She had a strong idea that she would ultimately prevail,—an idea also that that "ultimately" should not be postponed7 to some undefined middle-aged8 period of her life. As she intended to belong to Frank Tregear, she thought it expedient9 that he should have the best of her days as well as what might be supposed to be the worst; and she therefore resolved that it would be her duty to make her father understand that though she would certainly obey him, she would look to be treated humanely10 by him, and not to be made miserable11 for an indefinite term of years.
The first word spoken between them on the subject,—the first word after that discussion,—began with him and was caused by his feeling that her present life at Matching must be sad and lonely. Lady Cantrip had again written that she would be delighted to take her;—but Lady Cantrip was in London and must be in London, at any rate when Parliament should again be sitting. A London life would perhaps, at present, hardly suit Lady Mary. Then a plan had been prepared which might be convenient. The Duke had a house at Richmond, on the river, called The Horns. That should be lent to Lady Cantrip, and Mary should there be her guest. So it was settled between the Duke and Lady Cantrip. But as yet Lady Mary knew nothing of the arrangement.
"I think I shall go up to town to-morrow," said the Duke to his daughter.
"For long?"
"I shall be gone only one night. It is on your behalf that I am going."
"On my behalf, papa?"
"I have been writing to Lady Cantrip."
"Not about Mr. Tregear?"
"No;—not about Mr. Tregear," said the father with a mixture of anger and solemnity in his tone. "It is my desire to regard Mr. Tregear as though he did not exist."
"That is not possible, papa."
"I have alluded13 to the inconvenience of your position here."
"Why is it inconvenient14?"
"You are too young to be without a companion. It is not fit that you should be so much alone."
"I do not feel it."
"It is very melancholy15 for you, and cannot be good for you. They will go down to The Horns, so that you will not be absolutely in London, and you will find Lady Cantrip a very nice person."
"I don't care for new people just now, papa," she said. But to this he paid but little heed16; nor was she prepared to say that she would not do as he directed. When therefore he left Matching, she understood that he was going to prepare a temporary home for her. Nothing further was said about Tregear. She was too proud to ask that no mention of his name should be made to Lady Cantrip. And he when he left the house did not think that he would find himself called upon to allude12 to the subject.
But when Lady Cantrip made some inquiry17 about the girl and her habits,—asking what were her ordinary occupations, how she was accustomed to pass her hours, to what she chiefly devoted18 herself,—then at last with much difficulty the Duke did bring himself to tell the story. "Perhaps it is better you should know it all," he said as he told it.
"Poor girl! Yes, Duke; upon the whole it is better that I should know it all," said Lady Cantrip. "Of course he will not come here."
"Oh dear; I hope not."
"Nor to The Horns."
"I hope he will never see her again anywhere," said the Duke.
"Poor girl!"
"Have I not been right? Is it not best to put an end to such a thing at once?"
"Certainly at once, if it has to be put an end to,—and can be put an end to."
"It must be put an end to," said the Duke, very decidedly. "Do you not see that it must be so? Who is Mr. Tregear?"
"I suppose they were allowed to be together."
"He was unfortunately intimate with Silverbridge, who took him over to Italy. He has nothing; not even a profession." Lady Cantrip could not but smile when she remembered the immense wealth of the man who was speaking to her;—and the Duke saw the smile and understood it. "You will understand what I mean, Lady Cantrip. If this young man were in other respects suitable, of course I could find an income for them. But he is nothing; just an idle seeker for pleasure without the means of obtaining it."
"That is very bad."
"As for rank," continued the Duke energetically, "I do not think that I am specially19 wedded20 to it. I have found myself as willing to associate with those who are without it as with those who have it. But for my child, I would wish her to mate with one of her own class."
"It would be best."
"When a young man comes to me who, though I believe him to be what is called a gentleman, has neither rank, nor means, nor profession, nor name, and asks for my daughter, surely I am right to say that such a marriage shall not be thought of. Was I not right?" demanded the Duke persistently21.
"But it is a pity that it should be so. It is a pity that they should ever have come together."
"It is indeed, indeed to be lamented,—and I will own at once that the fault was not hers. Though I must be firm in this, you are not to suppose that I am angry with her. I have myself been to blame." This he said with a resolution that,—as he and his wife had been one flesh,—all faults committed by her should, now that she was dead, be accepted by him as his faults. "It had not occurred to me that as yet she would love any man."
"Has it gone deep with her, Duke?"
"I fear that all things go deep with her."
"Poor girl!"
"But they shall be kept apart! As long as your great kindness is continued to her they shall be kept apart!"
"I do not think that I should be found good at watching a young lady."
"She will require no watching."
"Then of course they will not meet. She had better know that you have told me."
"She shall know it."
"And let her know also that anything I can do to make her happy shall be done. But, Duke, there is but one cure."
"Time, you mean."
"Yes; time; but I did not mean time." Then she smiled as she went on. "You must not suppose that I am speaking against my own sex if I say that she will not forget Mr. Tregear till someone else has made himself agreeable to her. We must wait till she can go out a little into society. Then she will find out that there are others in the world besides Mr. Tregear. It so often is the case that a girl's love means her sympathy for him who has chanced to be nearest to her."
The Duke as he went away thought very much of what Lady Cantrip had said to him;—particularly of those last words. "Till some one else has made himself agreeable to her." Was he to send his girl into the world in order that she might find a lover? There was something in the idea which was thoroughly22 distasteful to him. He had not given his mind much to the matter, but he felt that a woman should be sought for,—sought for and extracted, cunningly, as it were, from some hiding-place, and not sent out into a market to be exposed as for sale. In his own personal history there had been a misfortune,—a misfortune, the sense of which he could never, at any moment, have expressed to any ears, the memory of which had been always buried in his own bosom,—but a misfortune in that no such cunning extraction on his part had won for him the woman to whose hands had been confided23 the strings24 of his heart. His wife had undergone that process of extraction before he had seen her, and his marriage with her had been a matter of sagacious bargaining. He was now told that his daughter must be sent out among young men in order that she might become sufficiently25 fond of some special one to be regardless of Tregear. There was a feeling that in doing so she must lose something of the freshness of the bloom of her innocence26. How was this transfer of her love to be effected? Let her go here because she will meet the heir of this wealthy house who may probably be smitten27 by her charms; or there because that other young lordling would make a fit husband for her. Let us contrive28 to throw her into the arms of this man, or put her into the way of that man. Was his girl to be exposed to this? Surely that method of bargaining to which he had owed his own wife would be better than that. Let it be said,—only he himself most certainly could not be the person to say it,—let it be said to some man of rank and means and fairly good character: "Here is a wife for you with so many thousand pounds, with beauty, as you can see for yourself, with rank and belongings29 of the highest; very good in every respect;—only that as regards her heart she thinks she has given it to a young man named Tregear. No marriage there is possible; but perhaps the young lady might suit you?" It was thus he had been married. There was an absence in it of that romance which, though he had never experienced it in his own life, was always present to his imagination. His wife had often ridiculed30 him because he could only live among figures and official details; but to her had not been given the power of looking into a man's heart and feeling all that was there. Yes;—in such bargaining for a wife, in such bargaining for a husband, there could be nothing of the tremulous delicacy31 of feminine romance; but it would be better than standing32 at a stall in the market till the sufficient purchaser should come. It never occurred to him that the delicacy, the innocence, the romance, the bloom might all be preserved if he would give his girl to the man whom she said she loved. Could he have modelled her future course according to his own wishes, he would have had her live a gentle life for the next three years, with a pencil perhaps in her hand or a music-book before her;—and then come forth33, cleaned as it were by such quarantine from the impurity34 to which she had been subjected.
When he was back at Matching he at once told his daughter what he had arranged for her, and then there took place a prolonged discussion both as to his view of her future life and as to her own. "You did tell her then about Mr. Tregear?" she asked.
"As she is to have charge of you for a time I thought it best."
"Perhaps it is. Perhaps—you were afraid."
"No; I was not afraid," he said angrily.
"You need not be afraid. I shall do nothing elsewhere that I would not do here, and nothing anywhere without telling you."
"I know I can trust you."
"But, papa, I shall always intend to marry Mr. Tregear."
"No!" he exclaimed.
"Yes;—always. I want you to understand exactly how it is. Nothing you can do can separate me from him."
"Mary, that is very wicked."
"It cannot be wicked to tell the truth, papa. I mean to try to do all that you tell me. I shall not see him, or write to him,—unless there should be some very particular reason. And if I did see him or write to him I would tell you. And of course I should not think of—of marrying without your leave. But I shall expect you to let me marry him."
"Never!"
"Then I shall think you are—cruel; and you will break my heart."
"You should not call your father cruel."
"I hope you will not be cruel."
"I can never permit you to marry this man. It would be altogether improper35. I cannot allow you to say that I am cruel because I do what I feel to be my duty. You will see other people."
"A great many perhaps."
"And will learn to,—to,—to forget him."
"Never! I will not forget him. I should hate myself if I thought it possible. What would love be worth if it could be forgotten in that way?" As he heard this he reflected whether his own wife, this girl's mother, had ever forgotten her early love for that Burgo Fitzgerald whom in her girlhood she had wished to marry.
When he was leaving her she called him back again. "There is one other thing I think I ought to say, papa. If Lady Cantrip speaks to me about Mr. Tregear, I can only tell her what I have told you. I shall never give him up." When he heard this he turned angrily from her, almost stamping his foot upon the ground, when she quietly left the room.
Cruel! She had told him that he would be cruel, if he opposed her love. He thought he knew of himself that he could not be cruel,—even to a fly, even to a political opponent. There could be no cruelty without dishonesty, and did he not always struggle to be honest? Cruel to his own daughter!
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1
curtailing
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| v.截断，缩短( curtail的现在分词 ) | |
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stipulated
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| vt.& vi.规定；约定adj.[法]合同规定的 | |
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incumbent
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| adj.成为责任的，有义务的；现任的，在职的 | |
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legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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postponed
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| vt.& vi.延期，缓办，（使）延迟vt.把…放在次要地位；[语]把…放在后面（或句尾）vi.（疟疾等）延缓发作（或复发） | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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expedient
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| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
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10
humanely
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| adv.仁慈地；人道地；富人情地；慈悲地 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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18
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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wedded
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| adj.正式结婚的；渴望…的，执著于…的v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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strings
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| n.弦 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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smitten
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| 猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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ridiculed
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| v.嘲笑，嘲弄，奚落( ridicule的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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impurity
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| n.不洁，不纯，杂质 | |
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improper
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| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
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