Chapter 10
A MARRIAGE CONTRACT
There is excitement in the Veneering mansion. The mature young lady isgoing to be married (powder and all) to the mature young gentleman, andshe is to be married from the Veneering house, and the Veneerings are togive the breakfast. The Analytical, who objects as a matter of principleto everything that occurs on the premises, necessarily objects to thematch; but his consent has been dispensed with, and a spring-van isdelivering its load of greenhouse plants at the door, in order thatto-morrow's feast may be crowned with flowers.
The mature young lady is a lady of property. The mature young gentlemanis a gentleman of property. He invests his property. He goes, ina condescending amateurish way, into the City, attends meetings ofDirectors, and has to do with traffic in Shares. As is well known to thewise in their generation, traffic in Shares is the one thing to have todo with in this world. Have no antecedents, no established character, nocultivation, no ideas, no manners; have Shares. Have Shares enough tobe on Boards of Direction in capital letters, oscillate on mysteriousbusiness between London and Paris, and be great. Where does he comefrom? Shares. Where is he going to? Shares. What are his tastes? Shares.Has he any principles? Shares. What squeezes him into Parliament?Shares. Perhaps he never of himself achieved success in anything, neveroriginated anything, never produced anything? Sufficient answer to all;Shares. O mighty Shares! To set those blaring images so high, and tocause us smaller vermin, as under the influence of henbane or opium, tocry out, night and day, 'Relieve us of our money, scatter it for us, buyus and sell us, ruin us, only we beseech ye take rank among the powersof the earth, and fatten on us'!
While the Loves and Graces have been preparing this torch for Hymen,which is to be kindled to-morrow, Mr Twemlow has suffered much in hismind. It would seem that both the mature young lady and the mature younggentleman must indubitably be Veneering's oldest friends. Wards of his,perhaps? Yet that can scarcely be, for they are older than himself.Veneering has been in their confidence throughout, and has done much tolure them to the altar. He has mentioned to Twemlow how he said toMrs Veneering, 'Anastatia, this must be a match.' He has mentioned toTwemlow how he regards Sophronia Akershem (the mature young lady) in thelight of a sister, and Alfred Lammle (the mature young gentleman) in thelight of a brother. Twemlow has asked him whether he went to school asa junior with Alfred? He has answered, 'Not exactly.' Whether Sophroniawas adopted by his mother? He has answered, 'Not precisely so.'Twemlow's hand has gone to his forehead with a lost air.
But, two or three weeks ago, Twemlow, sitting over his newspaper,and over his dry-toast and weak tea, and over the stable-yard in DukeStreet, St James's, received a highly-perfumed cocked-hat and monogramfrom Mrs Veneering, entreating her dearest Mr T., if not particularlyengaged that day, to come like a charming soul and make a fourth atdinner with dear Mr Podsnap, for the discussion of an interesting familytopic; the last three words doubly underlined and pointed with a noteof admiration. And Twemlow replying, 'Not engaged, and more thandelighted,' goes, and this takes place:
'My dear Twemlow,' says Veneering, 'your ready response to Anastatia'sunceremonious invitation is truly kind, and like an old, old friend. Youknow our dear friend Podsnap?'
Twemlow ought to know the dear friend Podsnap who covered him with somuch confusion, and he says he does know him, and Podsnap reciprocates.Apparently, Podsnap has been so wrought upon in a short time, as tobelieve that he has been intimate in the house many, many, many years.In the friendliest manner he is making himself quite at home with hisback to the fire, executing a statuette of the Colossus at Rhodes.Twemlow has before noticed in his feeble way how soon the Veneeringguests become infected with the Veneering fiction. Not, however, that hehas the least notion of its being his own case.
'Our friends, Alfred and Sophronia,' pursues Veneering the veiledprophet: 'our friends Alfred and Sophronia, you will be glad to hear, mydear fellows, are going to be married. As my wife and I make it a familyaffair the entire direction of which we take upon ourselves, of courseour first step is to communicate the fact to our family friends.'
('Oh!' thinks Twemlow, with his eyes on Podsnap, 'then there are onlytwo of us, and he's the other.')
'I did hope,' Veneering goes on, 'to have had Lady Tippins to meet you;but she is always in request, and is unfortunately engaged.'
('Oh!' thinks Twemlow, with his eyes wandering, 'then there are three ofus, and SHE'S the other.')
'Mortimer Lightwood,' resumes Veneering, 'whom you both know, is out oftown; but he writes, in his whimsical manner, that as we ask him to bebridegroom's best man when the ceremony takes place, he will not refuse,though he doesn't see what he has to do with it.'
('Oh!' thinks Twemlow, with his eyes rolling, 'then there are four ofus, and HE'S the other.')
'Boots and Brewer,' observes Veneering, 'whom you also know, I have notasked to-day; but I reserve them for the occasion.'
('Then,' thinks Twemlow, with his eyes shut, 'there are si--' But herecollapses and does not completely recover until dinner is over and theAnalytical has been requested to withdraw.)
'We now come,' says Veneering, 'to the point, the real point, of ourlittle family consultation. Sophronia, having lost both father andmother, has no one to give her away.'
'Give her away yourself,' says Podsnap.
'My dear Podsnap, no. For three reasons. Firstly, because I couldn'ttake so much upon myself when I have respected family friends toremember. Secondly, because I am not so vain as to think that I lookthe part. Thirdly, because Anastatia is a little superstitious on thesubject and feels averse to my giving away anybody until baby is oldenough to be married.'
'What would happen if he did?' Podsnap inquires of Mrs Veneering.
'My dear Mr Podsnap, it's very foolish I know, but I have an instinctivepresentiment that if Hamilton gave away anybody else first, he wouldnever give away baby.' Thus Mrs Veneering; with her open hands pressedtogether, and each of her eight aquiline fingers looking so very likeher one aquiline nose that the bran-new jewels on them seem necessaryfor distinction's sake.
'But, my dear Podsnap,' quoth Veneering, 'there IS a tried friend ofour family who, I think and hope you will agree with me, Podsnap, isthe friend on whom this agreeable duty almost naturally devolves. Thatfriend,' saying the words as if the company were about a hundred andfifty in number, 'is now among us. That friend is Twemlow.'
'Certainly!' from Podsnap.
'That friend,' Veneering repeats with greater firmness, 'is our deargood Twemlow. And I cannot sufficiently express to you, my dear Podsnap,the pleasure I feel in having this opinion of mine and Anastatia's soreadily confirmed by you, that other equally familiar and tried friendwho stands in the proud position--I mean who proudly stands in theposition--or I ought rather to say, who places Anastatia and myself inthe proud position of himself standing in the simple position--of baby'sgodfather.' And, indeed, Veneering is much relieved in mind to find thatPodsnap betrays no jealousy of Twemlow's elevation.
So, it has come to pass that the spring-van is strewing flowers onthe rosy hours and on the staircase, and that Twemlow is surveying theground on which he is to play his distinguished part to-morrow. He hasalready been to the church, and taken note of the various impediments inthe aisle, under the auspices of an extremely dreary widow who opens thepews, and whose left hand appears to be in a state of acute rheumatism,but is in fact voluntarily doubled up to act as a money-box.
And now Veneering shoots out of the Study wherein he is accustomed,when contemplative, to give his mind to the carving and gilding ofthe Pilgrims going to Canterbury, in order to show Twemlow the littleflourish he has prepared for the trumpets of fashion, describing howthat on the seventeenth instant, at St James's Church, the ReverendBlank Blank, assisted by the Reverend Dash Dash, united in the bonds ofmatrimony, Alfred Lammle Esquire, of Sackville Street, Piccadilly,to Sophronia, only daughter of the late Horatio Akershem, Esquire,of Yorkshire. Also how the fair bride was married from the hous
e ofHamilton Veneering, Esquire, of Stucconia, and was given away by MelvinTwemlow, Esquire, of Duke Street, St James's, second cousin to LordSnigsworth, of Snigsworthy Park. While perusing which composition,Twemlow makes some opaque approach to perceiving that if the ReverendBlank Blank and the Reverend Dash Dash fail, after this introduction, tobecome enrolled in the list of Veneering's dearest and oldest friends,they will have none but themselves to thank for it.
After which, appears Sophronia (whom Twemlow has seen twice in hislifetime), to thank Twemlow for counterfeiting the late Horatio AkershemEsquire, broadly of Yorkshire. And after her, appears Alfred (whomTwemlow has seen once in his lifetime), to do the same and to make apasty sort of glitter, as if he were constructed for candle-light only,and had been let out into daylight by some grand mistake. And afterthat, comes Mrs Veneering, in a pervadingly aquiline state of figure,and with transparent little knobs on her temper, like the littletransparent knob on the bridge of her nose, 'Worn out by worry andexcitement,' as she tells her dear Mr Twemlow, and reluctantly revivedwith curacoa by the Analytical. And after that, the bridesmaids beginto come by rail-road from various parts of the country, and to come likeadorable recruits enlisted by a sergeant not present; for, on arrivingat the Veneering depot, they are in a barrack of strangers.
So, Twemlow goes home to Duke Street, St James's, to take a plate ofmutton broth with a chop in it, and a look at the marriage-service, inorder that he may cut in at the right place to-morrow; and he is low,and feels it dull over the livery stable-yard, and is distinctly awareof a dint in his heart, made by the most adorable of the adorablebridesmaids. For, the poor little harmless gentleman once had his fancy,like the rest of us, and she didn't answer (as she often does not),and he thinks the adorable bridesmaid is like the fancy as she was then(which she is not at all), and that if the fancy had not married someone else for money, but had married him for love, he and she wouldhave been happy (which they wouldn't have been), and that she has atenderness for him still (whereas her toughness is a proverb). Broodingover the fire, with his dried little head in his dried little hands,and his dried little elbows on his dried little knees, Twemlow ismelancholy. 'No Adorable to bear me company here!' thinks he. 'NoAdorable at the club! A waste, a waste, a waste, my Twemlow!' And sodrops asleep, and has galvanic starts all over him.
Betimes next morning, that horrible old Lady Tippins (relict of the lateSir Thomas Tippins, knighted in mistake for somebody else by HisMajesty King George the Third, who, while performing the ceremony, wasgraciously pleased to observe, 'What, what, what? Who, who, who?Why, why, why?') begins to be dyed and varnished for the interestingoccasion. She has a reputation for giving smart accounts of things, andshe must be at these people's early, my dear, to lose nothing of thefun. Whereabout in the bonnet and drapery announced by her name, anyfragment of the real woman may be concealed, is perhaps known to hermaid; but you could easily buy all you see of her, in Bond Street; oryou might scalp her, and peel her, and scrape her, and make two LadyTippinses out of her, and yet not penetrate to the genuine article. Shehas a large gold eye-glass, has Lady Tippins, to survey the proceedingswith. If she had one in each eye, it might keep that other droopinglid up, and look more uniform. But perennial youth is in her artificialflowers, and her list of lovers is full.
'Mortimer, you wretch,' says Lady Tippins, turning the eyeglass aboutand about, 'where is your charge, the bridegroom?'
'Give you my honour,' returns Mortimer, 'I don't know, and I don'tcare.'
'Miserable! Is that the way you do your duty?'
'Beyond an impression that he is to sit upon my knee and be secondedat some point of the solemnities, like a principal at a prizefight, Iassure you I have no notion what my duty is,' returns Mortimer.
Eugene is also in attendance, with a pervading air upon him of havingpresupposed the ceremony to be a funeral, and of being disappointed. Thescene is the Vestry-room of St James's Church, with a number of leatheryold registers on shelves, that might be bound in Lady Tippinses.
But, hark! A carriage at the gate, and Mortimer's man arrives, lookingrather like a spurious Mephistopheles and an unacknowledged memberof that gentleman's family. Whom Lady Tippins, surveying through hereye-glass, considers a fine man, and quite a catch; and of whom Mortimerremarks, in the lowest spirits, as he approaches, 'I believe this is myfellow, confound him!' More carriages at the gate, and lo the rest ofthe characters. Whom Lady Tippins, standing on a cushion, surveyingthrough the eye-glass, thus checks off. 'Bride; five-and-forty if aday, thirty shillings a yard, veil fifteen pound, pocket-handkerchiefa present. Bridesmaids; kept down for fear of outshining bride,consequently not girls, twelve and sixpence a yard, Veneering's flowers,snub-nosed one rather pretty but too conscious of her stockings, bonnetsthree pound ten. Twemlow; blessed release for the dear man if she reallywas his daughter, nervous even under the pretence that she is, well hemay be. Mrs Veneering; never saw such velvet, say two thousand poundsas she stands, absolute jeweller's window, father must have been apawnbroker, or how could these people do it? Attendant unknowns; pokey.'
Ceremony performed, register signed, Lady Tippins escorted out of sacrededifice by Veneering, carriages rolling back to Stucconia, servantswith favours and flowers, Veneering's house reached, drawing-rooms mostmagnificent. Here, the Podsnaps await the happy party; Mr Podsnap, withhis hair-brushes made the most of; that imperial rocking-horse, MrsPodsnap, majestically skittish. Here, too, are Boots and Brewer, andthe two other Buffers; each Buffer with a flower in his button-hole, hishair curled, and his gloves buttoned on tight, apparently come prepared,if anything had happened to the bridegroom, to be married instantly.Here, too, the bride's aunt and next relation; a widowed female ofa Medusa sort, in a stoney cap, glaring petrifaction at herfellow-creatures. Here, too, the bride's trustee; an oilcake-fed styleof business-gentleman with mooney spectacles, and an object of muchinterest. Veneering launching himself upon this trustee as his oldestfriend (which makes seven, Twemlow thought), and confidentially retiringwith him into the conservatory, it is understood that Veneering is hisco-trustee, and that they are arranging about the fortune. Buffers areeven overheard to whisper Thir-ty Thou-sand Pou-nds! with a smack and arelish suggestive of the very finest oysters. Pokey unknowns, amazedto find how intimately they know Veneering, pluck up spirit, foldtheir arms, and begin to contradict him before breakfast. What time MrsVeneering, carrying baby dressed as a bridesmaid, flits about amongthe company, emitting flashes of many-coloured lightning from diamonds,emeralds, and rubies.
The Analytical, in course of time achieving what he feels to be due tohimself in bringing to a dignified conclusion several quarrels he has onhand with the pastrycook's men, announces breakfast. Dining-room no lessmagnificent than drawing-room; tables superb; all the camels out, andall laden. Splendid cake, covered with Cupids, silver, and true-lovers'knots. Splendid bracelet, produced by Veneering before going down, andclasped upon the arm of bride. Yet nobody seems to think much more ofthe Veneerings than if they were a tolerable landlord and landladydoing the thing in the way of business at so much a head. The bride andbridegroom talk and laugh apart, as has always been their manner;and the Buffers work their way through the dishes with systematicperseverance, as has always been THEIR manner; and the pokey unknownsare exceedingly benevolent to one another in invitations to takeglasses of champagne; but Mrs Podsnap, arching her mane and rocking hergrandest, has a far more deferential audience than Mrs Veneering; andPodsnap all but does the honours.
Another dismal circumstance is, that Veneering, having the captivatingTippins on one side of him and the bride's aunt on the other, findsit immensely difficult to keep the peace. For, Medusa, besidesunmistakingly glaring petrifaction at the fascinating Tippins, followsevery lively remark made by that dear creature, with an audible snort:which may be referable to a chronic cold in the head, but may also bereferable to indignation and contempt. And this snort being regular inits reproduction, at length comes to be expected by the company, whomake embarrassing pause
s when it is falling due, and by waiting for it,render it more emphatic when it comes. The stoney aunt has likewise aninjurious way of rejecting all dishes whereof Lady Tippins partakes:saying aloud when they are proffered to her, 'No, no, no, not for me.Take it away!' As with a set purpose of implying a misgiving that ifnourished upon similar meats, she might come to be like that charmer,which would be a fatal consummation. Aware of her enemy, Lady Tippinstries a youthful sally or two, and tries the eye-glass; but, from theimpenetrable cap and snorting armour of the stoney aunt all weaponsrebound powerless.
Another objectionable circumstance is, that the pokey unknowns supporteach other in being unimpressible. They persist in not being frightenedby the gold and silver camels, and they are banded together to defythe elaborately chased ice-pails. They even seem to unite in some vagueutterance of the sentiment that the landlord and landlady will make apretty good profit out of this, and they almost carry themselveslike customers. Nor is there compensating influence in the adorablebridesmaids; for, having very little interest in the bride, and noneat all in one another, those lovely beings become, each one of her ownaccount, depreciatingly contemplative of the millinery present; whilethe bridegroom's man, exhausted, in the back of his chair, appears to beimproving the occasion by penitentially contemplating all the wrong hehas ever done; the difference between him and his friend Eugene, being,that the latter, in the back of HIS chair, appears to be contemplatingall the wrong he would like to do--particularly to the present company.
In which state of affairs, the usual ceremonies rather droop and flag,and the splendid cake when cut by the fair hand of the bride has butan indigestible appearance. However, all the things indispensable tobe said are said, and all the things indispensable to be done aredone (including Lady Tippins's yawning, falling asleep, and wakinginsensible), and there is hurried preparation for the nuptial journeyto the Isle of Wight, and the outer air teems with brass bands andspectators. In full sight of whom, the malignant star of the Analyticalhas pre-ordained that pain and ridicule shall befall him. For he,standing on the doorsteps to grace the departure, is suddenly caught amost prodigious thump on the side of his head with a heavy shoe, whicha Buffer in the hall, champagne-flushed and wild of aim, has borrowed onthe spur of the moment from the pastrycook's porter, to cast after thedeparting pair as an auspicious omen.
So they all go up again into the gorgeous drawing-rooms--all of themflushed with breakfast, as having taken scarlatina sociably--and therethe combined unknowns do malignant things with their legs to ottomans,and take as much as possible out of the splendid furniture. And so, LadyTippins, quite undetermined whether today is the day before yesterday,or the day after to-morrow, or the week after next, fades away; andMortimer Lightwood and Eugene fade away, and Twemlow fades away, andthe stoney aunt goes away--she declines to fade, proving rock to thelast--and even the unknowns are slowly strained off, and it is all over.
All over, that is to say, for the time being. But, there is another timeto come, and it comes in about a fortnight, and it comes to Mr and MrsLammle on the sands at Shanklin, in the Isle of Wight.
Mr and Mrs Lammle have walked for some time on the Shanklin sands, andone may see by their footprints that they have not walked arm in arm,and that they have not walked in a straight track, and that they havewalked in a moody humour; for, the lady has prodded little spirtingholes in the damp sand before her with her parasol, and the gentlemanhas trailed his stick after him. As if he were of the Mephistophelesfamily indeed, and had walked with a drooping tail.
'Do you mean to tell me, then, Sophronia--'
Thus he begins after a long silence, when Sophronia flashes fiercely,and turns upon him.
'Don't put it upon ME, sir. I ask you, do YOU mean to tell me?'
Mr Lammle falls silent again, and they walk as before. Mrs Lammle opensher nostrils and bites her under-lip; Mr Lammle takes his gingerouswhiskers in his left hand, and, bringing them together, frowns furtivelyat his beloved, out of a thick gingerous bush.
'Do I mean to say!' Mrs Lammle after a time repeats, with indignation.'Putting it on me! The unmanly disingenuousness!'
Mr Lammle stops, releases his whiskers, and looks at her. 'The what?'
Mrs Lammle haughtily replies, without stopping, and without lookingback. 'The meanness.'
He is at her side again in a pace or two, and he retorts, 'That is notwhat you said. You said disingenuousness.'
'What if I did?'
'There is no "if" in the case. You did.'
'I did, then. And what of it?'
'What of it?' says Mr Lammle. 'Have you the face to utter the word tome?'
'The face, too!' replied Mrs Lammle, staring at him with cold scorn.'Pray, how dare you, sir, utter the word to me?'
'I never did.'
As this happens to be true, Mrs Lammle is thrown on the feminineresource of saying, 'I don't care what you uttered or did not utter.'
After a little more walking and a little more silence, Mr Lammle breaksthe latter.
'You shall proceed in your own way. You claim a right to ask me do Imean to tell you. Do I mean to tell you what?'
'That you are a man of property?'
'No.'
'Then you married me on false pretences?'
'So be it. Next comes what you mean to say. Do you mean to say you are awoman of property?'
'No.'
'Then you married me on false pretences.'
'If you were so dull a fortune-hunter that you deceived yourself, orif you were so greedy and grasping that you were over-willing to bedeceived by appearances, is it my fault, you adventurer?' the ladydemands, with great asperity.
'I asked Veneering, and he told me you were rich.'
'Veneering!' with great contempt.' And what does Veneering know aboutme!'
'Was he not your trustee?'
'No. I have no trustee, but the one you saw on the day when youfraudulently married me. And his trust is not a very difficult one, forit is only an annuity of a hundred and fifteen pounds. I think there aresome odd shillings or pence, if you are very particular.'
Mr Lammle bestows a by no means loving look upon the partner of his joysand sorrows, and he mutters something; but checks himself.
'Question for question. It is my turn again, Mrs Lammle. What made yousuppose me a man of property?'
'You made me suppose you so. Perhaps you will deny that you alwayspresented yourself to me in that character?'
'But you asked somebody, too. Come, Mrs Lammle, admission for admission.You asked somebody?'
'I asked Veneering.'
'And Veneering knew as much of me as he knew of you, or as anybody knowsof him.'
After more silent walking, the bride stops short, to say in a passionatemanner:
'I never will forgive the Veneerings for this!'
'Neither will I,' returns the bridegroom.
With that, they walk again; she, making those angry spirts in the sand;he, dragging that dejected tail. The tide is low, and seems to havethrown them together high on the bare shore. A gull comes sweeping bytheir heads and flouts them. There was a golden surface on the browncliffs but now, and behold they are only damp earth. A taunting roarcomes from the sea, and the far-out rollers mount upon one another,to look at the entrapped impostors, and to join in impish and exultantgambols.
'Do you pretend to believe,' Mrs Lammle resumes, sternly, 'when you talkof my marrying you for worldly advantages, that it was within the boundsof reasonable probability that I would have married you for yourself?'
'Again there are two sides to the question, Mrs Lammle. What do youpretend to believe?'
'So you first deceive me and then insult me!' cries the lady, with aheaving bosom.
'Not at all. I have originated nothing. The double-edged question wasyours.'
'Was mine!' the bride repeats, and her parasol breaks in her angry hand.
His colour has turned to a livid white, and ominous marks have come tolight about his nose, as if the finger of the very d
evil himself had,within the last few moments, touched it here and there. But he hasrepressive power, and she has none.
'Throw it away,' he coolly recommends as to the parasol; 'you have madeit useless; you look ridiculous with it.'
Whereupon she calls him in her rage, 'A deliberate villain,' and socasts the broken thing from her as that it strikes him in falling. Thefinger-marks are something whiter for the instant, but he walks on ather side.
She bursts into tears, declaring herself the wretchedest, the mostdeceived, the worst-used, of women. Then she says that if she hadthe courage to kill herself, she would do it. Then she calls him vileimpostor. Then she asks him, why, in the disappointment of his basespeculation, he does not take her life with his own hand, under thepresent favourable circumstances. Then she cries again. Then she isenraged again, and makes some mention of swindlers. Finally, she sitsdown crying on a block of stone, and is in all the known and unknownhumours of her sex at once. Pending her changes, those aforesaid marksin his face have come and gone, now here now there, like white stepsof a pipe on which the diabolical performer has played a tune. Also hislivid lips are parted at last, as if he were breathless with running.Yet he is not.
'Now, get up, Mrs Lammle, and let us speak reasonably.'
She sits upon her stone, and takes no heed of him.
'Get up, I tell you.'
Raising her head, she looks contemptuously in his face, and repeats,'You tell me! Tell me, forsooth!'
She affects not to know that his eyes are fastened on her as she droopsher head again; but her whole figure reveals that she knows it uneasily.
'Enough of this. Come! Do you hear? Get up.'
Yielding to his hand, she rises, and they walk again; but this time withtheir faces turned towards their place of residence.
'Mrs Lammle, we have both been deceiving, and we have both beendeceived. We have both been biting, and we have both been bitten. In anut-shell, there's the state of the case.'
'You sought me out--'
'Tut! Let us have done with that. WE know very well how it was. Whyshould you and I talk about it, when you and I can't disguise it? Toproceed. I am disappointed and cut a poor figure.'
'Am I no one?'
'Some one--and I was coming to you, if you had waited a moment. You,too, are disappointed and cut a poor figure.'
'An injured figure!'
'You are now cool enough, Sophronia, to see that you can't be injuredwithout my being equally injured; and that therefore the mere word isnot to the purpose. When I look back, I wonder how I can have been sucha fool as to take you to so great an extent upon trust.'
'And when I look back--' the bride cries, interrupting.
'And when you look back, you wonder how you can have been--you'll excusethe word?'
'Most certainly, with so much reason.
'--Such a fool as to take ME to so great an extent upon trust. But thefolly is committed on both sides. I cannot get rid of you; you cannotget rid of me. What follows?'
'Shame and misery,' the bride bitterly replies.
'I don't know. A mutual understanding follows, and I think it may carryus through. Here I split my discourse (give me your arm, Sophronia),into three heads, to make it shorter and plainer. Firstly, it's enoughto have been done, without the mortification of being known to have beendone. So we agree to keep the fact to ourselves. You agree?'
'If it is possible, I do.'
'Possible! We have pretended well enough to one another. Can't we,united, pretend to the world? Agreed. Secondly, we owe the Veneeringsa grudge, and we owe all other people the grudge of wishing them to betaken in, as we ourselves have been taken in. Agreed?'
'Yes. Agreed.'
'We come smoothly to thirdly. You have called me an adventurer,Sophronia. So I am. In plain uncomplimentary English, so I am. So areyou, my dear. So are many people. We agree to keep our own secret, andto work together in furtherance of our own schemes.'
'What schemes?'
'Any scheme that will bring us money. By our own schemes, I mean ourjoint interest. Agreed?'
She answers, after a little hesitation, 'I suppose so. Agreed.'
'Carried at once, you see! Now, Sophronia, only half a dozen words more.We know one another perfectly. Don't be tempted into twitting me withthe past knowledge that you have of me, because it is identical withthe past knowledge that I have of you, and in twitting me, youtwit yourself, and I don't want to hear you do it. With this goodunderstanding established between us, it is better never done. To windup all:--You have shown temper today, Sophronia. Don't be betrayed intodoing so again, because I have a Devil of a temper myself.'
So, the happy pair, with this hopeful marriage contract thus signed,sealed, and delivered, repair homeward. If, when those infernalfinger-marks were on the white and breathless countenance of AlfredLammle, Esquire, they denoted that he conceived the purpose of subduinghis dear wife Mrs Alfred Lammle, by at once divesting her of anylingering reality or pretence of self-respect, the purpose would seemto have been presently executed. The mature young lady has mighty littleneed of powder, now, for her downcast face, as he escorts her in thelight of the setting sun to their abode of bliss.
Our Mutual Friend Page 10
