The Irrational Knot Part 37

"What! Your sister? Marian Lind?"

"Yes."

Susanna uttered a long whistle, and then, with a conviction and simplicity which prevented even the Rev. George from being shocked, said: "Well, I _am_ d.a.m.ned! I know more than one fool of a girl who will be sick and sorry to hear it." She paused, and added carelessly: "I suppose all your people are delighted?"

"I do not know why you should suppose so. We have had no hand in the matter. My sister has followed her own inclinations."

"Indeed! Let me tell you, young man, that your sister might have gone farther and fared worse."

"Doubtless. However, you will see now how impossible it is that you should remain in your present--that you should continue here, in fact."

"What do you mean?"

"You cannot," said the clergyman, accustomed to be bold and stern with female sinners, "when you are sister-in-law to Miss Lind, live as you are now doing with her cousin."

"Why not?"

"Because it would be a scandal. I will say nothing at present of the sin of it: you will have to account for that before a greater than I."

"Just so, Doctor. You dont mind the sin; but when it comes to a scandal----!"

"I did not say so. I abhor the sin. I have prayed earnestly for your awakening, and shall do so in spite of the unregenerate hardness of heart----"

"Hallo, Doctor! draw it mild, if you please. I am not one of your paris.h.i.+oners, you know. Perhaps that is the reason your prayers for me have not met with much attention. Let us stick to business: you may talk shop as much as you please afterwards. What do you want me to do?"

"To sever your connexion with Marmaduke at once. Believe me, it will not prove so hard a step as it may seem. You have but to ask for strength to do it, and you will find yourself strong. It will profit you even more than poor Marmaduke."

"Will it? I dont see it, Doctor. You think it will profit _you_: thats plain enough. But it wont profit me; it wont profit Bob; and it wont by any means profit the child."

"Not immediately, perhaps, in a worldly sense----"

"That is the sense I mean. Drop all that other stuff: I dont believe in you parsons: you are about the worst lot going, as far as I can see.

Just tell me this, Doctor. Your sister is a very nice girl, I have no doubt: she would hardly have snapped up Ned if she wasn't. But why is she to have everything her own way?"

"I do not understand."

"Well, listen. Here is a young woman who has had every chance in life that hick could give her: silk cradles, gold rattles, rank, wealth, schooling, travelling, swell acquaintances, and anything else she chose to ask for. Even when she is fool enough to want to get married, her luck sticks to her, and she catches Ned, who is a man in a thousand--though Lord forbid we should have many of his sort about! Yet she's not satisfied. She wants _me_ to give up my establishment just to keep her family in countenance."

"She knows nothing of my visit, I a.s.sure you."

"Even if she doesnt, it makes no odds as to the facts. She can go her own way; and I will go mine. I shant want to visit her; and I dont suppose she will visit me. So she need trouble herself no more than if there was no such person as I in the world."

"But you will find that it will be greatly to your advantage to leave this house. It is not our intention that you shall suffer in a pecuniary point of view by doing so. My father is rich----"

"What is that to me? He doesnt want me to go and live with him, does he?"

"You quite misunderstand me. No such idea ever entered----"

"There! go on. I only said that to get a rise out of you, Doctor. How do you make out that I should gain by leaving this house?"

"My father is willing to make you some amends for the withdrawal of such portion of Marmaduke's income as you may forfeit by ceasing your connexion with him."

"You have come to buy me out, in fact: is that it? What a clever old man your father must be! Knows the world thoroughly, eh?"

"I hope I have not offended you?"

"Bless you, Doctor! n.o.body could be offended with you. Suppose I agree to oblige you (you have a very seductive High Church way about you) who is to make Marmaduke amends for such portion of _my_ income as our separation will deprive _him_ of? Eh? I see that that staggers you a little. If you will just tot up the rent of this house since we have had it; the price of the furniture; our expenses, including my carriage and Marmaduke's horse and the boat; six hundred pounds of debt that he ran up before he settled down with me; and other little things; and then find out from his father how much money he has drawn within the last two years, I think you will find it rather hard to make the two balance.

Your uncle is far too good a man to give Marmaduke money to spend on me; but he was not too good to keep me playing in the provinces all through last autumn just to make both ends meet, when I ought to have been taking my holiday. I wish you would tell his mother, your blessed pious Aunt Dora, to send Bob the set of diamonds his grandmother left him, instead of sermons which he never reads."

"I thought Marmaduke had nearly a thousand a year, independently of his father."

"A thousand a year! What is that? And your uncle would stop even that, if he could, to keep it out of my hands. You may tell him that if it didnt come into my hands it would hardly last a week. Only for the child, and the garden, and the sort of quiet life he leads here, he would spend a thousand a month. And look at _my_ expenses! Look at my dresses! I suppose you think that people wear cotton velvet and glazed calico on the stage, as Mrs. Siddons did in the old days when they acted by candlelight. Why, between dress and jewellery, I have about two hundred pounds on my back at the present moment; and you neednt think that any manager alive will find dresses to that tune. At the theatre they think me overpaid at fifty pounds a week, although they might shut up the house to-morrow if my name was taken out of the bills. Tell your father that so far from my living on Bob, it is as much as I can do to keep this place going by my work--not to mention the worry of it, which always falls on the woman."

"I certainly had no idea of the case being as you describe," said the clergyman, losing his former a.s.surance. "But would it not then be better for you to separate?"

"Certainly not. I want my house and home. So does he. If an income is rather tight, halving it is a very good way to make it tighter. No: if I left Bob, he would go to the devil; and very likely I should go to the devil, too, and disgrace you in earnest."

"But, my dear madam, consider the disgrace at present!"

"What disgrace? When your sister becomes Mrs. Ned, what will be the difference between her position and mine? Dont look aghast. What will be the difference?"

"Surely you do not suppose that she will dispense with the sacrament of marriage before casting in her lot with your brother!"

"I bet you my next week's salary that you dont get Ned to enter a church. He will be tied up by a registrar. Of course, your sister will have the law of him somehow: she cant help herself. She is not independent; and so she must be guaranteed against his leaving her without bread and b.u.t.ter. _I_ can support myself, and may shew Bob a clean pair of heels to-morrow, if I choose. Even if she has money of her own, she darent stick to her freedom for fear of society. _I_ snap my fingers at society, and care as little about it as it cares about me; and I have no doubt she would be glad to do the same if she had the pluck. I confess I shouldnt like to make a regular legal bargain of going to live with a man. I dont care to make love a matter of money; it gives it a taste of the harem, or even worse. Poor Bob, meaning to be honorable, offered to buy me in the regular way at St. George's, Hanover Square, before we came to live here; but, of course, I refused, as any decent woman in my circ.u.mstances would. Understand me now, Doctor: I dont want to give myself any virtuous airs, or to boast of behaving better than your sister. I know the world; and I know that she will marry Ned just as much because she thinks it right as because she cant help herself. But dont you try to make me swallow any gammon about my disgracing you and so forth. I intend to stay as I am. I can respect myself; and I dont care whether you or your family respect me or not. If you dont approve of me, why! n.o.body asks you to a.s.sociate with me. If you want society, you have your own lot to mix with. If I want it, I can fill this house to-morrow. Not with stupid fine ladies, but with really clever people, who are not at all shy of me. Look at me at the present moment! I am receiving a morning visit from the best born and most popular parson in Belgravia. I wonder, Doctor, what your paris.h.i.+oners would think if they could see you now."

"I must confess that I do not understand you at all. You seem to see everything reversed--upside down. You--I--you bewilder me, Miss Conol--"

"s.h.!.+ Mademoiselle Lalage Virtue, if you please. Or you may call me Susanna, if you like, since we are as good as related."

"I fear," said the clergyman, blus.h.i.+ng, "that we have no common ground on which to argue. I am sorry I have no power to influence you."

"Oh, dont say that. I really like you, Doctor, and would do more for you than most people. If your father had had the cheek to come himself to offer me money, and so forth, I would have put him out of the house double quick; whereas I have listened to you like a lamb. Never mind your hat yet. Have a bottle of champagne with me?"

"Thank you, no."

"Dont you drink at all?"

"No."

"You should. It would give a fillip to your sermons. Let me send you a case of champagne. Promise to drink a bottle every Sunday in the vestry before you come out to preach, and I will take a pew for the season in your church. Thats good of me, isnt it?"

"I must go," said the Rev. George, rising, after hastily pretending to look at his watch. "Will you excuse me?"

"Nonsense," she said, rising also, and slipping her hand through his arm to detain him. "Wait and have some luncheon. Why, Doctor, I really think youre afraid of me. _Do_ stay."

"Impossible. I have much business which I am bound----Pray, let me go,"

pleaded the clergyman, piteously, ineffectually struggling with Susanna, who had now got his arm against her breast. "You must be mad!" he cried, drops of sweat breaking out on his brow as he felt himself being pulled helplessly toward the ottoman. She got her knee on it at last; and he made a desperate effort to free himself.