Annette did not shun him next morning. She did not shun the subject, either. But she had been exact in arranging that she should not be more than a few minutes downstairs before her father. Herbert found, that compared with her, girls of sentiment are commonplace indeed. She had conceived an insane idea of nobility in Tinman that blinded her to his face, figure, and character—his manners, likewise. He had forgiven a blow!
Silly as the delusion might be, it clothed her in whimsical attractiveness.
It was a beauty in her to dwell so firmly upon moral quality. Overthrown and stunned as he was, and reduced to helplessness by her brief and positive replies, Herbert was obliged to admire the singular young lady, who spoke, without much shyness, of her incongruous, destined mate though his admiration had an edge cutting like irony. While in the turn for candour, she ought to have told him, that previous to her decision she had weighed the case of the diverse claims of himself and Tinman, and resolved them according to her predilection for the peaceful residence of her father and herself in England. This she had done a little regretfully, because of the natural sympathy of the young girl for the younger man. But the younger man had seemed to her seriously-straightforward mind too light and airy in his wooing, like one of her waltzing officers—very well so long as she stepped the measure with him, and not forcible enough to take her off her feet. He had changed, and now that he had become persuasive, she feared he would disturb the serenity with which she desired and strove to contemplate her decision. Tinman’s magnanimity was present in her imagination to sustain her, though she was aware that Mrs. Cavely had surprised her will, and caused it to surrender unconsulted by her wiser intelligence.
“I cannot listen to you,” she said to Herbert, after listening longer than was prudent. “If what you say of papa is true, I do not think he will remain in Crikswich, or even in England. But I am sure the old friend we used, to speak of so much in Australia has not wilfully betrayed him.”
Herbert would have had to say, “Look on us two!” to proceed in his baffled wooing; and the very ludicrousness of the contrast led him to see the folly and shame of proposing it.
Van Diemen came down to breakfast looking haggard and restless. “I have ‘nt had my morning’s walk—I can’t go out to be hooted,” he said, calling to his daughter for tea, and strong tea; and explaining to Herbert that he knew it to be bad for the nerves, but it was an antidote to bad champagne.
Mr. Herbert Fellingham had previously received an invitation on behalf of a sister of his to Crikswich. A dull sense of genuine sagacity inspired him to remind Annette of it. She wrote prettily to Miss Mary Fellingham, and Herbert had some faint joy in carrying away the letter of her handwriting.
“Fetch her soon, for we sha’n’t be here long,” Van Diemen said to him at parting. He expressed a certain dread of his next meeting with Mart Tinman.
Herbert speedily brought Mary Fellingham to Elba, and left her there. The situation was apparently unaltered. Van Diemen looked worn, like a man who has been feeding mainly on his reflections, which was manifest in his few melancholy bits of speech. He said to Herbert: “How you feel a thing when you are found out!” and, “It doesn’t do for a man with a heart to do wrong!” He designated the two principal roads by which poor sinners come to a conscience. His own would have slumbered but for discovery; and, as he remarked, if it had not been for his heart leading him to Tinman, he would not have fallen into that man’s power.
The arrival of a young lady of fashionable appearance at Elba was matter of cogitation to Mrs. Cavely. She was disposed to suspect that it meant something, and Van Diemen’s behaviour to her brother would of itself have fortified any suspicion. He did not call at the house on the beach, he did not invite Martin to dinner, he was rarely seen, and when he appeared at the Town Council he once or twice violently opposed his friend Martin, who came home ruffled, deeply offended in his interests and his dignity.
“Have you noticed any difference in Annette’s treatment of you, dear?” Mrs. Cavely inquired.
“No,” said Tinman; “none. She shakes hands. She asks after my health. She offers me my cup of tea.”
“I have seen all that. But does she avoid privacy with you?”
“Dear me, no! Why should she? I hope, Martha, I am a man who may be confided in by any young lady in England.”
“I am sure you may, dear Martin.”
“She has an objection to name the... the day,” said Martin. “I have informed her that I have an objection to long engagements. I don’t like her new companion: She says she has been presented at Court. I greatly doubt it.”
“It’s to give herself a style, you may depend. I don’t believe her!” exclaimed Mrs. Cavely, with sharp personal asperity.
Brother and sister examined together the Court Guide they had purchased on the occasion at once of their largest outlay and most thrilling gratification; in it they certainly found the name of General Fellingham. “But he can’t be related to a newspaper-writer,” said Mrs. Cavely.
To which her brother rejoined, “Unless the young man turned scamp. I hate unproductive professions.”
“I hate him, Martin.” Mrs. Cavely laughed in scorn, “I should say, I pity him. It’s as clear to me as the sun at noonday, he wanted Annette. That’s why I was in a hurry. How I dreaded he would come that evening to our dinner! When I saw him absent, I could have cried out it was Providence! And so be careful—we have had everything done for us from on High as yet—but be careful of your temper, dear Martin. I will hasten on the union; for it’s a shame of a girl to drag a man behind her till he ‘s old at the altar. Temper, dear, if you will only think of it, is the weak point.”
“Now he has begun boasting to me of his Australian wines!” Tinman ejaculated.
“Bear it. Bear it as you do Gippsland. My dear, you have the retort in your heart:—Yes! but have you a Court in Australia?”
“Ha! and his Australian wines cost twice the amount I pay for mine!”
“Quite true. We are not obliged to buy them, I should hope. I would, though—a dozen—if I thought it necessary, to keep him quiet.”
Tinman continued muttering angrily over the Australian wines, with a word of irritation at Gippsland, while promising to be watchful of his temper.
“What good is Australia to us,” he asked, “if it does n’t bring us money?”
“It’s going to, my dear,” said Mrs. Cavely. “Think of that when he begins boasting his Australia. And though it’s convict’s money, as he confesses—”
“With his convict’s money!” Tinman interjected tremblingly. “How long am I expected to wait?”
“Rely on me to hurry on the day,” said Mrs. Cavely. “There is no other annoyance?”
“Wherever I am going to buy, that man outbids me and then says it’s the old country’s want of pluck and dash, and doing things large-handed! A man who’d go on his knees to stop in England!” Tinman vociferated in a breath; and fairly reddened by the effort: “He may have to do it yet. I can’t stand insult.”
“You are less able to stand insult after Honours,” his sister said, in obedience to what she had observed of him since his famous visit to London. “It must be so, in nature. But temper is everything just now. Remember, it was by command of temper, and letting her father put himself in the wrong, you got hold of Annette. And I would abstain even from wine. For sometimes after it, you have owned it disagreed. And I have noticed these eruptions between you and Mr. Smith—as he calls himself—generally after wine.”
“Always the poor! the poor! money for the poor!” Tinman harped on further grievances against Van Diemen. “I say doctors have said the drain on the common is healthy; it’s a healthy smell, nourishing. We’ve always had it and been a healthy town. But the sea encroaches, and I say my house and my property is in danger. He buys my house over my head, and offers me the Crouch to live in at an advanced rent. And then he sells me my house at an advanced price, and I buy, and then he votes against a penny for the protection of the shore! And we’re in Winter again! As if he was not in my power!”
“My dear Martin, to Elba we go, and soon, if you will govern your temper,” said Mrs. Cavely. “You’re an angel to let me speak of it so, and it’s only that man that irritates you. I call him sinfully ostentatious.”
“I could blow him from a gun if I spoke out, and he knows it! He’s wanting in common gratitude, let alone respect,” Tinman snorted.
“But he has a daughter, my dear.”
Tinman slowly and crackingly subsided.
His main grievance against Van Diemen was the non-recognition of his importance by that uncultured Australian, who did not seem to be conscious of the dignities and distinctions we come to in our country. The moneyed daughter, the prospective marriage, for an economical man rejected by every lady surrounding him, advised him to lock up his temper in submission to Martha.
“Bring Annette to dine with us,” he said, on Martha’s proposing a visit to the dear young creature.
Martha drank a glass of her brother’s wine at lunch, and departed on the mission.
Annette declined to be brought. Her excuse was her guest, Miss Fellingham.
“Bring her too, by all means—if you’ll condescend, I am sure,” Mrs. Cavely said to Mary.
“I am much obliged to you; I do not dine out at present,” said the London lady.
“Dear me! are you ill?”
“No.”
“Nothing in the family, I hope?”
“My family?”
“I am sure, I beg pardon,” said Mrs. Cavely, bridling with a spite pardonable by the severest moralist.
“Can I speak to you alone?” she addressed Annette.
Miss Fellingham rose.
Mrs. Cavely confronted her. “I can’t allow it; I can’t think of it. I’m only taking a little liberty with one I may call my future sister-in-law.”
“Shall I come out with you?” said Annette, in sheer lassitude assisting Mary Fellingham in her scheme to show the distastefulness of this lady and her brother.
“Not if you don’t wish to.”
“I have no objection.”
“Another time will do.”
“Will you write?”
“By post indeed!”
Mrs. Cavely delivered a laugh supposed to, be peculiar to the English stage.
“It would be a penny thrown away,” said Annette. “I thought you could send a messenger.”
Intercommunication with Miss Fellingham had done mischief to her high moral conception of the pair inhabiting the house on the beach. Mrs. Cavely saw it, and could not conceal that she smarted.
Her counsel to her brother, after recounting the offensive scene to him in animated dialogue, was, to give Van Diemen a fright.
“I wish I had not drunk that glass of sherry before starting,” she exclaimed, both savagely and sagely. “It’s best after business. And these gentlemen’s habits of yours of taking to dining late upset me. I’m afraid I showed temper; but you, Martin, would not have borne one-tenth of what I did.”
“How dare you say so!” her brother rebuked her indignantly; and the house on the beach enclosed with difficulty a storm between brother and sister, happily not heard outside, because of loud winds raging.
Nevertheless Tinman pondered on Martha’s idea of the wisdom of giving Van Diemen a fright.
All books are sourced from Project Gutenberg