Lord Kilgobbin Part 100

We are in the world, and we must accept it as it is made for us.'

'I'll not ask, does your theory make you better, but does it make you happier?'

'If being duped were an element of bliss, I should say certainly not happier, but I doubt the blissful ignorance of your great moralist. I incline to believe that the better you play any game--life amongst the rest--the higher the pleasure it yields. I can afford to marry, without believing my husband to be a paragon--could _you_ do as much?'

'I should like to know that I preferred him to any one else.'

'So should I, and I would only desire to add "to every one else that asked me." Tell the truth, Kate dearest, we are here all alone, and can afford sincerity. How many of us girls marry the man we should like to marry, and if the game were reversed, and it were to be _we_ who should make the choice--the slave pick out his master--how many, think you, would be wedded to their present mates?'

'So long as we can refuse him we do not like, I cannot think our case a hard one.'

'Neither should I if I could stand fast at three-and-twenty. The dread of that change of heart and feeling that will come, must come, ten years later, drives one to compromise with happiness, and take a part of what you once aspired to the whole.'

'You used to think very highly of Mr. Walpole; admired, and I suspect you liked him.'

'All true--my opinion is the same still. He will stand the great test that one can go into the world with him and not be ashamed of him. I know, dearest, even without that shake of the head, the small value you attach to this, but it is a great element in that droll contract, by which one person agrees to pit his temper against another's, and which we are told is made in heaven, with angels as sponsors. Mr. Walpole is sufficiently good-looking to be prepossessing, he is well bred, very courteous, converses extremely well, knows his exact place in life, and takes it quietly but firmly. All these are of value to his wife, and it is not easy to over-rate them.'

'Is that enough?'

'Enough for what? If you mean for romantic love, for the infatuation that defies all change of sentiment, all growth of feeling, that revels in the thought, experience will not make us wiser, nor daily a.s.sociations less admiring, it is not enough. I, however, am content to bid for a much humbler lot. I want a husband who, if he cannot give me a brilliant station, will at least secure me a good position in life, a reasonable share of vulgar comforts, some luxuries, and the ordinary routine of what are called pleasures. If, in affording me these, he will vouchsafe to add good temper, and not high spirits--which are detestable--but fair spirits, I think I can promise him, not that I shall make him happy, but that he will make himself so, and it will afford me much gratification to see it.'

'Is this real, or--'

'Or what? Say what was on your lips.'

'Or are you utterly heartless?' cried Kate, with an effort that covered her face with blushes.

'I don't think I am,' said she oddly and calmly; 'but all I have seen of life teaches me that every betrayal of a feeling or a sentiment is like what gamblers call showing your hand, and is sure to be taken advantage of by the other players. It's an ugly ill.u.s.tration, dear Kate, but in the same round game we call life there is so much cheating that if you cannot afford to be pillaged, you must be prudent.'

'I am glad to feel that I can believe you to be much better than you make yourself.'

'Do so, and as long as you can.'

There was a pause of several moments after this, each apparently following out her own thoughts.

'By the way,' cried Nina suddenly, 'did I tell you that Mary wished me joy this morning. She had overheard Mr. Gorman's declaration, and believed he had asked me to be his wife.'

'How absurd!' said Kate, and there was anger as well as shame in her look as she said it.

'Of course it was absurd. She evidently never suspected to whom she was speaking, and then--' She stopped, for a quick glance at Kate's face warned her of the peril she was grazing. 'I told the girl she was a fool, and forbade her to speak of the matter to any one.'

'It is a servants'-hall story already,' said Kate quietly.

'Do you care for that?'

'Not much; three days will see the end of it.'

'I declare, in your own homely way, I believe you are the wiser of the two of us.'

'My common sense is of the very commonest,' said Kate, laughing; 'there is nothing subtle nor even neat about it.'

'Let us see that! Give me a counsel or, rather, say if you agree with me. I have asked Mr. Walpole to show me how his family accept my entrance amongst them; with what grace they receive me as a relative. One of his cousins called me the Greek girl, and in my own hearing. It is not, then, over-caution on my part to inquire how they mean to regard me. Tell me, however, Kate, how far you concur with me in this. I should like much to hear how your good sense regards the question. Should you have done as I have?'

'Answer me first one question. If you should learn that these great folks would not welcome you amongst them, would you still consent to marry Mr.

Walpole?'

'I'm not sure, I am not quite certain, but I almost believe I should.'

'I have, then, no counsel to give you,' said Kate firmly. 'Two people who see the same object differently cannot discuss its proportions.'

'I see my blunder,' cried Nina impetuously. 'I put my question stupidly. I should have said, "If a girl has won a man's affections and given him her own--if she feels her heart has no other home than in his keeping--that she lives for him and by him--should she be deterred from joining her fortunes to his because he has some fine connections who would like to see him marry more advantageously?"' It needed not the saucy curl of her lip as she spoke to declare how every word was uttered in sarcasm. 'Why will you not answer me?' cried she at length; and her eyes shot glances of fiery impatience as she said it.

'Our distinguished friend Mr. Atlee is to arrive to-morrow, d.i.c.k tells me,'

said Kate, with the calm tone of one who would not permit herself to be ruffled.

'Indeed! If your remark has any _apropos_ at all, it must mean that in marrying such a man as he is, one might escape all the difficulties of family coldness, and I protest, as I think of it, the matter has its advantages.'

A faint smile was all Kate's answer.

'I cannot make you angry; I have done my best, and it has failed. I am utterly discomfited, and I'll go to bed.'

'Good-night,' said Kate, as she held out her hand.

'I wonder is it nice to have this angelic temperament---to be always right in one's judgments, and never carried away by pa.s.sion? I half suspect perfection does not mean perfect happiness.'

'You shall tell me when you are married,' said Kate, with a laugh; and Nina darted a flas.h.i.+ng glance towards her, and swept out of the room.

CHAPTER LXXVIII

A MISERABLE MORNING

It was not without considerable heart-sinking and misgiving that old Kearney heard it was Miss Betty O'Shea's desire to have some conversation with him after breakfast. He was, indeed, rea.s.sured, to a certain extent, by his daughter telling him that the old lady was excessively weak, and that her cough was almost incessant, and that she spoke with extreme difficulty. All the comfort that these a.s.surances gave him was dashed by a settled conviction of Miss Betty's subtlety. 'She's like one of the wild foxes they have in Crim Tartary; and when you think they are dead, they're up and at you before you can look round.' He affirmed no more than the truth when he said that 'he'd rather walk barefoot to Kilbeggan than go up that stair to see her.'

There was a strange conflict in his mind all this time between these ign.o.ble fears and the efforts he was making to seem considerate and gentle by Kate's a.s.surance that a cruel word, or even a harsh tone, would be sure to kill her. 'You'll have to be very careful, papa dearest,' she said. 'Her nerves are completely shattered, and every respiration seems as if it would be the last.'

Mistrust was, however, so strong in him, that he would have employed any subterfuge to avoid the interview; but the Rev. Luke Delany, who had arrived to give her 'the consolations,' as he briefly phrased it, insisted on Kearney's attending to receive the old lady's forgiveness before she died.

'Upon my conscience,' muttered Kearney, 'I was always under the belief it was I was injured; but, as the priest says, "it's only on one's death-bed he sees things clearly."'

As Kearney groped his way through the darkened room, shocked at his own creaking shoes, and painfully convinced that he was somehow deficient in delicacy, a low, faint cough guided him to the sofa where Miss O'Shea lay.

'Is that Mathew Kearney?' said she feebly. 'I think I know his foot.'

'Yes indeed, bad luck to them for shoes. Wherever Davy Morris gets the leather I don't know, but it's as loud as a barrel-organ.'

'Maybe they re cheap, Mathew. One puts up with many a thing for a little cheapness.'