第204章

A convivial lunch I hold to be altogether bad, but the worst of its many evils is that vacillating mind which does not know when to take its owner off. Silverbridge was on this occasion determined not to take himself off at all. As it was only lunch the people must go, and then he would be left with Isabel. But the vacillation of the others was distressing to him. Mr Lupton went, and poor Dolly got away apparently without a word. But the Beeswaxes and the Gotobeds would not go, and the poet sat staring immovably. In the meantime Silverbridge endeavoured to make the time pass lightly by talking to Mrs Boncassen. He had been so determined to accept Isabel with all her adjuncts that he had come almost to like Mrs Boncassen, and would certainly have taken her part violently had anyone spoke ill of her in his presence.

Then suddenly he found that the room was almost empty. The Beeswaxes and the Gotobeds were gone, and at last the poet himself, with a final glare of admiration at Isabel, had taken his departure. When Silverbridge looked round, Isabel was also gone.

Then to Mrs Boncassen had left the room suddenly. At the same instant Mr Boncassen entered by another door, and the two men were alone together. 'My dear Lord Silverbridge,' said the father, 'I want to have a few words with you.' Of course there was nothing for him but to submit. 'You remember what you said to me down at Matching?'

'Oh yes; I remember that.'

'You did me the great honour of expressing a wish to make my child your wife.'

'I was asking for a very great favour.'

'That also;--for there is no greater favour I could do to any man than to give him my daughter. Nevertheless, you were doing me a great honour,--and you did it, as you do everything, with an honest grace that went far to win my heart. I am not at all surprised, sir, that you should have won hers.' The young man as he heard this could only blush and look foolish. 'If I know my girl, neither your money nor your title would go for anything.'

'I think much more of her love, Mr Boncassen, than I do of anything else in the world.'

'But love, my Lord, may be a great misfortune.' As he said this the tone of his voice was altered, and there was a melancholy solemnity not only in his words but in his countenance. 'I take it that young people when they love rarely think of more than the present moment. If they did so the bloom would be gone from their romance. But others have to do this for them. If Isabel had come to me saying that she loved a poor man, there would not have been much to disquiet me. A poor man may earn bread for himself and his wife, and if he failed I could have found them bread. Nor had she loved somewhat below her degree, should I have opposed her. So long as her husband had been an educated man, there might have been no future punishment to fear.'

'I don't think she could have done that,' said Silverbridge.

'At any rate she has not done so. But how am I to look upon this that she has done?'

'I'll do my best for her, Mr Boncassen.'

'I believe you would. But even your love can't make her an English-woman. You can make her a Duchess.'

'Not that, sir.'

'But you can't give her a parentage fit for a Duchess;--not fit at least in the opinion of those with whom you will pass your life, with whom,--or perhaps without whom,--she will be destined to pass her life, if she becomes your wife! Unfortunately it does not suffice that you should think it fit. Though you loved each other as well as any man and woman that ever were brought into each other's arms by the beneficence of God, you cannot make her happy,--unless you can ensure her the respect of those around her.'

'All the world will respect her.'

'Her conduct;--yes. I think the world, your world, would learn to do that. I do not thing it could help itself. But that would not suffice. I may respect the man who cleans my boots, but he would be a wretched man if her thrown on me for society. I would not give him my society. Will your Duchesses and Countesses give her theirs?'

'Certainly they will.'

'I do not ask for it as thinking it to be of more value than that of others; but were she to become your wife she would be so abnormally placed as to require it for her comfort. She would have become a lady of high rank,--not because she loves rank, but because she loves you.'

'Yes, yes, yes,' said Silverbridge, hardly himself knowing why became impetuous.

'But having removed herself into that position, being as she would be, a Countess, or a Duchess, or what not, how could she be happy if he were excluded from the community of Countesses and Duchesses?'

'They are not all like that,' said Silverbridge.

'I will not say that they are, but I do not know. Having Anglican tendencies I have been wont to contradict my countrymen when they have told me of the narrow exclusiveness of your nobles. Having found your nobles and your commoners all alike in their courtesy,--which is a cold word; in their hospitable friendships,--I would now not only contradict, but would laugh to scorn any such charge,'--so far he spoke somewhat loudly, and then dropped his voice as he concluded,--'were it anything less than the happiness of my child that is in question.'

'What am I to say, sir? I only know this; I am not going to lose her.'

'You are a fine fellow. I was going to say that I wished you were an American, so that Isabel need not lose you. But, my boy, I have told you that I do not know how it might be. Of all whom you know, who could best tell me the truth on such a subject? Who is there, whose age will have given him experience, whose rank will have made him familiar with this matter, who from friendship to you would be least likely to decide against your wishes, who from his own native honesty would be most likely to tell the truth?'

'You mean my father,' said Silverbridge.

'I do mean your father. Happily he has taken no dislike to the girl herself. I have seen enough of him to feel that he is devoted to his own children.'

'Indeed he is.'

'A just and liberal man;--one whom I should say not carried away by prejudices! Well,--my girl and I have just put our heads together, and we have come to a conclusion. If the Duke of Omnium will tell us that she would be safe as your wife,--safe from the contempt of those around her,--you shall have her. And I shall rejoice to give her to you,--not because you are Lord Silverbridge, not because of your rank and wealth; but because your are--that individual human being whom I now hold by the hand.'