No Name, Wilkie Collins [reading the story of the TXT] 📗

better audience. “Here’s a pretty fellow? He is asked to help himself to two uncommonly comfortable things in their way⁠—a fortune and a wife; he is allowed six months to get the wife in (we should have got her, in the Navy, bag and baggage, in six days); he has a round dozen of nice girls, to my certain knowledge, in one part of the country and another, all at his disposal to choose from, and what does he do? He sits month after month, with his lazy legs crossed before him; he leaves the girls to pine on the stem, and he bothers his uncle to know the reason why! I pity the poor unfortunate women. Men were made of flesh and blood, and plenty of it, too, in my time. They’re made of machinery now.”

“I can only repeat, sir, I am sorry to have offended you,” said George.

“Pooh! pooh! you needn’t look at me in that languishing way if you are,” retorted the admiral. “Stick to your wine, and I’ll forgive you. Your good health, George. I’m glad to see you again at St. Crux. Look at that plateful of sponge-cakes! The cook has sent them up in honor of your return. We can’t hurt her feelings, and we can’t spoil our wine. Here!”⁠—The admiral tossed four sponge-cakes in quick succession down the accommodating throats of the dogs. “I am sorry, George,” the old gentleman gravely proceeded; “I am really sorry you haven’t got your eye on one of those nice girls. You don’t know what a loss you’re inflicting on yourself; you don’t know what trouble and mortification you’re causing me by this shilly-shally conduct of yours.”

“If you would only allow me to explain myself, sir, you would view my conduct in a totally different light. I am ready to marry tomorrow, if the lady will have me.”

“The devil you are! So you have got a lady in your eye, after all? Why in Heaven’s name couldn’t you tell me so before? Never mind, I’ll forgive you everything, now I know you have laid your hand on a wife. Fill your glass again. Here’s her health in a bumper. By the by, who is she?”

“I’ll tell you directly, admiral. When we began this conversation, I mentioned that I was a little anxious⁠—”

“She’s not one of my round dozen of nice girls⁠—aha, Master George, I see that in your face already! Why are you anxious?”

“I am afraid you will disapprove of my choice, sir.”

“Don’t beat about the bush! How the deuce can I say whether I disapprove or not, if you won’t tell me who she is?”

“She is the eldest daughter of Andrew Vanstone, of Combe-Raven.”

“Who!!!”

“Miss Vanstone, sir.”

The admiral put down his glass of wine untasted.

“You’re right, George,” he said. “I do disapprove of your choice⁠—strongly disapprove of it.”

“Is it the misfortune of her birth, sir, that you object to?”

“God forbid! the misfortune of her birth is not her fault, poor thing. You know as well as I do, George, what I object to.”

“You object to her sister?”

“Certainly! The most liberal man alive might object to her sister, I think.”

“It’s hard, sir, to make Miss Vanstone suffer for her sister’s faults.”

“Faults, do you call them? You have a mighty convenient memory, George, when your own interests are concerned.”

“Call them crimes if you like, sir⁠—I say again, it’s hard on Miss Vanstone. Miss Vanstone’s life is pure of all reproach. From first to last she has borne her hard lot with such patience, and sweetness, and courage as not one woman in a thousand would have shown in her place. Ask Miss Garth, who has known her from childhood. Ask Mrs. Tyrrel, who blesses the day when she came into the house⁠—”

“Ask a fiddlestick’s end! I beg your pardon, George, but you are enough to try the patience of a saint. My good fellow, I don’t deny Miss Vanstone’s virtues. I’ll admit, if you like, she’s the best woman that ever put on a petticoat. That is not the question⁠—”

“Excuse me, admiral⁠—it is the question, if she is to be my wife.”

“Hear me out, George; look at it from my point of view, as well as your own. What did your cousin Noel do? Your cousin Noel fell a victim, poor fellow, to one of the vilest conspiracies I ever heard of, and the prime mover of that conspiracy was Miss Vanstone’s damnable sister. She deceived him in the most infamous manner; and as soon as she was down for a handsome legacy in his will, she had the poison ready to take his life. This is the truth; we know it from Mrs. Lecount, who found the bottle locked up in her own room. If you marry Miss Vanstone, you make this wretch your sister-in-law. She becomes a member of our family. All the disgrace of what she has done; all the disgrace of what she may do⁠—and the Devil, who possesses her, only knows what lengths she may go to next⁠—becomes our disgrace. Good heavens, George, consider what a position that is! Consider what pitch you touch, if you make this woman your sister-in-law.”

“You have put your side of the question, admiral,” said George resolutely; “now let me put mine. A certain impression is produced on me by a young lady whom I meet with under very interesting circumstances. I don’t act headlong on that impression, as I might have done if I had been some years younger; I wait, and put it to the trial. Every time I see this young lady the impression strengthens; her beauty grows on me, her character grows on me; when I am away from her, I am restless and dissatisfied; when I am with her, I am the happiest man alive. All I hear of her conduct from those who know her best more than confirms the high opinion I have formed of her. The one drawback I can discover is caused by a misfortune for which she is not responsible⁠—the misfortune of