Squire Arden; volume 3 of 3. Маргарет Олифант

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СКАЧАТЬ you—on account of Clare. I do think not, Edgar, if you were to take my advice.”

      “But I fear I can’t help myself,” said Edgar, with a shadow passing over his face–

      Miss Somers shook her head; but fortunately not even the gratification of giving advice could keep her long to one subject. “Well—of course Clare is like other girls, she is sure to marry somebody,” she said—“and marriage is a great risk Edgar. You shouldn’t laugh. Marriage is not a thing to make you laugh. I never could make up my mind. It is so very serious a thing, my dear. Suppose afterwards you were to see some one else? or suppose– I never could run the risk—though of course it can’t be so bad for a gentleman– But, Edgar, when you are going to be married—vows are nothing—I wouldn’t make any vow—but,—it is this, Edgar—it is wrong to have secrets from your wife. I have known such trouble in my day. When a man was poor, you know—and she would go on, poor thing, and never find out—and then all at once– Oh, my dear, don’t you do that—tell her everything—that is always my—and then she knows exactly what she can do–”

      “But I am not going to be married,” said Edgar with a smile, which did not pass away as common smiles do, but melted over all his face.

      “I hope not,” said Miss Somers promptly, “oh, I hope not—after all this about the Pimpernels—and– But that was your cousin, not you. Oh, no, I hope not. What would Clare do? If Clare were married first, then perhaps– But it would be so strange; Mrs. Arden—Edgar, fancy! In my state of health, you know, I couldn’t go to call on her, my dear. She wouldn’t expect—but then sometimes young ladies are very– And perhaps she won’t know me nor how helpless– I hope she’ll be very nice, I am sure—and—pretty, and– Some people think it doesn’t matter—about beauty, you know, and that– It’s a long, long time since I took any interest in such things—but when I was a young girl, it used to be said– Now I know what you are thinking in yourself—how vain and all that—but it is not vanity, my dear. You like to look nice, you know, and you like to please people, and you like—of course, you like to look nice. When I was young there were people that used to say—the little one—they always called me the little one—or little Letty, or something– I suppose because they were fond of me. Edgar, everybody is fond of you when you are young.”

      “And when you are old too,” said Edgar; “everybody has been fond of you all your life, I am sure—and will be when you are a hundred—of course you know that.”

      “Ah, my dear,” said Miss Somers, shaking her head. “Ah my dear!”—and two soft little tears came into the corners of her eyes—“when you are old– Yes. I know people are so kind—they pity you—and then every one tries; but when you were young, oh, it was so—– There was no trying then. People thought there was nobody like– and then such quantities of things were to happen– But sometimes they never happen. It was my own fault, of course. There was Mr. Templeton and Captain Ormond, and—what is the good of going over–? That is long past, my dear, long past–”

      And Miss Somers put her hands up softly to her eyes. She had a sort of theoretical regret for the opportunity lost, and yet, at the same time, a theoretical satisfaction that she had not tempted her fate—a satisfaction which was entirely theoretical; for did she not dream of her children who might have been, and of one who called Mamma? But Miss Somers was incapable of mentioning such a thing to Edgar, who was a “gentleman.” To have betrayed herself would have been impossible. Arthur Arden was below waiting in the Doctor’s study, and he came out as Edgar came down and joined him. He had not been idle in this moment of waiting. Something told him that this was a great crisis, a moment not to be neglected; and he had been arranging his plan of operations. Only Edgar, for this once thoughtless and unwary, thought of no crisis, until Tuesday came, when he should go to Thorne. He thought of nothing that was likely to change his happy state so long as he remained at home.

      CHAPTER VI

      “The fact is, I am a little put out by having to change my quarters so abruptly,” said Arthur Arden. “I am going to Scotland in the beginning of September, but that is a long way off; and to go to one’s lodgings in town now is dreary work. Besides, I said to the Pimpernels when they drove me out—they actually turned me out of the house—I told them I was coming here. It was the only way I could be even with them. If there is a thing they reverence in the world it is Arden; and if they knew I was here–”

      “It does not entirely rest with me,” said Edgar, with some embarrassment. “Arden, we had a good deal of discussion on various subjects before I went away.”

      “Yes; you went in order to turn me out,” said Arthur meditatively. “By George, it’s pleasant! I used to be a popular sort of fellow. People used to scheme for having me, instead of turning me out. Look here! Of course, when you showed yourself my enemy, it was a point of religion with me to pursue my own course, without regard to you; but now, equally of course, if you take me in to serve me, my action will be different. I should respect your prejudices, however they might run counter to my own.”

      “That means–?” said Edgar, and then stopped short, feeling that it was a matter which he could not discuss.

      “It is best we should not enter into any explanations. Explanations are horrid bores. What I want is shelter for a few weeks, to be purchased by submission to your wishes on the points we both understand.”

      “For a few weeks!” said Edgar, with a little horror.

      “Well, say for a single week. I must put my pride in my pocket, and beg, it appears. It will be a convenience to me, and it can’t hurt you much. Of course, I shall be on my guard in respect to Clare.”

      “I prefer that my sister’s name should not be mentioned between us,” said Edgar, with instinctive repugnance. And then he remembered Mrs. Murray’s strange appeal to him on behalf of his cousin. “You have all but as much right to be in Arden as I have,” he said. “Of course, you must come. My sister is not prepared; she does not expect any one. Would it not be wiser to wait a little—till to-morrow—or even till to-night?”

      “Pardon me,” said Arthur; “but Miss Arden, I am sure, will make up her mind to the infliction better—if I am so very disagreeable—if she gets over the first shock without preparation. Is it that I am getting old, I wonder? I feel myself beginning to maunder. It used not to be so, you know. Indeed, there are places still—but never mind, hospitality that one is compelled to ask for is not often sweet.”

      It was on Edgar’s lips to say that it need not be accepted, but he refrained, compassionate of his penniless kinsman. Why should the one be penniless and the other have all? There was an absence of natural justice in the arrangement that struck Edgar whenever his mind was directed to it; and he remembered now what had been his intention when his cousin first came to the Hall. “Arden,” he said, “I don’t think, if I were you, I would be content to ask for hospitality, as you say; but it is not my place to preach. You are the heir of Arden, and Arden owes you something. I think it is my duty to offer, and yours to accept, something more than hospitality. I will send for Mr. Fazakerly to-morrow. I will not talk of dividing the inheritance, because that is a thing only to be done between brothers; but, as you may become the Squire any day by my death–”

      “I would sell my chance for five pounds,” said Arthur, giving his kinsman a hasty look all over. “I shall be dead and buried years before you—more’s the pity. Don’t think that I can cheat myself with any such hope.”

      This was intended for a compliment, though it was almost a brutal one; but its very coarseness made it more flattering—or so at least the speaker thought.

      “Anyhow, you have a right to a provision,” Edgar continued hastily, with a СКАЧАТЬ