Denzil Quarrier Part 15

Denzil stared in astonishment.

"You? Liberal candidate?"

"Yes, I!"

A peal of laughter rang through the room. Glazzard had spoken as if with a great effort, his voice indistinct, his eyes furtive. When the burst of merriment made answer to him, he fell back in his chair, crossed his legs, and set his features in a hard smile.

"You are joking, old fellow!" said Denzil.

"Yes, if you like."

Quarrier wished to discuss the point, but the other kept an obstinate silence.

"I understand," remarked Denzil, at length. "You hit upon that thought out of kindness to me. You don't like my project, and you wished to save me from its dangers. I understand. Hearty thanks, but I have made up my mind. I won't stunt my life out of regard for an imbecile superst.i.tion. The dangers are _not_ great; and if they were, I should prefer to risk them. You electioneering! Ho, ho!"

Glazzard's lips were close drawn, his eyes veiled by the drooping lids.

He had ceased to smoke, and when, a few minutes later, he threw away his cigar, it was all but squeezed flat by the two fingers which had seemed to hold it lightly.

"It is settled!" cried Denzil, jumping up, with a return of his extravagant spirits. "You, Glazzard, will stand by and watch--our truest friend. You on the hustings! Ha, ha, ha! Come, one more gla.s.s of whisky, and I will tell them to get our cab ready. I say, Glazzard, from this evening forth never a word between us about the secret. That is understood, of course. You may let people know that you were in my confidence about the private marriage. But I can trust your discretion as my own. Your gla.s.s--pledge me in the old style!"

Ten minutes more, and they were driving back to Polterham.

CHAPTER X

But for domestic warfare, Mrs. Mumbray would often have been at a loss how to spend her time. The year of her husband's Mayoralty supplied, it is true, a good many unwonted distractions, but in the middle of the morning, and late in the evening (if there were no dinner-party), _ennui_ too frequently weighed upon her. For relief in the former case, she could generally resort to a quarrel with Serena; in the latter, she preferred to wrangle with her spouse.

One morning early in December, having indulged her ill-humour with even more than usual freedom among the servants, she repaired to the smaller drawing-room, where, at this hour, her daughter often sat reading.

Serena was at a table, a French book and dictionary open before her.

After hovering for a few moments with eyes that gathered wrath, the Mayoress gave voice to her feelings.

"So you pay no attention to my wishes, Serena! I will not have you reading such books!"

Her daughter rustled the dictionary, impa.s.sive. Conscious of reduced authority, Mrs. Mumbray glared and breathed hard, her s.p.a.cious bosom working like a troubled sea.

"Your behaviour astonishes me!--after what you heard Mr. Vialls say."

"Mr. Vialls is an ignorant and foolish man," remarked Serena, without looking up.

Then did the mother's rage burst forth without restraint, eloquent, horrisonous. As if to save her ears, Serena went to the piano and began to play. When the voice was silenced, she turned round.

"You had rather have me play than read that book? That shows how little you understand of either. This is an _immoral_ piece of music! If you knew what it meant you would scream in horror. It is _immoral_, and I am going to practise it day after day."

The Mayoress stood awhile in mute astonishment, then, with purple face, swept from the room.

The family consisted of four persons. Serena's brother, a young gentleman of nineteen, articled to a solicitor in the town, was accustomed to appear at meals, but seldom deigned to devote any more of his leisure to the domestic circle. After luncheon to-day, as he stood at the window with a sporting newspaper, his mother addressed him.

"We have company this evening, Raglan. Take care that you're not late."

"Who's coming?" asked the young man, without looking up.

"Mr. Eustace Glazzard and Miss Glazzard."

"Any one else?"

"Mr. Vialls."

"Then you don't catch me here! I have an appointment at eight."

"I insist upon your dining with us! If you are not at dinner, I will have your allowance stopped! I mean what I say. Not one penny more shall you receive until you have learnt to behave yourself!"

"We'll see about that," replied Raglan, with finished coolness; and, folding his newspaper, he walked off.

Nor did the hour of dinner see his return. The expected guests arrived; it was not strictly a dinner-party, but, as Mr. Mumbray described it, "a quiet evening _ong fammil_." The Rev. Scatchard Vialls came in at the last moment with perspiring brow, excusing himself on the ground of professional duties. He was thin, yet flabby, had a stoop in the shoulders, and walked without noticeably bending his knees. The crown of his head went to a peak; he had eyes like a ferret's; his speech was in a high, nasal note. For some years he had been a widower, a fact which perhaps accounted for his insinuating manner when he approached Miss Mumbray.

The dinner was portentously dull. Ivy Glazzard scarcely uttered a syllable. Her uncle exerted himself to shape phrases of perfect inoffensiveness, addressing now his hostess, now Serena. The burden of conversation fell upon Mr. Vialls, who was quite equal to its support; he spoke of the evil tendencies of the time as exhibited in a shameful attempt to establish Sunday evening concerts at a club of Polterham workmen. His discourse on this subject, systematically developed, lasted until the ladies withdrew. It allowed him scarcely any attention to his plate, but Mr. Vialls had the repute of an ascetic. In his b.u.t.tonhole was a piece of blue ribbon, symbol of a ferocious total-abstinence; his face would have afforded sufficient proof that among the reverend man's failings were few distinctly of the flesh.

The Mayor did not pretend to asceticism. He ate largely and without much discrimination. His variously shaped and coloured gla.s.ses were not merely for display. When the door had closed behind the Mayoress and her two companions, he settled himself with an audible sigh, and for a few moments wore a look of meditation; then, leaning towards Glazzard, he inquired gravely:

"What is your opinion of the works of Bawlzac?"

The guest was at a loss for an instant, but he quickly recovered himself.

"Ah, the French novelist? A man of great power, but--hardly according to English tastes."

"Should you consider him suitable reading for young ladies?"

"Well, hardly. Some of his books are un.o.bjectionable."

Mr. Vialls shot a fierce glance at him.

"In my opinion, his very name is pollution! I would not permit a page of his writing, or of that of any French novelist, to enter my house.

One and all are drenched with impurity!"

"Certainly many of them are," conceded Glazzard.

"Lamentable," sighed the Mayor, raising his gla.s.s, "to think that quite a large number of his books have been put into the Inst.i.tute library!

We must use our influence on all hands, Mr. Vialls. We live in sad times. Even the theatre--I am told that some of the plays produced in London are disgraceful, simply disgraceful!"

The theatre was discussed, Mr. Vialls a.s.sailing it as a mere agent of popular corruption. On the mention of the name of Shakespeare, Mr.

Mumbray exclaimed:

"Shakespeare needs a great deal of expurgating. But some of his plays teach a good lesson, I think. There is 'I read Romeo and Juliet,' for instance." Glazzard looked up in surprise. "I read 'Romeo and Juliet'

not long ago, and it struck me that its intention was decidedly moral.

It points a lesson to disobedient young people. If Juliet had been properly submissive to her parents, such calamities would never have befallen her. Then, again, I was greatly struck with the fate that overtook Mercutio--a most suitable punishment for his persistent use of foul language. Did you ever see it in that light, Mr. Glazzard?"