The next day Turlington drove
to the suburbs, on the chance
of finding the Graybrookes at
home again. Sir Joseph disliked
London, and could not prevail
on himself to live any nearer
to the metropolis than Muswell
Hill. When Natalie wanted a change,
and languished for balls, theaters,
flower-shows, and the like, she
had a room especially reserved
for her in the house of Sir Joseph's
married sister, Mrs. Sancroft,
living in that central deep of
the fashionable whirlpool known
among mortals as Berkeley
Square.
On his way through the streets,
Turlington encountered a plain
proof that the Graybrookes must
have returned. He was passed
by Launce, driving, in company
with a gentleman, in a cab. The
gentleman was Launce's brother,
and the two were on their way
to the Commissioners of Police
to make the necessary arrangements
for instituting an inquiry into
Turlington's early life.
Arrived at the gate of the
villa, the information received
only partially fulfilled the
visitor's expectations. The family
had returned on the previous
evening. Sir Joseph and his sister
were at home, but Natalie was
away again already. She had driven
into town to lunch with her aunt.
Turlington went into the house.
"Have you lost any money?" Those
were the first words uttered
by Sir Joseph when he and Richard
met again, after the parting
on board the yacht.
"Not a farthing.
I might have lost seriously,
if I had not
got back in time to set things
straight. Stupidity on the part
of my people left in charge--nothing
more. It's all right now."
Sir Joseph
lifted his eyes, with heartfelt
devotion, to the
ceiling. "Thank God, Richard!" he
said, in tones of the deepest
feeling. He rang the bell. "Tell
Miss Graybrooke Mr. Turlington
is here." He turned again to
Richard. "Lavinia is like me--
Lavinia has been so anxious about
you. We have both of us passed
a sleepless night." Miss Lavinia
came in. Sir Joseph hurried to
meet her, and took her affectionately
by both hands. "My dear! the
best of all good news, Richard
has not lost a farthing." Miss
Lavinia lifted _her_ eyes to
the ceiling with heartfelt devotion,
and said, "Thank God, Richard!"--like
the echo of her brother's voice;
a little late, perhaps, for its
reputation as an echo, but accurate
to half a note in its perfect
repetition of sound.
Turlington asked the question
which it had been his one object
to put in paying his visit to
Muswell Hill.
"Have you spoken
to Natalie?"
"This morning," replied Sir
Joseph. "An opportunity offered
itself after breakfast. I took
advantage of it, Richard--you
shall hear how."
He settled himself in his chair
for one of his interminable stories;
he began his opening sentence--and
stopped, struck dumb at the first
word. There was an unexpected
obstacle in the way-- his sister
was not attending to him; his
sister had silenced him at starting.
The story touching, this time,
on the question of marriage,
Miss Lavinia had her woman's
interest in seeing full justice
done to the subject. She seized
on her brother's narrative as
on property in her own right.
"Joseph should have told you," she
began, addressing herself to
Turlington, "that our dear girl
was unusually depressed in spirits
this morning. Quite in the right
frame of mind for a little serious
talk about her future life. She
ate nothing at breakfast, poor
child, but a morsel of dry toast."
"And marmalade," said
Sir Joseph, striking in at
the first opportunity.
The story, on this occasion,
being Miss Lavinia's story, the
polite contradictions necessary
to its successful progress were
naturally transferred from the
sister to the brother, and became
contradictions on Sir Joseph's
side.
"No," said Miss Lavinia, gently, "if
you _will_ have it, Joseph--
jam."
"I beg your pardon," persisted
Sir Joseph; "marmalade."
"What _does_
it matter, brother?"
"Sister! the
late great and good Doctor
Johnson said accuracy
ought always to be studied even
in the most trifling things."
"You _will_ have your way,
Joseph"--(this was the formula--
answering to Sir Joseph's "Let
us waive the point"--which Miss
Lavinia used, as a means of conciliating
her brother, and getting a fresh
start for her story). "Well,
we took dear Natalie out between
us, after breakfast, for a little
walk in the grounds. My brother
opened the subject with infinite
delicacy and tact. 'Circumstances,'
he said, 'into which it was not
then necessary to enter, made
it very desirable, young as she
was, to begin to think of her
establishment in life.' And then
he referred, Richard (so nicely),
to your faithful and devoted
attachment--"
"Excuse me,
Lavinia. I began with Richard's
attachment, and
then I got on to her establishment
in life."
"Excuse _me_,
Joseph. You managed it much
more delicately than
you suppose. You didn't drag
Richard in by the head and shoulders
in that way."
"Lavinia! I
began with Richard."
"Joseph! your
memory deceives you."
Turlington's impatience broke
through all restraint.
"How did it end?" he asked. "Did
you propose to her that we should
be married in the first week
of the New Year?"
"Yes!" said
Miss Lavinia.
"No!" said
Sir Joseph.
The sister looked at the brother
with an expression of affectionate
surprise. The brother looked
at the sister with a fund of
amiable contradiction, expressed
in a low bow.
"Do you really
mean to deny, Joseph, that
you told Natalie
we had decided on the first week
in the New Year?"
"I deny the
New Year, Lavinia. I said early
in January."
"You _will_
have your way, Joseph! We were
walking in the
shrubbery at the time. I had
our dear girl's arm in mine,
and I felt it tremble. She suddenly
stopped. 'Oh,' she said, 'not
so soon!' I said, 'My dear, consider
Richard!' She turned to her father.
She said, 'Don't, pray don't
press it so soon, papa! I respect
Richard; I like Richard as your
true and faithful friend; but
I don't love him as I ought to
love him if I am to be his wife.'
Imagine her talking in that way!
What could she possibly know
about it? Of course we both laughed--"
"_you_ laughed,
Lavinia."
"_you_ laughed,
Joseph."
"Get on, for God's sake!" cried
Turlington, striking his hand
passionately on the table by
which he was sitting. "Don't
madden me by contradicting each
other! Did she give way or not?"
Miss Lavinia
turned to her brother. "Contradicting each
other, Joseph!" she exclaimed,
lifting her hands in blank amazement.
"Contradicting each other!" repeated
Sir Joseph, equally astonished
on his side. "My dear Richard,
what can you be thinking of?
I contradict my sister! We never
disagreed in our lives."
"I contradict
my brother! We have never had
a cross word between
us from the time when we were
children."
Turlington internally cursed
his own irritable temper.
"I beg your pardon--both of
you," he said. "I didn't know
what I was saying. Make some
allowance for me. All my hopes
in life are centered in Natalie;
and you have just told me (in
her own words, Miss Lavinia)
that she doesn't love. You don't
mean any harm, I dare say; but
you cut me to the heart."
This confession,
and the look that accompanied
it, touched
the ready sympathies of the two
old people in the right place.
The remainder of the story dropped
between them by common consent.
They vied with each other in
saying the comforting words which
would allay their dear Richard's
anxiety. How little he knew of
young girls. How could he be
so foolish, poor fellow! as to
attach any serious importance
to what Natalie had said? As
if a young creature in her teens
knew the state of her own heart!
Protestations and entreaties
were matters of course, in such
cases. Tears even might be confidently
expected from a right-minded
girl. It had all ended exactly
as Richard would have wished
it to end. Sir Joseph had said, "My
child! this is a matter of experience;
love will come when you are married." And
Miss Lavinia had added, "Dear
Natalie, if you remembered your
poor mother as I remember her,
you would know that your father's
experience is to be relied on." In
that way they had put it to her;
and she had hung her head and
had given--all that maiden modesty
could be expected to give--a
silent consent. "The wedding-day
was fixed for the first week
in the New Year." ("No, Joseph;
not January--the New Year.") "And
God bless you, Richard! and may
your married life be a long and
happy one."
So the average
ignorance of human nature,
and the average
belief in conventional sentiment,
complacently contemplated the
sacrifice of one more victim
on the all-devouring altar of
Marriage! So Sir Joseph and his
sister provided Launcelot Linzie
with the one argument which he
wanted to convince Natalie: "Choose
between making the misery of
your life by marrying _him_,
and making the happiness of your
life by marrying _me._"
"When shall I see her?" asked
Turlington, with Miss Lavinia
(in tears which did _her_ credit)
in possession of one of his hands,
and Sir Joseph (in tears which
did _him_ credit) in possession
of the other.
"She will be
back to dinner, dear Richard.
Stay and dine."
"Thank you.
I must go into the City first.
I will come back
and dine."
With that arrangement in prospect,
he left them.
An hour later a telegram arrived
from Natalie. She had consented
to dine, as well as lunch, in
Berkeley Square--sleeping there
that night, and returning the
next morning. Her father instantly
telegraphed back by the messenger,
insisting on Natalie's return
to Muswell Hill that evening,
in time to meet Richard Turlington
at dinner.
"Quite right. Joseph," said
Miss Lavinia, looking over her
brother's shoulder, while he
wrote the telegram.
"She is showing a disposition
to coquet with Richard," rejoined
Sir Joseph, with the air of a
man who knew female human nature
in its remotest corners. "My
telegram, Lavinia, will have
its effect."
Sir Joseph was quite right.
His telegram _had_ its effect.
It not only brought his daughter
back to dinner--it produced another
result which his prophetic faculty
had altogether failed to foresee.
The message reached Berkeley
Square at five o'clock in the
afternoon. Let us follow the
message.
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