CHAPTER XI.
Marion Dunbar being by no means an arrant novel reader, knew nothingof those artificial feelings which too often obliterated the reality.Simple as a field-flower, her natural sensibility remained perfectlyfresh and unimpaired, while now, for the first time, experiencing thewithering disappointments, and blighting anxieties of life.
As she drove slowly along towards the sanctuary where Sir Patrick hadtaken refuge, the most prominent apprehension on her mind, was thatof finding him on the eve of imprisonment; but she in some degreeconsoled herself by imagining the services that in such circumstancesshe might perhaps be able to do him, and the privations she couldendure for his sake. The more proud, overbearing, and arbitrary, hehad hitherto been, the more touching it appeared to her affectionatespirit, that one seemed born to command, should now be humbled; andimpatiently did she long to prove, that, however all things mightalter, yet, in prosperity or adversity, in sickness or in health, shewas unchangeably the same; while her young heart glowed with theparamount hope of at last becoming useful to her brother, andtherefore welcome.
As she proceeded, visions of deep distress and difficulty floateddimly through the mind of Marion, who could not entirely close hereyes against the iron truths, and stern realities of life, whileconsidering how totally unsuited her brother was, to endure theprivation of a single luxury, and now he could scarcely have enoughto command the most ordinary necessaries.
In the mind of Marion, immediate starvation, and going out as agoverness, were the two ideas that most prominently connectedthemselves with the consciousness of being ruined; for her conceptionof bankruptcy was of the most terrifying description.
In the few novels she had ever seen, the heroines could always supportthemselves by selling their drawings; but Marion did not hope to gainan independent livelihood by her slanting castles, and top-heavytrees, though taking in plain work, or teaching music, suggestedthemselves as possible resources. Marion thought of arrests, bailiffs,writs, and of the world come to an end. The sunny hours of her lifeseemed suddenly darkened, and she had grown old in a day! In thesimplicity of her heart, she imagined that a ruined man of rank andfashion, was like a ruined man in earnest; obliged actually to reducehis establishment! to dismiss his servants! to dispose of hisequipages! to make an auction of his furniture! to part with hisplate! and really to live as if he were in downright matter-of-factearnest, poor! "to exist," as Sir Patrick once contemptuously said ofRichard Granville, "on twopence a year, paid quarterly!"
The slow-moving hackney-coach stopped at last before the gate of SirPatrick's new residence, St. John's Lodge, a gloomy antique villa nearHolyrood House, with gabled windows, stone balconies, richly carvedbalustrades, and pointed roof, surrounded by dusty beech-trees, andformal yew hedges, clipped into fifty unimaginable shapes. Marionwas surprised, on hastily alighting, to perceive the whole houseglittering with lights, and would have supposed she had made somemistake, had not the bell been instantly answered by Sir Patrick's ownman, followed by the usual three yellow-plush footmen.
"Faithful creatures!" thought she, having often heard of old servantswho insisted on being retained for nothing; "amidst all Patrick'sdistress, this must indeed be gratifying!"
In a tumult of emotion, Marion, throwing off her bonnet, rushed up abroad well-lighted flight of stairs, while, wound up to a pitch ofheroism and romantic self-devotion, she thought only of her brother,impatiently longing to fly into his arms, and to express the wholefulness of her affection, and the whole depth of her sympathy. Whileher heart sprang forward to meet him, she eagerly threw open a doornext the staircase, and entered with a hurried and tremulous step; butsuddenly her eyes were dazzled and bewildered by the sight which mether agitated glance, while for a moment she became rooted to thefloor, like one who had been stunned by a sudden blow. Marion gazedwithout seeing, and heard without knowing what was said, so unexpectedand surprising was the scene to which she had thus suddenly introducedherself!
A murmur of noise and gayety rang in her ears, while the wholeapartment was brilliantly illuminated, and the first object whichbecame distinct to her vision was Sir Patrick, seated at the head of asuperbly-decorated dinner-table, in a perfect uproar of merriment andhilarity. Around him were placed five or six of his gayest associates,dressed in their scarlet hunting-coats, and evidently in joyousspirit, like school-boys during vacation, while the whole partypresented a most convivial aspect, laughing in merry chorus, and withclaret circulating at full speed round the hospitable board.
Marion felt as if her feet had lost all power of motion, while,grasping the handle of the door with one hand, and shading her eyeswith the other, she became transfixed to the spot. It was a shock ofunexpected joy, and while standing in the deep embrasure of the door,her large eyes dilated, and her lips parted, with an expression ofspeechless amazement, she looked like a breathing portrait, which anartist might have shown as his master-piece--young, bright, andgraceful, as the first crescent of the moon, or like the fabled houriof an eastern tale.
The gentlemen all instinctively stood up with one accord the momentshe appeared, giving her looks of embarrassed astonishment andadmiration, while Marion hastily retreating, in an agony of confusion,heard her own voice inadvertently exclaim, "Patrick!"
"Marion!" cried her brother, in a frenzy of astonishment more thanequal to her own, while the flowing bumper which had been raised tohis lips remained suspended there, and in an instant afterwards, histone of surprise became changed into angry imperative remonstrance."Marion! what brought you here, child?"
Before she had quite retreated, suspecting the real state of the case,and not wishing for any public explanation, Sir Patrick added, in anaccent of careless good humor, "Agnes is up stairs dressing for theball, so make yourself scarce, and find her if possible. The house isnot large enough to puzzle any one long, but I suppose you mistookthis room for hers!"
"Patrick is not ruined after all!" thought the delighted Marion,vanishing in a transport of joy, while her brother's jovial companionsbecame vehemently energetic in expressing their admiration of thebeautiful apparition.
"Can that be the darling cherub Marion, who used to call herself mylittle wife? I wish she may do so in earnest now! She is undoubtedlythe loveliest creature that my sight ever looked upon, her eyesglittering like stars beneath that rich cloud of hair! Let us drinka bumper to her health!" exclaimed Captain De Crespigny, in aspontaneous impulse of enthusiasm, filling his glass, and singing in afine, full-toned tenor, the favorite ballad,
"I saw her but a moment, And methinks I see her yet, With the wreath of summer flow'rs Beneath her curls of jet."
"That must mean Agnes, for Marion's hair is brown," interrupted SirPatrick, in a rallying tone, yet his manner betrayed the excitedand exaggerated vivacity of one who evidently forced his spirits,endeavoring to banish care by ceasing to think. "Be constant for oneentire week, and I shall then think Agnes has achieved a wonderindeed."
"You do me injustice, Dunbar! I must be allowed to beg your pardon! Ihave not been what is called 'in love' above nine times in my life!Well! you may laugh--anybody can laugh, but I consider that smile ofyours exceedingly malicious!"
"When a man is on the ice, you know his best safety is to keepmoving," replied Sir Patrick, drily. "People talk of two strings totheir bow, De Crespigny, but you are never satisfied under two dozen!"
"_Tant mieux et tant pis!_ As Rosamond says, 'Thou canst not tell yet,how many fathoms deep I am in love;' how concealment is preying on mydamask cheek, and what violent heart-quakes I am continually enduring!The girl before last that I died for was my idol for an eternity ofthree months' duration. I might have continued most deplorably in loveyet, if she had not imprudently appeared before me one day in anunbecoming east wind, with considerably more color in her nose than inher cheek!"
"You are the most observant of men, De Crespigny! If you only pass ayoung lady at full speed on a staircase, you can describe her eyes,complexion, figure, and expression, before
I could be certain whethershe has one eye or two! But what is this Irish story I heard aboutyou! Some lady with seven brothers, and you threatened to shoot themall that she might become an heiress! What were the particulars?"
"You seem to know more than I do, or anybody else!" replied Captain DeCrespigny, hastily tossing off a bumper to conceal his confusion."There are so many girls whose peace of mind I annihilate, that it isnext to impossible for me to remember them, but I can think of nothingnow except my cousin Marion, who always promised to be beautiful, andhas more than fulfilled her promise. Tell me, Dunbar! when does thatpearl come out of the shell?"
"If you please, sir!" said a servant, entering, "the hackney coachmanis waiting to be paid seven shillings for bringing Miss Dunbar fromDartmore House!"
"Let him wait all night if he chooses!" replied Sir Patrick, angrilyfrowning away his footman, "as the Irishman said, 'may he live till Ipay him!' Tell the man to come again to-morrow--and next day--and thenext--to come back in short, whenever he has nothing else to do!Perhaps in a delirium of generosity I may some day think of payinghim."
"At our usual rate of payment, seven shillings from you would be equalto L7!" said Captain De Crespigny, laughing, "let him put it down toyour account!"
"Yes! I have already more creditors than pence, therefore one moreless can be of no consequence! That fellow of mine is the mostofficious rascal!--and he begins every sentence the same, 'If youplease, sir, the plate-chest has been robbed!' or, 'If you please,sir, the bay mare is dead!' But I am never pleased to pay when it canbe avoided, and especially now. This is one of my moneyless days! Mybanker's bulletins continue unfavorable! I cannot raise anothershilling! The handle of the pump is chained. All my relations havemade wills in my favor, but not one of them will die! As Falstaffsays, 'What money's in my purse? seven groats and twopence!'"
"I shall set up a hackney coach, and drive one myself if it paysso well!" exclaimed Captain De Crespigny indignantly, "What anextortioner the fellow is! up to snuff and a pinch above it! Hedeserves to be executed!"
"Don't speak of executions in this house! we have had enough of themalready," replied Sir Patrick, forcing a laugh that sounded very likea stage laugh. "What brings me here, if I am to be dunned in the verysanctuary by a set of rascally creditors! You can take the hackneycoach home, if the man waits a few hours longer, De Crespigny, and payhim off! It would be difficult generally to say which of us is bestoff for ready money, but as Jeremy Diddler says, 'You don't happen tohave such a thing as ten-pence there, have you?'"
"No! I make it a principle never now to patronize the paper currency orbullion _ca m'est egal_. Scotch notes are so atrociously filthy, andgold is too heavy for the pocket. I am hastening as fast as possible tomy last shilling! Money is a bore! As for you, Dunbar, if you wished toborrow a glass of water, I shall not be the man to lend it! I would notfor worlds be included among your 'rascally creditors!'"
"They beset my door so incessantly the week before we came here," saidSir Patrick, laughing, "that I played the fellows an admirable trickby connecting a strong galvanic battery with the knocker of the door,so that the more angrily they grasped it, the stronger was the shockthey received. I sat with Wigton for an hour at the window in perfectfits, when we saw the look of astonishment and terror with which, oneafter another, they staggered away. One impudent rascal absolutelysucceeded in serving a writ on me for L200, but happening to have asmuch in the house, I thought it best for once to pay him off, and----"
"This is a most remarkable story! almost incredible!" exclaimedCaptain De Crespigny, laughing; "not so much your being arrested, forthat might happen to any of us, any day, but your having L200 in thehouse, Dunbar! Excuse me there! I have as much credulity as mostpeople, but you should keep to probabilities!"
"If one could pay people off with golden opinions," observed SirPatrick conceitedly, "I flatter myself in that case, that all mycreditors might be more than satisfied."
"When are those fellows to have their next meeting?"
"I wish we knew, that I might give them a harangue on agriculturaldistress!" replied Sir Patrick, carelessly plunging his whole handinto his luxuriant hair. "It gives me no scruple to disappoint theshop-keeping world! None whatever! These rascals have not theslightest hesitation in making punctual customers pay their billstwice, therefore it is quite fair that others should not pay at all. Icould point out a dozen of my tradespeople who, knowing they risk onlya sheet of paper by re-sending their bills a year after they are paid,make a practice of doing so. If the ill-used customer produces areceipt, why then, an angry bow and a sulky apology are all thesatisfaction to be got; but if the receipt, by good chance, be lost,then he becomes perfectly cheatable, and no remedy can be had but topay over again! I have seen the thing happen fifty times, long ago,when I really did sometimes pay my debts, and of course never took thetrouble to keep any receipts."
"On such occasions," said Captain De Crespigny, "the offendingshopkeeper, when proved in the wrong, should be fined double the amountof his bill, to be expended for the benefit of meritorious men like youand me, Dunbar, who cannot pay once. The sight of every poor man I meetgives me a moral to avoid poverty, _coute qui coute_; but as for you,Dunbar, prudence and economy are not certainly to be enumerated in thecatalogue of your many virtues! As sure as your name is Patrick, ifL1000 dropped into your pocket now, it would be squandered with theliberality of a prince before you walked to the next street."
"Most uncommonly true, De Crespigny!" replied Sir Patrick, ringing toorder a fresh bottle of claret. "But in these days of bankruptcies,revolutions, robberies, sudden deaths, and murders, the only way tomake sure of enjoying my own is, to spend it immediately. In that casethere can be no mistake! I long ago discovered that it is impossibleto be both merry and wise; therefore give me joy at any price.Happiness is to be bought, like everything else, if people have onlythe heart to pay for it. In my opinion a long face and a short purseare the two great evils of existence, both to be avoided at the riskof one's life."
"Perfectly unanswerable, Dunbar! Money is the patent sauce for givinga relish to everything! It throws dust in the eyes of all the world,till they can observe none of our faults, and yet see all ourperfections magnified and enlarged, as we see them ourselves. Misersmake money the end of life, but we make it the only means of enjoyingexistence; a sure ticket to pleasure of every kind and of everydegree!"
"One of these years, De Crespigny, your grave will be dug with agolden spade! You are growing mercenary! But every man living is, inone way or other, deranged about money;--those who have much, hoardingas if their lives depended on amassing another shilling."
"I wish, Dunbar, you would write a treatise on the art of living well,after we have been obliged to calculate that difficult sum inarithmetic, 'take nothing from nothing, and nothing remains!'"
"Why, really, as a shillingless spendthrift, I could say enough tomake all of you misers during life; but for my own part, as long as Ipossess a guinea, the first man who wants it may get the half.Hoarding is the only enjoyment which increases, I am told, withincreasing years; but it is the only enjoyment of life I never intendto taste. I mean always to live rich, that I am determined on; and ifI die rich, I shall out-hospital every fool who ever left a will, byendowing a 'Dunbar Dispensary for superannuated _bon-vivants_!'"
"How well the world would get on if everybody were of your way ofthinking!"
"Thinking! my dear fellow--I never think! What do you take me for?"
"For a strange being, certainly, and for my own particular friend.Besides, as the poet beautifully expresses it, in speaking of suchfriendship as ours:--
"We have lived and _laughed_ together, Through many changing years; We have smiled each other's smiles. And--_and paid each other's bills_."
"Thank you, De Crespigny! I shall send a file of mine to youto-morrow! Do you remember the memorable hour at old Brownlow's longago, when my first bright guinea glittered in our hands, while hedetained us to enumerate all the vario
us uses it might and ought to beput to. I never forgot his oration--that is to say, I have thought ofother things certainly during the intervening ten years; but it hasoften occurred to me, that if I had, as he proposed, hoarded mytreasure till another came, I should have been a miser for life. Idid, however, squander it then, with the spirit of a gentleman; andever since, whenever any one lectures on economy, I put cotton in myears. Wigton, the wine stands with you!"
"Capital claret this, Dunbar! My uncle Doncaster would not havequarrelled with Crockford, if he had given him such a bottle as this.Claret is certainly the poetry of wine, and I should like to have acascade of this pouring down my throat all day and every day! Your ownimportation, I suppose? It does your cellar great credit."
"It has been, at any rate, placed to my credit in Morton's books. I amvery fastidious now, and owe it to myself to have the best."
"I can't tell what you may owe to yourself," said Captain De Crespigny,laughingly turning his dark keen eyes on Sir Patrick; "but youcertainly owe a great deal to other people."
"Very true, and I owe you a grudge for saying so. I never can forgivemyself for not having been born to a larger estate! L50,000 a yearwould have suited me so much better than my paltry pittance of twenty!These are very hard times! The fellow who supplied this claret mighthave enjoyed my custom for ten years to come, if he would have waitedas long for payment! It is a man's own fault always when he loses mybusiness! The moment he takes to dunning, we part. It is a rule withme, and I told him so. He did not take warning!--actually sent in hisaccount a second time!--a most ungentleman-like thing to do!--anoffence I never pardon! So now----"
"He may retire from business at once!" added Captain De Crespigny,filling his glass. "Did I not hear that the house had failed nextmorning! We all know what your countenance is worth!"
"Three farthings a-year, paid at sight! We should make it a principleto discourage duns; but they do occasionally force their way upon mein some unaccountable manner, like a draught of air through thekey-hole, and then I can look as grand and immovable as George theFourth's statue; but fortune will be in good-humor with us again someday, and take me under her especial patronage, when I shall payeverybody thirty shillings in the pound, and----"
"Hear! hear! and a laugh! as they say in the House of Commons!"exclaimed Lord Wigton. "Well done, Sir Patrick, the Great----"
"The great what? Your speech is a fragment," said Sir Patrick, in hisliveliest accents; "besides which, it was an interruption to mine,Wigton; and I intended to have said something particularly amusing, ifyou had not broken the thread prematurely. It is lost to you for evernow! I am dumb as a flounder; and you may pity all the presentcompany, as they have really missed a very good thing."
"We shall place it to your credit accordingly, Dunbar," said CaptainDe Crespigny, laughing. "It was rather annoying to have perhaps theonly good thing you ever could have said in your life nipped in thebud. I hate sometimes to see a joke of mine standing with its back tothe wall, and struggling in vain for existence."
"Dunbar has talked himself into such a fit of parsimony," said LordWigton, laughing, "that he is ever economizing his words."
"_N'importe_," replied Sir Patrick, gaily circulating the bottles. "Youare all mistaken, and you particularly, Wigton. I can economize my wayup the hill of life as well as any of you, and shall yet live upon anincome of nothing per annum. My plan is, to keep only five hunters--tostay but one month at Melton--to feed upon sunshine--to fill my headwith the rule of three--in short, to become actually quite a pauper inmy style of life; and, if all things else should fail, I can, as a lastresource, turn patriot, and subsist upon liberalism andmob-popularity!"
"That sounds vastly prudent and proper, Dunbar; but all I say is,whatever desperate schemes you arrive at in the way of retrenchment,give me the income you spend, rather than the income you have!"replied Captain De Crespigny. "I took a fit of arithmetic one day, anddiscovered, upon accurate calculation, that scattering L20,000 a-yearon an income of ten, gradually drains off the whole!"
"You are a perfect Babbage, my good fellow; but you know I haveexpectations from three uncles in Australia, and one in the WestIndies!"
"Uncles! except the brave old Admiral, you scarcely possess a relationbesides myself in the world; but as long as Sir Arthur lives, you havesomething to be proud of. The only thing I envy you on earth is forbeing his nephew. I reverence him. I never pass him, hail, rain, orsunshine, without taking off my hat. He is quite a jewel of a man."
"You shall have him very cheap!" replied Sir Patrick, assuming acareless tone, to conceal a great deal of irritation. "What will youbid? I wish he were 'going! going! and gone!' I never knew such an oldbore as he is, always interfering about my sisters, and fussing aboutmy debts. The world ought to be entirely peopled with uncles, aunts,and grandmothers, for they all know so much better how to act thananybody else."
"It is setting a very bad example for old people to live very long. Myuncle Doncaster took a twenty years' lease of his house in BelgraveSquare lately, and told me afterwards, he thought of having the term'extended' to the period of his natural life! I am sure his life isperfectly supernatural already! What would the old fellow have!"
"Those superannuated people who outlive themselves have nothingelse to do but to sit in their arm chairs and find fault! The worldis good enough if they would only think so; but all theirworld-before-the-flood ideas are picked up in a different state ofexistence from ours. Everything changes in half a century--customs,dress, modes of thinking, notions of honor, ideas of pleasure, habitsof society--all are turned upside down; so there can be no use in youruncle or mine prosing about the past and the future. There is neitherpast nor future in my plans of existence now."
"Why, really, if men would neither look backwards nor forwards, thereis scarcely a moment of any man's life which is not very tolerablyagreeable. The rule that carries me joyously forward through life, isto make the best of everything. We borrow all our annoyances fromanticipation of the future, which often turns out perfectlygroundless, or from regret of the past. We cannot alter the stream ofevents; therefore I am for floating along the tide with my armsfolded, and looking neither to the right hand nor to the left."
"Quite right; and take my word for it, that in this little trumperyworld of ours, ruined men enjoy the best of it. We have nothing tolose--our estates are managed for us--we care not the toss of afarthing about politics--we have no fear of a reverse--we are alwaysthe most liberal of what we have--and in short, it is true enough,that '_menage sans souci_ is the _menage six sous_----'"
"I have generally got through all the difficulties of life hithertowith a hop-skip-and-a-jump; so I mean always to keep myself inpractice; but after all, Dunbar, money has its merits, and the bestprofession for a ruined man is to marry an heiress. They always selectthe greatest roue who makes them an offer! Why do you not propose toMiss Crawford and her L60,000?"
"I never answer questions in the dog-days! My dear fellow! L60,000would not be a breakfast to me! It would scarcely supply copper-capsto my gun! Besides which, I cannot make a low marriage, and pick moneyout of the puddle! An heiress at best always seems to me apersonification of all my creditors! A person one should marry toplease them! but the only thing on earth I would not sell is--myself!"
"Being beyond all price, of course, Dunbar! I am still insufferablybored at Beaujolie Castle to marry that cousin of mine with a purse aslong as her nose, and both I believe are miraculous, but we have notmet in the memory of man! Perhaps I may some day yet be obliged towelcome gold from whatever pocket it comes, but I am not veryimpatient to see Miss Howard at the head of my table!"
"My dear fellow! you would be sitting at the bottom of her table, ifMiss Howard Smytheson accepted you! It is unlucky that a fairy-likefortune and a fairy-like person are so seldom united in oneindividual."
"I have no objection to marry for money as soon as they are. Love amongthe roses would not be in my line at all, but when I see gold in abeautiful enough casket,
then '_les beaux yeux de sa casette pourmoi_!' 'Mammon wins its way, where seraphs might despair!'"
"But if we must choose between them, give me love, and let money takecare of itself!"
"Splendidly said! you are growing magnanimous, Dunbar. What hashappened to you since we met last? Did I not hear some romantic taleof true love lately, connected with yourself and Granville's prettysister, Clara! 'a portionless lass wi' a land pedigree!' I vehementlycontradicted the whole affair, as Lady Towercliffe's entire story wasso very unlike you, but----"
Captain De Crespigny paused suddenly--filled his glass--averted hiseye--and pushed the bottles hastily round, for he had observed withastonishment that Sir Patrick's under lip became violently compressed,his white forehead became visibly paler, a bright flash was emittedfrom his eye, and his agitation became so obvious to every one around,that a deep silence fell over the whole party, which soon afterdispersed.
Modern Flirtations: A Novel Page 12
