A Mere Chance Volume II Part 14

"That there is anyone she cares for--more than she cares for me?"

He was impelled, against his better judgment, to ask this awkward question. Mrs. Reade gathered herself together, so to speak; it was one of those sudden emergencies that inspire a brave woman.

"If I thought she cared for anyone who was a better man, and could make her happier than you," she said deliberately, looking him straight in the face, "she should have him, or it would not be my fault."

"But she does not?"

"So far as I know she does not. But," she was an honest little woman, and it gave her a pang to mislead him, even though she did it for what seemed to her a good end, "but, at the same time, no doubt she does not care for you as she ought to do."

"I hope that will come," he said cheerfully.

If only Mr. Dalrymple did not stand in his way, he felt all difficulties manageable.

"It is a great risk; you ought to think well before you take it."

"I have thought well."

"And I will be no party to making _her_ take it against her will."

"But I think she will be willing if she is treated properly. Of course I don't want to marry her by force. I want to bring her round to like it as she used to like it. If there is n.o.body else, why not? And you _will_ help me, won't you?"

Mrs. Reade looked at him with bright and friendly eyes. He was really taking it very well considering how badly he had been treated, and how extremely susceptible he was to indignities of this, or indeed any description. He certainly must be strangely in love with that perverse child, she thought--much more in love than she had ever expected to see him--to be able to put his wrongs in the background like this. He deserved to be helped.

And as far as human judgment was to be trusted, to help him would be to play Providence to Rachel.

"I will do what I can," she said kindly. "That is to say, I won't interfere, but I'll give you good advice whenever you do me the honour to ask for it."

"Thank you; I ask for it now. What do you advise me to do?"

She pondered a few moments, watching him thoughtfully.

"You are quite sure, once for all, that you think it worth while to throw yourself away on an ungrateful little monkey who doesn't appreciate you?"

"I'm quite sure I want to marry Rachel. I hope she will appreciate me, but if she doesn't--well, I want to marry her all the same."

"And are willing to take the consequences?"

"Oh, yes; I'm not afraid of consequences--once the wedding is over."

He smiled as he made this almost sacrilegious a.s.sertion, which implied a marital control of consequences that was offensive in the ears of the little woman, who liked to see husbands kept in their proper places.

"Don't boast," she said sharply, "you might find yourself in a very unpleasant position when the wedding was over. And you will, too, if you don't mind."

The dialogue was interrupted at this point. A little brougham rattled past the window on its way from the stable-yard to the front-door, and a servant came in with tea.

Mrs. Reade looked at her watch, and her guest's face fell.

"Is it five o'clock?" he exclaimed testily; "and you have not given me any advice!"

"Will you have a cup of tea?" she inquired, coolly.

"No, thank you. _Must_ you go out this afternoon?"

"Well, I could hardly countermand the carriage now, because you are here, could I? We'll have a drive somewhere before we go in to town, and I'll give you advice as we go along."

She drank her tea standing in the middle of the room, and then leaving him to fret and fume by himself, went away to dress, and in the retirement of her own apartment to concoct a definite scheme of action.

In a few minutes she came back alert and bright, in a very charming French bonnet, and with yards of silken train behind her. She was ready for him in every sense of the word.

As soon as they were out upon the road, and she had finished b.u.t.toning a refractory glove, she said gravely, with an air of having solved all doubts,

"Now I will tell you what you must do."

"Yes?"

"You must accept Rachel's dismissal."

"_What!_ I'm sure I shall not do anything of the kind."

Mrs. Reade laid herself back in the carriage and folded her hands.

"Very well," she said, calmly.

"No, but really--I beg your pardon--I don't understand you. Do you mean I must just give her up and have done with it? Because you know it is just that that I can't do."

"Not at all. But don't ask my opinion----"

"Oh, yes, _do_ tell me what you mean."

"Well, I was going to suggest that you see or write to Rachel and tell her you will do what she wishes rather than distress her; but that, while leaving her free, you will consider yourself still as much bound to her as ever, and wait in hope that she will come back to you someday.

That kind of thing, you know."

"Oh, yes, that is all very well. And in the meantime I shall be getting old--that is to say, I shall be losing time--and she will be sure to be run after by other men the moment my back is turned."

"It will be better to lose a little time than to worry her now," said Mrs. Reade. "If you draw off from her a little, she will miss you, and then probably she will want you, and provided you left her a.s.sured of your faithfulness, and didn't go flirting with Miss Hale and people, it would be just the kind of delicate and chivalrous consideration for her that she would appreciate. Yes, I know Rachel; it would touch her heart deeply."

"But some other fellow might get hold of her--finding she was free, you know."

"I think," said Mrs. Reade, smiling slightly, "that we may safely leave my mother to look after that."

Upon consideration Mr. Kingston thought so too. He began to see glimmerings of wisdom and reason in this proposed course.

"But your mother will have to be looked after herself," he said, breaking a little pause abruptly. "If _I_ am not to worry Rachel, n.o.body else shall."

"Of course. I will look after my mother."

"And suppose," he continued presently, deep in troubled thoughts, "suppose she never renews the engagement after all?"