Part 85 (1/2)
”May I have a word in private with my niece?” inquired Mrs.
Bazalgette, bitterly, of David.
”Why not?” said David stoutly; but his heart turned sick as he retired. Lucy saw the look of anxiety.
”Lucy,” said Mrs. Bazalgette, ”you left me because you are averse to matrimony, and I urged you to it; of course, with those sentiments, you have no idea of marrying that man there. I don't suspect you of such hypocrisy, and therefore I say come home with me, and you shall marry n.o.body; your inclination shall be free as air.”
”Aunt,” said Lucy, demurely, ”why didn't you come yesterday? I always said those who love me best would find me first, and you let Mr. Dodd come first. I am so sorry!”
”Then your pretended aversion to marriage was all hypocrisy, was it?”
Lucy informed her that marriage was a contract, and the contracting parties two, and no more--the bride and bridegroom; and that to sign a contract without reading it is silly, and meaning not to keep it is wicked. ”So,” said she, ”I read the contract over in the prayer-book this morning, for fear of accidents.”
My reader may, perhaps, be amused at this admission; but Mrs.
Bazalgette was disgusted, and inquired, ”What stuff is the girl talking now?”
”It is called common sense. Well, I find the contract is one I can carry out with Mr. Dodd, and with n.o.body else. I can love him a little, can honor him a great deal, and obey him entirely. I begin now. There he is; and if you feel you cannot show him the courtesy of making him one in our conversation, permit me to retire and relieve his solitude.”
”Mighty fine; and if you don't instantly leave him and come home, you shall never enter my house again.”
”Unless sickness or trouble should visit your house, and then you will send for me, and I shall come.”
Mrs. Bazalgette (to the coachman).--”Home!”
Lucy made her a polite obeisance, to keep up appearances before the servants and the farm-people, who were gaping. She, whose breeding was inferior, flounced into a corner without returning it. The carriage drove off.
David inquired with great anxiety whether something had not been said to vex her.
”Not in the least,” replied Lucy, calmly. ”Little things and little people can no longer vex me. I have great duties to think of and a great heart to share them with me. Let us walk toward Harrowden; we may perhaps meet a friend.”
Sure enough, just on this side Harrowden they met the covered cart, and Eve in it, radiant with unexpected delight. The engaged ones--for such they had become in those two miles--mounted the cart, and the two men sat in front, and Eve and Lucy intertwined at the back, and opened their hearts to each other.
Eve. And you have taken the paper off again?
Lucy. What paper? It was no longer applicable.
CHAPTER x.x.x.
I HAVE already noticed that Lucy, after capitulation, laid down her arms gracefully and sensibly. When she was asked to name a very early day for the wedding, she opposed no childish delay to David's happiness, for the _Rajah_ was to sail in six weeks and separate them. So the license was got, and the wedding-day came; and all Lucy's previous study of the contract did not prevent her from being deeply affected by the solemn words that joined her to David in holy matrimony.
She bore up, though, stoutly; for her sense of propriety and courtesy forbade her to cloud a festivity. But, when the post-chaise came to convey bride and bridegroom on their little tour, and she had to leave Mrs. Wilson and Eve for a whole week, the tears would not be denied; and, to show how perilous a road matrimony is, these two risked a misunderstanding on their wedding-day, thus: Lucy, all alone in the post-chaise with David, dissolved--a perfect Niobe--gus.h.i.+ng at short intervals. Sometimes a faint explanation gurgled out with the tears: ”Poor Eve! her dear little face was working so not to cry. Oh! oh! I should not have minded so much if she had cried right out.” Then, again, it was ”Poor Mrs. Wilson! I was only a week with her, for all her love. I have made a c--at's p--paw of her--oh!”
Then, again, ”Uncle Bazalgette has never noticed us; he thinks me a h--h--ypocrite.” But quite as often they flowed without any accompanying reason.
Now if David had been a poetaster, he would have said: ”Why these tears? she has got me. Am I not more than an equivalent to these puny considerations?” and all this salt water would have burned into his vanity like liquid caustic. If he had been a poet, he would have said: ”Alas! I make her unhappy whom I hoped to make happy”; and with this he would have been sad, and so prolonged her sadness, and perhaps ended by sulking. But David had two good things--a kind heart and a skin not too thin: and such are the men that make women happy, in spite of their weak nerves and craven spirits.
He gave her time; soothed her kindly; but did not check her weakness dead short.
At last my Lady Chesterfield said to him, penitently, ”This is a poor compliment to you, Mr. Dodd”; and then Niobized again, partly, I believe, with regret that she was behaving so discourteously.