CHAPTER XII.
HOW HARRY TEMPLE PROVED HIS VALOUR.
Thus were poet and baronet reduced to submission. The third suitor washarder to manage, because he turned sulky. Sportsmen have said that afish, or a bird, or a fox, when he sulks, is then most difficult tosecure. Thus, to be captured or cajoled, the victim must be in a goodtemper.
Now Harry Temple went in gloomy indignation, as was visible to alleyes. He walked alone upon the Terrace, or sat alone in the AssemblyRoom, a Killjoy to behold. That would not have mattered, because nogirl feels much sorrow for a man who foolishly sulks because he cannotmarry her; but everybody knew, or thought they knew, the cause of hisheavy looks. Peggy Baker said I had thrown him over for the sake of alord, who, she added kindly, would certainly throw me over in turn.Some of the company cried shame on the flinty-hearted woman who couldlet so pretty a fellow go love-sick.
"Kitty," his melancholy seemed to say, "you left us a simple countrygirl: you would have been proud of my addresses had you understood mymeaning"--this was quite true: "you are now a woman of fashion, and youhave ambition: your head is turned with flattery: you aspire to nothingshort of a coronet. In those days you were satisfied with the approvalof your looking-glass and your conscience: now you would draw all mento your heels, and are not happy unless you make them all miserable."But that was not true at all; I did not wish to make men miserable; andit was nothing to me whether they were miserable or happy. I thought ofone man only, as is natural to a woman in love.
"If," I said to him one day, being tired by such exhibition of temper,"if you do not like the place, why make yourself unhappy by stayinghere? Cambridge, methinks, would be a more fitting abode for you, wherethere are books and scholars; not a watering-place, where people cometogether to amuse themselves and be merry."
"I shall stay here," he replied, "until I find there is no hope for me."
"Oh, silly Harry!" I said; "is there no other woman in the world whowill make you happy, except poor Kitty Pleydell?"
"No--none," he shook his melancholy wig, the tie at the back of hishead wagging sorrowfully.
How was it possible to have any sympathy with so rueful a lover? Why,it made one ridiculous. Everybody said that Harry Temple was in lovewith me, that I, for the worst of motives, viz., to catch a coronet,refused him, and that he was an excellent match, especially for one whowas nothing better than a country parson's daughter.
"I believe only a curate, my dear," Peggy Baker would say. "No doubtshe lived on bacon fat and oatmeal, and knitted her own stockings. Andyet she refuses Harry Temple, a pretty fellow, though studious, and aman whom any of us, gentlewomen born, would be glad to encourage."
"Oh!" I said to him, "why do you not go? Why do you look reproaches onme?"
"Because," he replied, "I still love you, unworthy as you are."
"Unworthy? Mr. Temple, methinks that a little civility----"
"Yes, unworthy. I say that a girl who throws over her oldest friendswith the almost avowed intention of securing a title, without knowinganything of the character of the man who bears it----"
"This is too much!" I said. "First, sir, let me know what there isagainst Lord Chudleigh's character. Tell me, upon your word, sir, doyou know anything at all? Is he not a man of principle and honour?"
"I know nothing against him. I dare say that he is what you think."
"Well, sir; and, in the next place, how dare you accuse me ofdeliberately trying to attract my lord? Do you know me so well as toread my soul? Do you know me so well as to be justified to yourselfwhen you attribute such a motive to me?"
"What other motive can I attribute to you?" he asked bitterly. "Is henot a peer? Is he not rich?"
"O Harry!" I cried, "you will drive me mad between you. Cannot a peerbe a good man? Cannot a girl--I say--may not a girl--Harry, you forceme to say it--is it not possible for a girl to fall in love with a manwho is even a peer and a rich man? Go sir! you have humbled me, andmade me say words of which I am ashamed. Go, if you please, and tellall the world what I have said."
Then he fell to asking my forgiveness. He was, he said, wretchedindeed: he had long lost my love.
"Man!" I said, "you never had it!"--and now he was like to lose myfriendship.
This talk about friendship between a man and woman when both are youngseems to me a mighty foolish thing. For if the woman is in love withsome one else her friendship is, to be sure, worth just nothing at all,because she must needs be for ever thinking of the man she loves. Thereis but one man in all the world for her, and that man not he who wouldfain be her friend. Therefore she gives not a thought to him. Now if aman be in love with one woman and "in friendship" with another, I thinkthat either his love for one must be a poor lukewarm passion, which I,for one, would not be anxious to receive, or his friendship for theother must be a chilly sort of thing.
However, one must not be angry for ever: Harry Temple had made me say athing which I could not have said to any woman--not even Nancy--and wasashamed of having said: yet when he begged forgiveness I accorded it tohim. Harry, I was sure, would not repeat what I had said.
Somebody about this time wrote another of those little worthlessepigrams or poems, and handed it about:
"Kitty, a fair Dissenter grown, Sad pattern doth afford: The Temple's laws she will not own, Yet still doth love her Lord."
"Do not be angry, Kitty," said Nancy. "This is the penalty ofgreatness. What would Peggy Baker give to be lampooned? Harry is afool, my dear. Any woman could tell, with half an eye, that you are notthe least in love with him. What are the eyes of men like? Are they soblinded by vanity as not to be able to see, without being told, whenthey are disagreeable objects for a woman's contemplation?"
"I condole with you, Miss Pleydell," said Peggy Baker. "To be thevictim of an irreligious and even impious epigram must be trulydistressing to one, like yourself, brought up in the bosom of theChurch."
"Thank you, dear Miss Peggy," I replied, returning her smilingcourtesy. "The epigram's wound is easily healed. Is it true that youare yourself the author?"
"O Lord, no!" she replied. "I am but a poor poet, and could not for theworld write or say anything to wound another woman's feelings."
"She would not, indeed, dear Kitty," cried Nancy, who was with me. "Itis not true--though you may hear it so stated--that Miss Peggy saidyesterday on the Parade that your father was only a curate, and thatyou made your own stockings. She is the kindest and most generous ofwomen. We think so, truly, dear Miss Peggy. We would willingly, if wecould, send you half-a-dozen or so of our swains to swell your train.But they will not leave us."
Was there ever so saucy a girl?
Miss Peggy bit her lips, and I think she would have liked to boxNancy's ears there and then, had she dared. But a few gentlemen werestanding round us, laughing at Nancy's sally. So she refrained.
"O Miss Nancy!" she replied, trying to laugh, "you are indeed kind. ButI love not the attentions of men at second-hand. You are welcome to allmy cast-off lovers. Pray, Miss Pleydell, may I ask when we may expecthis lordship back again?"
"I do not know," I replied. "Lord Chudleigh does not send me letters asto his movements or intentions."
"I said so," she replied, triumphant for the moment. "I said so thismorning at the book-shop, when they were asking each other what newsof Lord Chudleigh. Some said Miss Pleydell would surely know: I saidthat I did not think there was anything between his lordship and MissPleydell: and I ventured to predict that you knew no more about hismovements than myself."
"Indeed," said Nancy, coming to my assistance. "I should have thoughtyou were likely to know more than Kitty."
"Indeed, why?"
"Because," said Nancy, laughing, "his lordship, who is, I believe, oneof your cast-off lovers, might perhaps have written to you for oldacquaintance' sake."
Miss Peggy had no reason for loving me, who had dethroned her, but shehad reason for hating Nancy, who always delighted in bringing her toopen shame.
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p; "What have I done to you, Miss Levett?" she asked her once, when theywere alone. "You are not the reigning Toast: I am not jealous of you:you have done no harm to me, nor I to you. Yet you delight in sayingthe most ill-natured things."
"You have done nothing to me, Miss Peggy," Nancy told her. "But youhave done a great deal to my poor Kitty, who is innocence itself. Youhave slandered her: you have traduced her family, which everybody knowsis as good as your own, though her father was a country clergyman anda younger son: you have denied her beauty: you have written anonymousletters to her, calumniating a young nobleman who, I verily believe,is a paragon of peers. No doubt, too, you have written letters to himcalumniating her character. Truly, with the best intentions, you couldnot do much to hurt her, for my Kitty is above suspicion."
"Very well, miss," said Miss Peggy; "very well: we understand eachother. As for your charges about anonymous letters----"
"We keep them all," said Nancy; "and with them a letter written andsigned by yourself. And I think I shall show the letters about on theTerrace."
"If you dare----" but here she checked herself, though in a great rage."You will do as you please, Miss Levett. I shall know, some day, how torevenge myself for your insults. As for your curate's girl, I warranther innocence and her being 'above suspicion'--indeed!--to be prettyhypocrisy and pretence. As if any woman was above suspicion!"
"Oh!" said Nancy, as a parting shot, "nobody, I assure you, everthought Miss Peggy Baker or any of her friends above suspicion. Let usdo you, dear miss, so much justice. You shall not find us ungrateful orunmindful of the benefits you have conferred, or are about to confer,upon us. Malice and spite, when they are impotent, are amusing, likethe tricks of a monkey in a cage, or a bear dancing at a stake."
Such angry passions as these disturbed the peaceful atmosphere of theWells. What use was it for Mr. Nash of Bath, to deprive the gentlemenof their swords when he left the ladies their tongues? "The tongue canno man tame: it is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison."
The accident which followed, a day or two after this, may or may nothave been instigated by an enemy. Nancy always declared it was, butthen she may have been prejudiced, and we never got at the truth.
Every Friday or Saturday there came down from London a coach full ofgentlemen from the City or the Inns of Court, to spend two or threedays at the Wells. These were our most noisy visitors: they pushedinto the coteries, and endeavoured to form parts of the trains ofthe beauties in vogue: they drank too much wine: gambled fiercelyfor small sums; and turned the quiet decorum of the assembly into ababel of riot, noise, loud laughter, coarse jokes, and ill-breeding.The Sunday was thus spoiled: those of us who loved quiet stayed, forthe most part, at home when we were not in church, or wandered on thequiet Downs, where we were undisturbed. Solomon Stallabras attended uson these occasions, and we turned our conversation on grave matters.I exhorted him, for instance, to direct his splendid genius to thecreation of a sacred epic, which should be to the eighteenth centurywhat Milton's "Paradise Lost" was to the seventeenth. He promised tothink of it, and we talked over various plans. The Deluge, St. Paul,the Apocalypse, were discussed in turn; for my own part, I thoughtthat the Book of Revelation would prove a subject too sublime forour poet's strength, and recommended, as a fitter subject for hiseasy and graceful verses, the life and travels of St. Paul. In theseconsiderations we forgot, for awhile, the calumnies of our enemy, andeach put aside, for a time, his own private anxieties.
One Saturday evening, while Lord Chudleigh was still away, a noisierparty than usual were in the Assembly Rooms, and although there wasno dancing, the talk and quarrelling of the gamblers were incessant,while lights were hung out among the trees, and the walk was crowdedwith people. Neither Nancy nor I was present, having little desireto be stared at by ill-bred young citizens or pushing templars.Unfortunately, Harry Temple was among them.
While he was idling among the trees there passed him a group of threeyoung fellows, all talking together noisily. I suppose they had beendrinking. One of them, unfortunately, caught sight of Harry, and beganto laugh. Then they stopped, and then one stepped forward and madeHarry a profound bow.
"We welcome," he said, "the Knight of the Rueful Countenance. Wecondole with your misfortune.
"'Her Temple's rule she doth not own, Though still she loves her Lord.'"
Harry was not only melancholy, but also, as some such men are, he wascholeric; and he was strong, being bred and brought up to countrypursuits. In a moment his cane was in one hand and his assailant'scravat was in his other. Then he began to beat the man with his cane.
The others stood stupid with amazement. Sir Miles, who was on his wayto the tables, and had seen the beginning of the fray, stepped to thefront.
"Who interferes with Mr. Temple has to do with me," he shouted. "Fairplay, gentlemen. Let them fight it out with fists like men, first--andstick each other afterwards with rapiers like Frenchmen, if they like.Gentlemen, I am Sir Miles Lackington, Baronet, at your service, if anyone wants a little breathing."
He held his cane in readiness, but the other gentlemen kept aloof. WhenHarry had spent his rage, because, so far as I can learn, there was noresistance, he shook off his opponent, adjusted his wig, which was alittle deranged, and turned quietly to Sir Miles--
"You will oblige me, Sir Miles? Thank you, gentlemen all--your servant."
He resumed his walk, lounging among the trees, the women looking afterhim with a mixture of fright and admiration, as calm as if nothing hadhappened.
The man who was beaten was followed off the field by his friends. Norcould Sir Miles get speech of them that evening. In the morning, whenhe went to make his murderous appointment, he found they were gone.Fighting, it would seem, was not to their liking; though an insult to aharmless gentleman was quite in their way.
"I am sorry, Harry," I said honestly, because a woman cannot helprespecting a man who is brave and strong, "that the taking of my namehas caused you this trouble."
"I am sorry, too," he said sadly. "Yet I blame them not, Kitty."
"But you do blame me," I replied. "Harry, if, in a littlewhile--somehow--I am able to show that I could not, even if I wished,grant the thing you want--if--I say--I can make that quite clear andplain to you--will you promise to be reconciled to what cannot--cannotbe avoided?"
"If, Kitty--what an if? But you ask the impossible. There is noreason--there cannot be. Why, such a thing is impossible."
"But again--if--Harry, promise me so much."
He laughed grimly.
"Well, I promise."
"Give me your hand upon it," I said. "Now we shall be friends indeed.Why, you silly Harry, you let the days go by, and you neglect the mostbeautiful girls who could perhaps make you a hundred times as happy asKitty, all because you deck her out with imaginary virtues which shedoth not possess. Foolish Harry! Open your eyes and look about you.What do you see?"
I, for my part, saw pretty Nancy running along the walk to meet us.Love was in her eyes, grace in her action; youth, beauty, sweetnessin her comely shape, her rosy cheeks, her pretty smile, her winningtongue, her curly locks. She was in morning dress, without hoop orpatch. Through the leaves of the trees the sun shone softly upon her,covering her with a soft light which might have been that in whichVenus stole along the shore in a golden mist to meet her son--of whichmy father had read to me. She was pretty, she was sweet; far prettierthan I, who was so tall; far sweeter than I, who was full of evilpassions and shame, being a great sinner.
"Foolish Harry!" I said. "What do you see?"
He only looked me in the face and replied--
"I see nothing but the beautiful Kitty."
"Oh, blind, blind!"
The Chaplain of the Fleet Page 28
