Man and Wife

by Wilkie Collins

distinction in more ways than one. He was honorable, in the first

  place, as being the son (second son) of that once-rising

  solicitor, who was now Lord Holchester. He was honorable, in the

  second place, as having won the highest popular distinction which

  the educational system of modern England can bestow--he had

  pulled the stroke-oar in a University boat-race. Add to this,

  that nobody had ever seen him read any thing but a newspaper, and

  that nobody had ever known him to be backward in settling a

  bet--and the picture of this distinguished young Englishman will

  be, for the present, complete.

  Blanche's eye naturally rested on him. Blanche's voice naturally

  picked him out as the first player on her side.

  "I choose Mr. Delamayn," she said.

  As the name passed her lips the flush on Miss Silvester's face

  died away, and a deadly paleness took its place. She made a

  movement to leave the summer-house--checked herself abruptly--and

  laid one hand on the back of a rustic seat at her side. A

  gentleman behind her, looking at the hand, saw it clench itself

  so suddenly and so fiercely that the glove on it split. The

  gentleman made a mental memorandum, and registered Miss Silvester

  in his private books as "the devil's own temper."

  Meanwhile Mr. Delamayn, by a strange coincidence, took exactly

  the same course which Miss Silvester had taken before him. He,

  too, attempted to withdraw from the coming game.

  "Thanks very much," he said. "Could you additionally honor me by

  choosing somebody else? It's not in my line."

  Fifty years ago such an answer as this, addressed to a lady,

  would have been considered inexcusably impertinent. The social

  code of the present time hailed it as something frankly amusing.

  The company laughed. Blanche lost her temper.

  "Can't we interest you in any thing but severe muscular exertion,

  Mr. Delamayn?" she asked, sharply. "Must you always be pulling in

  a boat-race, or flying over a high jump? If you had a mind, you

  would want to relax it. You have got muscles instead. Why not

  relax _ them?"_

  The shafts of Miss Lundie's bitter wit glided off Mr. Geoffrey

  Delamayn like water off a duck's back.

  "Just as you please," he said, with stolid good-humor. "Don't be

  offended. I came here with ladies--and they wouldn't let me

  smoke. I miss my smoke. I thought I'd slip away a bit and have

  it. All right! I'll play."

  "Oh! smoke by all means!" retorted Blanche. "I shall choose

  somebody else. I won't have you!"

  The honorable young gentleman looked unaffectedly relieved. The

  petulant young lady turned her back on him, and surveyed the

  guests at the other extremity of the summer-house.

  "Who shall I choose?" she said to herself.

  A dark young man--with a face burned gipsy-brown by the sun; with

  something in his look and manner suggestive of a roving life, and

  perhaps of a familiar acquaintance with the sea--advanced shyly,

  and said, in a whisper:

  "Choose me!"

  Blanche's face broke prettily into a charming smile. Judging from

  appearances, the dark young man had a place in her estimation

  peculiarly his own.

  "You!" she said, coquettishly. "You are going to leave us in an

  hour's time!"

  He ventured a step nearer. "I am coming back," he pleaded, "the

  day after to-morrow."

  "You play very badly!"

  "I might improve--if you would teach me."

  "Might you? Then I will teach you!" She turned, bright and rosy,

  to her step-mother. "I choose Mr. Arnold Brinkworth," she said.

  Here, again, there appeared to be something in a name unknown to

  celebrity, which nevertheless produced its effect--not, this

  time, on Miss Silvester, but on Sir Patrick. He looked at Mr.

  Brinkworth with a sudden interest and curiosity. If the lady of

  the house had not claimed his attention at the moment he would

  evidently have spoken to the dark young man.

  But it was Lady Lundie's turn to choose a second player on her

  side. Her brother-in-law was a person of some importance; and she

  had her own motives for ingratiating herself with the head of the

  family. She surprised the whole company by choosing Sir Patrick.

  "Mamma!" cried Blanche. "What can you be thinking of? Sir Patrick

  won't play. Croquet wasn't discovered in his time."

  Sir Patrick never allowed "his time" to be made the subject of

  disparaging remarks by the younger generation without paying the

  y ounger generation back in its own coin.

  "In _my_ time, my dear," he said to his niece, "people were

  expected to bring some agreeable quality with them to social

  meetings of this sort. In your time you have dispensed with all

  that. Here," remarked the old gentleman, taking up a croquet

  mallet from the table near him, "is one of the qualifications for

  success in modern society. And here," he added, taking up a ball,

  "is another. Very good. Live and learn. I'll play! I'll play!"

  Lady Lundie (born impervious to all sense of irony) smiled

  graciously.

  "I knew Sir Patrick would play," she said, "to please me,"

  Sir Patrick bowed with satirical politeness.

  "Lady Lundie," he answered, "you read me like a book." To the

  astonishment of all persons present under forty he emphasized

  those words by laying his hand on his heart, and quoting poetry.

  "I may say with Dryden," added the gallant old gentleman:

  " 'Old as I am, for ladies' love unfit,

  The power of beauty I remember yet.' "

  Lady Lundie looked unaffectedly shocked. Mr. Delamayn went a step

  farther. He interfered on the spot--with the air of a man who

  feels himself imperatively called upon to perform a public duty.

  "Dryden never said that," he remarked, "I'll answer for it."

  Sir Patrick wheeled round with the help of his ivory cane, and

  looked Mr. Delamayn hard in the face.

  "Do you know Dryden, Sir, better than I do?" he asked.

  The Honorable Geoffrey answered, modestly, "I should say I did. I

  have rowed three races with him, and we trained together."

  Sir Patrick looked round him with a sour smile of triumph.

  "Then let me tell you, Sir," he said, "that you trained with a

  man who died nearly two hundred years ago."

  Mr. Delamayn appealed, in genuine bewilderment, to the company

  generally:

  "What does this old gentleman mean?" he asked. "I am speaking of

  Tom Dryden, of Corpus. Every body in the University knows _him._"

  "I am speaking," echoed Sir Patrick, "of John Dryden the Poet.

  Apparently, every body in the University does _not_ know _him!"_

  Mr. Delamayn answered, with a cordial earnestness very pleasant

  to see:

  "Give you my word of honor, I never heard of him before in my

  life! Don't be angry, Sir. _I'm_ not offended with _you._" He

  smiled, and took out his brier-wood pipe. "Got a light?" he

  asked, in the friendliest possible manner.

  Sir Patrick answered, with a total absence of cordiality:

  "I don't smoke, Sir."

  Mr. Delamayn looked at hi
m, without taking the slightest offense:

  "You don't smoke!" he repeated. "I wonder how you get through

  your spare time?"

  Sir Patrick closed the conversation:

  "Sir," he said, with a low bow, "you _may_ wonder."

  While this little skirmish was proceeding Lady Lundie and her

  step-daughter had organized the game; and the company, players

  and spectators, were beginning to move toward the lawn. Sir

  Patrick stopped his niece on her way out, with the dark young man

  in close attendance on her.

  "Leave Mr. Brinkworth with me," he said. "I want to speak to

  him."

  Blanche issued her orders immediately. Mr. Brinkworth was

  sentenced to stay with Sir Patrick until she wanted him for the

  game. Mr. Brinkworth wondered, and obeyed.

  During the exercise of this act of authority a circumstance

  occurred at the other end of the summer-house. Taking advantage

  of the confusion caused by the general movement to the lawn, Miss

  Silvester suddenly placed herself close to Mr. Delamayn.

  "In ten minutes," she whispered, "the summer-house will be empty.

  Meet me here."

  The Honorable Geoffrey started, and looked furtively at the

  visitors about him.

  "Do you think it's safe?" he whispered back.

  The governess's sensitive lips trembled, with fear or with anger,

  it was hard to say which.

  "I insist on it!" she answered, and left him.

  Mr. Delamayn knitted his handsome eyebrows as he looked after

  her, and then left the summer-house in his turn. The rose-garden

  at the back of the building was solitary for the moment. He took

  out his pipe and hid himself among the roses. The smoke came from

  his mouth in hot and hasty puffs. He was usually the gentlest of

  masters--to his pipe. When he hurried that confidential servant,

  it was a sure sign of disturbance in the inner man.

  CHAPTER THE THIRD.

  THE DISCOVERIES.

  BUT two persons were now left in the summer-house--Arnold

  Brinkworth and Sir Patrick Lundie.

  "Mr. Brinkworth," said the old gentleman, "I have had no

  opportunity of speaking to you before this; and (as I hear that

  you are to leave us, to-day) I may find no opportunity at a later

  time. I want to introduce myself. Your father was one of my

  dearest friends--let me make a friend of your father's son."

  He held out his hands, and mentioned his name.

  Arnold recognized it directly. "Oh, Sir Patrick!" he said,

  warmly, "if my poor father had only taken your advice--"

  "He would have thought twice before he gambled away his fortune

  on the turf; and he might have been alive here among us, instead

  of dying an exile in a foreign land," said Sir Patrick, finishing

  the sentence which the other had begun. "No more of that! Let's

  talk of something else. Lady Lundie wrote to me about you the

  other day. She told me your aunt was dead, and had left you heir

  to her property in Scotland. Is that true?--It is?--I

  congratulate you with all my heart. Why are you visiting here,

  instead of looking after your house and lands? Oh! it's only

  three-and-twenty miles from this; and you're going to look after

  it to-day, by the next train? Quite right. And--what?

  what?--coming back again the day after to-morrow? Why should you

  come back? Some special attraction here, I suppose? I hope it's

  the right sort of attraction. You're very young--you're exposed

  to all sorts of temptations. Have you got a solid foundation of

  good sense at the bottom of you? It is not inherited from your

  poor father, if you have. You must have been a mere boy when he

  ruined his children's prospects. How have you lived from that

  time to this? What were you doing when your aunt's will made an

  idle man of you for life?"

  The question was a searching one. Arnold answered it, without the

  slightest hesitation; speaking with an unaffected modesty and

  simplicity which at once won Sir Patrick's heart.

  "I was a boy at Eton, Sir," he said, "when my father's losses

  ruined him. I had to leave school, and get my own living; and I

  have got it, in a roughish way, from that time to this. In plain

  English, I have followed the sea--in the merchant-service."

  "In plainer English still, you met adversity like a brave lad,

  and you have fairly earned the good luck that has fallen to you,"

  rejoined Sir Patrick. "Give me your hand--I have taken a liking

  to you. You're not like the other young fellows of the present

  time. I shall call you 'Arnold.' You mus'n't return the

  compliment and call me 'Patrick,' mind--I'm too old to be treated

  in that way. Well, and how do you get on here? What sort of a

  woman is my sister-in-law? and what sort of a house is this?"

  Arnold burst out laughing.

  "Those are extraordinary questions for you to put to me," he

  said. "You talk, Sir, as if you were a stranger here!"

  Sir Patrick touched a spring in the knob of his ivory cane. A

  little gold lid flew up, and disclosed the snuff-box hidden

  inside. He took a pinch, and chuckled satirically over some

  passing thought, which he did not think it necessary to

  communicate to his young friend.

  "I talk as if I was a stranger here, do I?" he resumed. "That's

  exactly what I am. Lady Lundie and I correspond on excellent

  terms; but we run in different grooves, and we see each other as

  seldom as possible. My story," continued the pleasant old man,

  with a charming frankness which leveled all differences of age

  and rank between Arnold and himself, "is not entirely unlike

  yours; though I _am_ old enough to be your grandfather. I was

  getting my living, in my way (as a crusty old Scotch lawyer),

  when my brother married again. His death, without leaving a son

  by either of his wives, gave me a lift in the world, like you.

  Here I am (to my own sincere regret) the present baronet. Yes, to

  my sincere regret! All sorts of responsibilities which I never

  bargained for are thrust on my shou lders. I am the head of the

  family; I am my niece's guardian; I am compelled to appear at

  this lawn-party--and (between ourselves) I am as completely out

  of my element as a man can be. Not a single familiar face meets

  _me_ among all these fine people. Do you know any body here?"

  "I have one friend at Windygates," said Arnold. "He came here

  this morning, like you. Geoffrey Delamayn."

  As he made the reply, Miss Silvester appeared at the entrance to

  the summer-house. A shadow of annoyance passed over her face when

  she saw that the place was occupied. She vanished, unnoticed, and

  glided back to the game.

  Sir Patrick looked at the son of his old friend, with every

  appearance of being disappointed in the young man for the first

  time.

  "Your choice of a friend rather surprises me," he said.

  Arnold artlessly accepted the words as an appeal to him for

  information.

  "I beg your pardon, Sir--there's nothing surprising in it," he

  returned. "We were school-fellows at Eton, in the old times. And

  I have met Geo
ffrey since, when he was yachting, and when I was

  with my ship. Geoffrey saved my life, Sir Patrick," he added, his

  voice rising, and his eyes brightening with honest admiration of

  his friend. "But for him, I should have been drowned in a

  boat-accident. Isn't _that_ a good reason for his being a friend

  of mine?"

  "It depends entirely on the value you set on your life," said Sir

  Patrick.

  "The value I set on my life?" repeated Arnold. "I set a high

  value on it, of course!"

  "In that case, Mr. Delamayn has laid you under an obligation."

  "Which I can never repay!"

  "Which you will repay one of these days, with interest--if I know

  any thing of human nature," answered Sir Patrick.

  He said the words with the emphasis of strong conviction. They

  were barely spoken when Mr. Delamayn appeared (exactly as Miss

  Silvester had appeared) at the entrance to the summer-house. He,

  too, vanished, unnoticed--like Miss Silvester again. But there

  the parallel stopped. The Honorable Geoffrey's expression, on

  discovering the place to be occupied, was, unmistakably an

  expression of relief.

  Arnold drew the right inference, this time, from Sir Patrick's

  language and Sir Patrick's tones. He eagerly took up the defense

  of his friend.

  "You said that rather bitterly, Sir," he remarked. "What has

  Geoffrey done to offend you?"

  "He presumes to exist--that's what he has done," retorted Sir

  Patrick. "Don't stare! I am speaking generally. Your friend is

  the model young Briton of the present time. I don't like the

  model young Briton. I don't see the sense of crowing over him as

  a superb national production, because he is big and strong, and

  drinks beer with impunity, and takes a cold shower bath all the

  year round. There is far too much glorification in England, just

  now, of the mere physical qualities which an Englishman shares

  with the savage and the brute. And the ill results are beginning

  to show themselves already! We are readier than we ever were to

  practice all that is rough in our national customs, and to excuse

  all that is violent and brutish in our national acts. Read the

  popular books--attend the popular amusements; and you will find

  at the bottom of them all a lessening regard for the gentler

  graces of civilized life, and a growing admiration for the

  virtues of the aboriginal Britons!"

  Arnold listened in blank amazement. He had been the innocent

  means of relieving Sir Patrick's mind of an accumulation of

  social protest, unprovided with an issue for some time past. "

  How hot you are over it, Sir!" he exclaimed, in irrepressible

  astonishment.

  Sir Patrick instantly recovered himself. The genuine wonder

  expressed in the young man's face was irresistible.

  "Almost as hot," he said, "as if I was cheering at a boat-race,

  or wrangling over a betting-book--eh? Ah, we were so easily

  heated when I was a young man! Let's change the subject. I know

  nothing to the prejudice of your friend, Mr. Delamayn. It's the

  cant of the day," cried Sir Patrick, relapsing again, "to take

  these physically-wholesome men for granted as being

  morally-wholesome men into the bargain. Time will show whether

  the cant of the day is right.--So you are actually coming back to

  Lady Lundie's after a mere flying visit to your own property? I

  repeat, that is a most extraordinary proceeding on the part of a

  landed gentleman like you. What's the attraction here--eh?"

  Before Arnold could reply Blanche called to him from the lawn.

  His color rose, and he turned eagerly to go out. Sir Patrick

  nodded his head with the air of a man who had been answered to

  his own entire satisfaction. "Oh!" he said, "_that's_ the

  attraction, is it?"

  Arnold's life at sea had left him singularly ignorant of the ways