippa said it was a very expensive dress.”
“Tchh, my dear, rubbish! Why, I would not see anyone I cared for in such a dress as that. I like things rich and good, and the best money can buy.”
“Do you?” said Clotilde innocently; but her cheeks began to burn.
“Do I? Yes; I should just think I do. Look here! What do you think of that?”
He took out and opened the little case, breathed on the diamonds, and then held them in a good light.
“Oh, how lovely!” said Clotilde softly.
“Ain’t they?” said Elbraham. “They’re the best they’d got at Hancock’s, in Bond Street. Pretty stiff figure, too, I can tell you.”
“Are you fond of diamonds, Mr Elbraham?” she said, with a peculiar look at him from beneath her darkly fringed lids – a strange look for one so innocent and young.
“Yes, on some people,” he said. “Are you?”
“Oh yes; I love them,” she said eagerly.
“All right, then. Look here, Clotilde; say the word, and you can have diamonds till you are sick of them, and everything else. I – hang it all! I’m not used to this sort of thing,” he said, dabbing his moist face with his handkerchief; “but I said to myself, when I came to-night, ‘I won’t shilly-shally, but ask her out plain.’ So look here, my dear, may I put this diamond ring on the finger of the lady that’s to be Mrs Elbraham as soon as she likes?”
Clotilde darted one luminous look at him which took in his squat, vulgar figure and red face, and then her eyes half-closed, and she saw tall, manly, handsome Marcus Glen look appealingly in her eyes, and telling her he loved her with all his heart.
She loved him – she told herself she loved him very dearly; but he was poor, and on the one side was life in lodgings in provincial towns wherever the regiment was stationed; on the other side, horses and carriages and servants, a splendid town mansion, diamonds, dresses, the opera, every luxury and gaiety that money could command.
“Poor Marcus!” she sighed to herself. “He’s very nice!”
“Come,” said Mr Elbraham; “I don’t suppose you want me to go down on my knees and propose, do you? I want to do the thing right, but I’m a business man, you know; and, I say, Clotilde, you’re the most beautiful gal I ever saw in my life.”
She slowly raised her eyes to his, and there was a wicked, mocking laugh in her look as she said in a low tone:
“Am I?”
“Yes, that you are,” he whispered in a low, passionate tone.
“You are laughing at me,” she said softly.
“’Pon my soul I’m not,” he whispered again; “I swear I’m not; and I love you – there, I can’t tell you how much. I say, don’t play with me. I’ll do anything you like – give you anything you like. I’ll make the princesses bite their lips with jealousy to see your jewels. I will, honour! May I? Yes? Slip it on? I say, my beautiful darling, when may I put on the plain gold one?”
“Oh, hush!” she whispered softly, as she surrendered her hand, and fixed her eyes in what he told himself was a loving, rapturous gaze upon his; “be content now.”
“But no games,” he whispered; “you’ll be my wife?”
“Yes,” she said in the same low tone, and he raised the beringed hand to his lips, while the Honourable Isabella uttered a little faint sigh, and her book trembled visibly in her attenuated hands.
“Hah!” ejaculated Mr Elbraham; and then to himself: “What things diamonds are!”
Perhaps he would have felt less satisfied if he had known that, when Clotilde fixed her eyes upon his, she was looking down a long vista of pleasure stretched out in the future.
At the same moment the face of Marcus Glen seemed to rise up before her, but she put it aside as she lifted the hand that Elbraham had just kissed.
“He could not have brought me such a ring as that,” she said to herself; and then, “Heigho! poor fellow; but it isn’t my fault. I must tell him I am only doing what my dear aunts wish.”
She placed the ring against her deep-red lips and kissed it very softly, her beautiful eyes with their long fringed lids looking dark and dewy, and full of a delicious languor that made Mr Elbraham sit with his arms resting upon his knees, and gaze at her with half-open mouth, while he felt a strange feeling of triumph at his power as a man of the world, and thought of how he would show off his young wife to all he knew, and gloat over their envy.
Then a sense of satisfaction and love of self came over him, and he indulged in a little glorification of Mr Elbraham.
“Litton’s a humbug,” he said to himself; “I can get on better without his advice than with it. Women like a fellow to be downright with them, and say what he means.”
Volume Two – Chapter Ten.
Glen Declares War
Dick Millet placed a note in his friend’s hand one day during parade, and Glen thrust it out of sight on the instant, glancing sidewise to see if Major Malpas had noticed the act, and then biting his lip with vexation at Dick being so foolish.
A good deal of the foolishness was on his own side, for had he taken the letter in a matter-of-fact manner, no one would have paid the slightest heed, or fancied that it came from a lady in a clandestine way.
But, as is generally the case in such matters, the person most anxious to keep his correspondence a secret is one of the first to betray himself, and, feeling this, Glen was in no very good humour.
The secret correspondence he had been carrying on with Clotilde was very sweet; but it annoyed him sadly, for his was not a nature to like the constant subterfuge. By nature frank and open, there was to him something exceedingly degrading in the fact that servants were bribed and the aunts deceived; and with a stern determination to put an end to it all, and frankly speak to the Honourable Misses Dymcox concerning his attachment to Clotilde, he went on with his duties till the men were dismissed.
“How could you be so stupid, Dick!” he exclaimed, as soon as they were clinking back, sabre and spur, to their quarters.
“Foolish!” said the little fellow, with a melodramatic laugh; “I thought you would like to get your letter. I don’t care about keeping all the fun to myself.”
“What’s the matter?” said Glen, smiling. “Has the fair Marie been snubbing you?”
“No. Look at your letter,” said the little fellow tragically.
Glen placed his hand in his breast, but, altering his mind, he walked on to his room before taking out the letter and glancing at it; then leaping up, he strode out into the passage and across to Dick’s quarters, to find that gentleman looking the very image of despair.
“Here, what does this mean?” exclaimed Glen. “Why did you not send my note with yours?”
“Did!”
“Then how is it you have brought it back?”
“That scoundrel Joseph!” exclaimed Dick. “I won’t believe but that it’s some trick on his part, for I don’t trust a word he says.”
“What does he say, then?”
“That they returned the notes unopened, and that – can you bear it?”
“Bear it! Bear what? Of course – yes; go on.”
“I’ve heard that Clotilde has accepted Mr Elbraham, and they are going to be married directly.”
Glen stood and glared at him for a moment, and then burst into a hearty laugh.
“Absurd! nonsense! Why, who told you this?”
“Joseph.”
“Rubbish! Joseph is an ass. The fellow forgot to deliver the letters.”
Dick spoke to him again, but Glen did not hear his words in the anger that had taken possession of him. He had, against his will, allowed himself to be swayed by Clotilde, and carried on the clandestine correspondence that was repugnant to his frank nature; and now he blamed himself for his conduct.
“Look here, Dick,” he cried at last, “we have been behaving like a couple of foolish boys ashamed of their feelings, and the consequence is we have been unable to take the part of those two when they have been urged to accept proposals by their aunts.”
“Don’t say
they
; it is only Clotilde.”
“I’ll wager it is Marie as well, my boy; else why did you get your note back?”
Dick looked staggered, and gazed in his friend’s face.
“I say, you know, what are you going to do?” he said it last.
“Going straight to the private apartments to see the aunts. Come with me?”
“What, to meet the old dragons, and talk about it?”
“Yes, of course. It is cowardly to hold back.”
“That’s – er – a matter of opinion,” said Dick, who looked uneasy. “I – er – don’t think it would be quite wise to go.”
“As you like!” said Glen shortly; and before the boy could quite realise the position the door swung back heavily and his visitor was gone.
“Well,” said Dick thoughtfully, “I could go through a good deal for Marie’s sake, and would give a good deal to see her now, but face those two old Gorgons? No, not this time; I’d rather take a header into the Thames any day, and I don’t believe Glen has gone, after all.”
But he had gone straight to the private apartments, rung, and sent in his card to where the Honourable Misses Dymcox were discussing preparations for the marriage, with their nieces in the room.
“Captain Glen!” exclaimed the Honourable Philippa, starting as she read the card; “so early! What can he want?”
Marie glanced at her sister, and saw that she looked flushed and excited; but as soon as Clotilde found that she was observed, she returned a fierce, defiant glance at Marie’s inquisitive eyes.
“Had – hadn’t we better say ‘Not at home’?” whispered the Honourable Isabella.
“No: it would be cowardly,” replied her sister. “Joseph, you can show up Captain Glen.”
Clotilde rose and left the room, and Marie was following, but her aunt arrested her.
“No, my dear, I would rather you would stay,” she exclaimed; and full of sympathy, but at the same time unable to control a sense of gladness at her heart, Marie resumed her seat just as Ruth entered the room.
The next moment Glen was shown in, and after the customary salutations and commonplace remarks asked for a few minutes’ conversation with the ladies alone.
The Honourable Philippa was a good deal fluttered, but she preserved her dignity, and signed to Marie and Ruth to withdraw, the former darting a look full of meaning as she passed Marcus, who hastened to open the door, the latter glancing up at him for a moment, and he smiled back in her face, which was full of sympathy for him in his pain.
Glen closed the door in the midst of a chilling silence, and returned to his seat facing the thin sisters, feeling that the task he had undertaken was anything but the most pleasant under the sun.
He was, however, too much stirred to hesitate, and he began in so downright a manner that he completely overset the balance – already tottering – of the Honourable Isabella, who felt so sympathetic that she was affected to tears.
“I wished to have a few minutes’ conversation, ladies,” he said, in rather a quick, peremptory tone, “respecting a question very near to my heart, and concerning my future happiness. Let me say, then, plainly, in what is meant to be a manly, straightforward fashion, that I love your niece Clotilde, and I have come to ask your consent to my being a constant visitor here.”
The Honourable Isabella could not suppress it: a faint sigh struggled to her lips, and floated away upon the chilly air of that dismal room, like the precursor of the shower that trembled upon the lashes of her eyes.
“Captain Glen!” cried the Honourable Philippa, making an effort to overcome her own nervousness, and dreading a scene on the part of this downright young man, “you astound me!”
“I am very sorry I should take you so by surprise,” he said quietly. “I hoped that you would have seen what my feelings were.”
“Oh, indeed no!” cried the Honourable Philippa mendaciously, “nothing of the kind – did we, sister?”
The Honourable Isabella’s hands shook a great deal, but she did not speak – only looked piteously at their visitor.
“Perhaps I ought to have made my feelings known sooner,” said Glen. “However, I have spoken now, Miss Dymcox, and – ”
“But, Captain Glen, pray spare us, and spare yourself what must be a very painful declaration, when I tell you that our niece is engaged to be married to Mr Elbraham.”
“Then it is true?”
“Oh yes, perfectly true,” said the Honourable Philippa.
Glen drew a long breath, and sat for some moments silently gazing down at the carpet as if he could not trust himself to speak. When he opened his lips again his voice was changed.
“Am I to understand, madam, that Miss Clotilde Dymcox accepts this Mr – Mr Elbraham of her own free choice and will?”
It required a tremendous effort to get out that name “Elbraham,” but he forced it from his lips at last.
“Captain Glen,” said the Honourable Philippa, rising and darting a very severe glance at her sister because she did not rise as well, “this is presuming upon your position here as an acquaintance – a very casual acquaintance. I cannot discuss this matter with you.”
“As you will, madam,” replied Glen, who felt hot with indignant rage. “May I ask your permission to see Clotilde?”
“To see Miss Clotilde Dymcox?” said the Honourable Philippa, with dignity. “Under the circumstances, I think, sister, certainly not.”
She darted another fierce look at the Honourable Isabella, who was growing weaker and more agitated moment by moment, as she asked herself whether it was possible that, in spite of the disparity of their ages, she might yet try to soothe Marcus Glen’s wounded spirit, and offer him the sympathy of her virgin heart.
“I ask it in justice to myself, madam,” cried Glen, “for your niece – ”
He was going to say more, but he checked himself, and bit his lips. “Of course, ladies, you would be present.”
“Impossible!” said the Honourable Philippa grimly.
“Don’t – don’t you think, sister,” faltered the Honourable Isabella, “that – that – Captain Glen might – might just see – just see Clotilde – for a few moments?”
“No!” said the Honourable Philippa, with quite a snap of her artificial teeth, and the Honourable Isabella seemed to shrink back into herself, quite dismayed by her sister’s almost ferocious way.
“I thank you, Miss Isabella,” said Glen, so warmly that the poor old lady’s heart began to palpitate at an unwonted rate, and she trembled and her hands were agitated, as if she would gladly have laid them in their visitor’s broad palms. – “You decline, then, to allow me to see Miss Clotilde?”
The Honourable Philippa bowed, and turned to her sister to see if she made as dignified a response to his appeal; but to her horror she saw her sister shaking her head violently as Glen now appealed to her in turn.
“Then, madam,” cried Glen angrily, “I give you fair warning that I shall spare no pains to gain an interview with your niece, for I do not, I will not believe that this is honest. It cannot be, and I am certain that the poor girl has been forced into this engagement. Ladies, I will say no more, for I fear that if I do I shall lose my temper. Miss Dymcox, good-morning. Miss Isabella, I thank you for your show of sympathy; good-bye.”
He felt that there could be no excuse for a longer stay, and strode angrily from the room; but he had hardly reached the foot of the stairs before he became aware of the fact that Marie was comi