MRS. FITZHERBERT had half-past eight for the hour of dinner, but Canon Spratte, anxious for a few words before any one arrived, came early. He found her ready to receive him. When he entered the drawing-room she was at the window, looking at the dusk which clothed the London street in a certain atmosphere of charming mystery.
“Well?” he said, looking at her and taking both her hands.
“I’m glad you came before the others, I wanted to have a chat with you.”
“It was cruel of you to leave London so suddenly. You can’t imagine how eagerly I’ve wished to see you.”
“I’m afraid it was inevitable,” she answered. “My friend is still very ill, and I only came up this evening because I didn’t want to put my party off.”
“I was hoping you’d come up to see me,” he smiled.
“In point of fact it was only to see you,” she laughed. “I would have the rest of them , but I think we have a good deal to say to one another.”
“I feel immensely flattered,” he replied.
The evening papers contained an official announcement that Dr. Gray was appointed to the bishopric of Barchester; but Canon Spratte that none should see his bitter disappointment. He had not yet fought down the sense of with which Lord Stonehenge’s offer overwhelmed him, nor was he reconciled to remaining a London vicar. But he refused to think of his hopes. He flattered himself on his strength of character, and the world should imagine that he was in the best of spirits. He meant to keep himself well in hand, and in the effort to let no one see that he cared, began really to his self-esteem.
“I think we really ought to talk seriously,” said Mrs. Fitzherbert after a pause, fixing her quiet eyes upon him. “I wonder if you meant all that you said to me the other night?”
“Of course I meant it, every word of it, with all my heart,” he cried, emphatically. “Do you think I’m a boy not to know my own mind?”
“And you really look upon yourself as solemnly engaged to me?”
“I do indeed, and before many weeks are up I mean to lead you to the altar. We’ll have the to marry us, and Tom shall lend us Beachcombe for our . Or would you prefer Homburg and the Italian Lakes?”
“You know, I shouldn’t be at all annoyed if you told me you were carried away the other night and said more than you intended. You’re a man and there’s something about a dance that rushes the least emotional off their feet. I think half the unhappy marriages are caused by the proposing of young men when they’ve come to the end of their small talk; and their next day which prevents them from writing to say they made a mistake.”
“But it was no sudden on my part,” he exclaimed. “The idea had been growing in my mind for months. Ah, why can’t I make you believe that love may spring up in a man’s heart even though his hair is strewn with silver? I tell you I’m to you, and I insist on marrying you.”
Mrs. Fitzherbert smiled and looked at him strangely. He was very and very eager. She wondered if there were ever a word of in anything he said.
“Then let us talk business,” she answered.
He threw up his hands in a gesture of .
“Why should we? You know I’m not mercenary; let us pretend that no matters have to be discussed. We can leave it all to our .”
“But it’s very important.”
“Nonsense! Nothing’s important except that you’re the most charming woman I’ve ever seen in my life. I’m a lucky dog to have got hold of you. We’ll never grow any older than we are now; we’ll only grow younger year by year. When will you make me the happiest man in London?”
“You go so quickly,” she smiled.
He put his arm round her waist and seized her hand.
“Come, give me a kiss.” She blushed when he took it without more ado. “Upon my soul, you make me feel a perfect stripling. Shall we say in six weeks? That will bring us to the end of the season, and I can safely leave Lionel to preach to a of empty pews.”
“For heaven’s sake sit down quietly, and let me get a word in.”
“Not till you’ve agreed. I won’t let you go till you’ve fixed the day.”
“You shall fix the day yourself,” she cried, herself from his embrace.
Canon Spratte, with a laugh of triumph, threw himself into a comfortable chair. He was excited and restless. He knew he had never looked handsomer than at this moment, and he would not have changed places with a guardsman of twenty-five.
“What I wanted to tell you is that I have an income of five thousand a year,” said Mrs. Fitzherbert.
“I cannot bear these gross and details,” he answered, with a wave of the hand. “Of course it shall be settled absolutely upon you. What more is there to be said?”
“Only that it ceases on the day I marry again.”
Canon Spratte started and for a moment his face fell.
“All of it?” he asked.
“Every penny. My husband was a very generous man, but he had no desire to provide for the wants of his successor. On my second marriage everything I have, the very furniture of this house, goes to a distant cousin of his.”
She watched the Canon for the effect of this blow, and she could not deny that he took it admirably.
“I’m very glad,” he said. “I much prefer to provide for your wants myself. I shouldn’t like to think you were living on another man’s income.”
“Do you realize that I shall be so penniless, you will even have to provide the clothes for my back and my very fare when I take the tube?”
“It will only make you more precious to me.”
The doors were swung open and the butler announced the first arrivals, Mrs. Fitzherbert stepped forward to greet them. Ten minutes later the whole party was seated round the dinner-table.
Canon Spratte was filled with . It was true that he had not sought to marry Mrs. Fitzherbert for her money, but on the other hand the idea would never have come to him except that he knew she had a handsome income. It had never entered his head that she might hold it on such terms, and the blow was terrible. The Lord had been able to leave him nothing. The bulk of his fortune went of necessity to his successor in the title and the rest to Lady Sophia, who announced her determination to lead a single life. St. Gregory’s was worth a certain amount and the canonry something more, but this from the of land was slowly diminishing. He had always spent every penny he earned. His children had three hundred a year each, but they were to be married and would naturally take the money with them. Lionel was paid nothing for as his father’s curate, but he might soon get a living and another expense would ensue. Lady Sophia had contributed a good deal to the household cost of the vicarage, but would of course make her home elsewhere when the Canon brought home a mistress. He did not see how on earth he could make both ends meet. Mrs. Fitzherbert, far from making up richly for all he lost, would be a source of vast . It would be necessary to give up the carriage and the horses of which he was so proud. Every cab that his wife took would be a shilling out of his pocket. A little while before Canon Spratte had ventured on a small flutter in the Stock Exchange, and the shares were not rising with the rapidity his had promised. This had seemed a , but now grew suddenly into a matter of importance. The Canon’s heart sank. He looked at Mrs. Fitzherbert; and the gown which he had admired on his entrance appeared very expensive. She had none of the airs of an economical woman, and it would be needful to . He the idea of counting each sovereign as he spent it. He liked the large gesture of , and had the reputation of a man who spent his money well. Now he must be .
But above all he felt sold. It had been his in the loss of the bishopric that the widow’s large means, added to his own, would enable him to cut a figure in London. He proposed to entertain . He wanted to make St. Gregory’s Vicarage a centre of fashion and intelligence, so that his name should go down to like Sydney Smith’s as the most brilliant parson of his day. Instead he was saddled with a penniless wife.
But not one of these emotions was visible on the Canon’s face during dinner. He had never needed his self-control more. Perhaps he showed his strength no less admirably than he could have done if, according to his wish, he had been in happier days a great minister of state. The party consisted of eight, which he thought the right number. It was neither so large that the conversation ceased to be general nor so small as to give a good talker an <............