George Meredith
The Adventures of Harry Richmond. Complete
‘Well, sir, I’m asking him whether it’s in the Funds now.’
‘Oh! Mr. Beltham.’
‘What answer’s that?’
The squire was really confused by my father’s interruption, and lost sight of me.
‘I ask where it came from: I ask whether it’s squandered?’ he continued.
‘Mr. Beltham, I reply that you have only to ask for it to have it; do so immediately.’
‘What ‘s he saying?’ cried the baffled old man.
‘I give you a thousand times the equivalent of the money, Mr. Beltham.’
‘Is the money there?’
‘The lady is here.’
‘I said money, sir.’
‘A priceless honour and treasure, I say emphatically.’ My grandfather’s brows and mouth were gathering for storm. Janet touched his knee.
‘Where the devil your understanding truckles, if you have any, I don’t know,’ he muttered. ‘What the deuce—lady got to do with money!’
‘Oh!’ my father laughed lightly, ‘customarily the alliance is, they say, as close as matrimony. Pardon me. To speak with becoming seriousness, Mr. Beltham, it was duly imperative that our son should be known in society, should be, you will apprehend me, advanced in station, which I had to do through the ordinary political channel. There could not but be a considerable expenditure for such a purpose.’
‘In Balls, and dinners!’
‘In everything that builds a young gentleman’s repute.’
‘You swear to me you gave your Balls and dinners, and the lot, for Harry Richmond’s sake?’
‘On my veracity, I did, sir!’
‘Please don’t talk like a mountebank. I don’t want any of your roundabout words for truth; we’re not writing a Bible essay. I try my best to be civil.’
My father beamed on him.
‘I guarantee you succeed, sir. Nothing on earth can a man be so absolutely sure of as to succeed in civility, if he honestly tries at it. Jorian DeWitt,—by the way, you may not know him—an esteemed old friend of mine, says—that is, he said once—to a tolerably impudent fellow whom he had disconcerted with a capital retort, “You may try to be a gentleman, and blunder at it, but if you will only try to be his humble servant, we are certain to establish a common footing.” Jorian, let me tell you, is a wit worthy of our glorious old days.’
My grandfather eased his heart with a plunging breath.
‘Well, sir, I didn’t ask you here for your opinion or your friend’s, and I don’t care for modern wit.’
‘Nor I, Mr. Beltham, nor I! It has the reek of stable straw. We are of one mind on that subject. The thing slouches, it sprawls. It—to quote Jorian once more—is like a dirty, idle, little stupid boy who cannot learn his lesson and plays the fool with the alphabet. You smile, Miss Ilchester: you would appreciate Jorian. Modern wit is emphatically degenerate. It has no scintillation, neither thrust nor parry. I compare it to boxing, as opposed to the more beautiful science of fencing.’
‘Well, sir, I don’t want to hear your comparisons,’ growled the squire, much oppressed. ‘Stop a minute…’
‘Half a minute to me, sir,’ said my father, with a glowing reminiscence of Jorian DeWitt, which was almost too much for the combustible old man, even under Janet’s admonition.
My aunt Dorothy moved her head slightly toward my father, looking on the floor, and he at once drew in.
‘Mr. Beltham, I attend to you submissively.’
‘You do? Then tell me what brought this princess to England?’
‘The conviction that Harry had accomplished his oath to mount to an eminence in his country, and had made the step she is about to take less, I will say, precipitous: though I personally decline to admit a pointed inferiority.’
‘You wrote her a letter.’
‘That, containing the news of the attack on him and his desperate illness, was the finishing touch to the noble lady’s passion.’
‘Attack? I know nothing about an attack. You wrote her a letter and wrote her a lie. You said he was dying.’
‘I had the boy inanimate on my breast when I despatched the epistle.’
‘You said he had only a few days to live.’
‘So in my affliction I feared.’
‘Will you swear you didn’t write that letter with the intention of drawing her over here to have her in your power, so that you might threaten you’d blow on her reputation if she or her father held out against you and all didn’t go as you fished for it?’
My father raised his head proudly.
‘I divide your query into two parts. I wrote, sir, to bring her to his side. I did not write with any intention to threaten.’
‘You’ve done it, though.’
‘I have done this,’ said my father, toweringly: ‘I have used the power placed in my hands by Providence to overcome the hesitations of a gentleman whose illustrious rank predisposes him to sacrifice his daughter’s happiness to his pride of birth and station. Can any one confute me when I assert that the princess loves Harry Richmond?’
I walked abruptly to one of the windows, hearing a pitiable wrangling on the theme. My grandfather vowed she had grown wiser, my father protested that she was willing and anxious; Janet was appealed to. In a strangely-sounding underbreath, she said, ‘The princess does not wish it.’
‘You hear that, Mr. Richmond?’ cried the squire.
He returned: ‘Can Miss Ilchester say that the Princess Ottilia does not passionately love my son Harry Richmond? The circumstances warrant me in beseeching a direct answer.’
She uttered: ‘No.’
I looked at her; she at me.
‘You can conduct a case, Richmond,’ the squire remarked.
My father rose to his feet. ‘I can conduct my son to happiness and greatness, my dear sir; but to some extent I require your grandfatherly assistance; and I urge you now to present your respects to the prince and princess, and judge yourself of his Highness’s disposition for the match. I assure you in advance that he welcomes the proposal.’
‘I do not believe it,’ said Janet, rising.
My aunt Dorothy followed her example, saying: ‘In justice to Harry the proposal should be made. At least it will settle this dispute.’
Janet stared at her, and the squire threw his head back with an amazed interjection.
‘What! You’re for it now? Why, at breakfast you were all t’ other way! You didn’t want this meeting because you pooh-poohed the match.’
‘I do think you should go,’ she answered. ‘You have given Harry your promise, and if he empowers you, it is right to make the proposal, and immediately, I think.’
She spoke feverishly, with an unsweet expression of face, that seemed to me to indicate vexedness at the squire’s treatment of my father.
‘Harry,’ she asked me in a very earnest fashion, ‘is it your desire? Tell your grandfather that it is, and that you want to know your fate. Why should there be any dispute on a fact that can be ascertained by crossing a street? Surely it is trifling.’
Janet stooped to whisper in the squire’s ear.
He caught the shock of unexpected intelligence apparently; faced about, gazed up, and cried: ‘You too! But I haven’t done here. I ‘ve got to cross-examine… Pretend, do you mean? Pretend I’m ready to go? I can release this prince just as well here as there.’
Janet laughed faintly.
‘I should advise your going, grandada.’
‘You a weathercock woman!’ he reproached her, quite mystified, and fell to rubbing his head. ‘Suppose I go to be snubbed?’
‘The prince is a gentleman, grandada. Come with me. We will go alone. You can relieve the prince, and protect him.’
My father nodded: ‘I approve.’
‘And grandada—but it will not so much matter if we are alone, though,’ Janet said.
‘Speak out.’
‘See the princess as well; she must be present.’
‘I leave it to you,’ he said, crestfallen.
Janet pressed my aunt Dorothy’s hand.
‘Aunty, you were right, you are always right. This state of suspense is bad all round, and it is infinitely worse for the prince and princess.’
My aunt Dorothy accepted the eulogy with a singular trembling wrinkle of the forehead.
She evidently understood that Janet had seen her wish to get released.
For my part, I shared my grandfather’s stupefaction at their unaccountable changes. It appeared almost as if my father had won them over to baffle him. The old man tried to insist on their sitting down again, but Janet perseveringly smiled and smiled until he stood up. She spoke to him softly. He was one black frown; displeased with her; obedient, however.
Too soon after, I had the key to the enigmatical scene. At the moment I was contemptuous of riddles, and heard with idle ears Janet’s promptings to him and his replies. ‘It would be so much better to settle it here,’ he said. She urged that it could not be settled here without the whole burden and responsibility falling upon him.
‘Exactly,’ interposed my father, triumphing.
Dorothy Beltham came to my side, and said, as if speaking to herself, while she gazed out of window, ‘If a refusal, it should come from the prince.’ She dropped her voice: ‘The money has not been spent? Has it? Has any part of it been spent? Are you sure you have more than three parts of it?’
Now, that she should be possessed by the spirit of parsimony on my behalf at such a time as this, was to my conception insanely comical, and her manner of expressing it was too much for me. I kept my laughter under to hear her continue: ‘What numbers are flocking on the pier! and there is no music yet. Tell me, Harry, that the money is all safe; nearly all; it is important to know; you promised economy.’
‘Music did you speak of, Miss Beltham?’ My father bowed to her gallantly. ‘I chanced to overhear you. My private band performs to the public at midday.’
She was obliged to smile to excuse his interruption.
‘What’s that? whose band?’ said the squire, bursting out of Janet’s hand. ‘A private band?’
Janet had a difficulty in resuming her command of him. The mention of the private band made him very restive.
‘I ‘m not acting on my own judgement at all in going to these foreign people,’ he said to Janet. ‘Why go? I can have it out here and an end to it, without bothering them and their interpreters.’
He sang out to me: ‘Harry, do you want me to go through this form for you?—mn’d unpleasant!’
My aunt Dorothy whispered in my ear: ‘Yes! yes!’
‘I feel tricked!’ he muttered, and did not wait for me to reply before he was again questioning my aunt Dorothy concerning Mr. Bannerbridge, and my father as to ‘that sum of money.’ But his method of interrogation was confused and pointless. The drift of it was totally obscure.
‘I’m off my head to-day,’ he said to Janet, with a sideshot of his eye at my father.
‘You waste time and trouble, grandada,’ said she.
He vowed that he was being bewildered, bothered by us all; and I thought I had never seen him so far below his level of energy; but I had not seen him condescend to put himself upon a moderately fair footing with my father. The truth was, that Janet had rigorously schooled him to bridle his temper, and he was no match for the voluble easy man without the freest play of his tongue.
‘This prince!’ he kept ejaculating.
‘Won’t you understand, grandada, that you relieve him, and make things clear by going?’ Janet said.
He begged her fretfully not to be impatient, and hinted that she and he might be acting the part of dupes, and was for pursuing his inauspicious cross-examination in spite of his blundering, and the ‘Where am I now?’ which pulled him up. My father, either talking to my aunt Dorothy, to Janet, or to me, on ephemeral topics, scarcely noticed him, except when he was questioned, and looked secure of success in the highest degree consistent with perfect calmness.
‘So you say you tell me to go, do you?’ the squire called to me. ‘Be good enough to stay here and wait. I don’t see that anything’s gained by my going: it’s damned hard on me, having to go to a man whose language I don’t know, and he don’t know mine, on a business we’re all of us in a muddle about. I’ll do it if it’s right. You’re sure?’
He glanced at Janet. She nodded.
I was looking for this quaint and, to me, incomprehensible interlude to commence with the departure of the squire and Janet, when a card was handed in by one of the hotel-waiters.
‘Another prince!’ cried the squire. ‘These Germans seem to grow princes like potatoes—dozens to a root! Who’s the card for? Ask him to walk up. Show him into a quiet room. Does he speak English?’
‘Does Prince Hermann of—I can’t pronounce the name of the place—speak English, Harry?’ Janet asked me.
‘As well as you or I,’ said I, losing my inattention all at once with a mad leap of the heart.
Hermann’s presence gave light, fire, and colour to the scene in which my destiny had been wavering from hand to hand without much more than amusedly interesting me, for I was sure that I had lost Ottilia; I knew that too well, and worse could not happen. I had besides lost other things that used to sustain me, and being reckless, I was contemptuous, and listened to the talk about money with sublime indifference to the subject: with an attitude, too, I daresay. But Hermann’s name revived my torment. Why had he come? to persuade the squire to control my father? Nothing but that would suffer itself to be suggested, though conjectures lying in shadow underneath pressed ominously on my mind.
My father had no doubts.
‘A word to you, Mr. Beltham, before you go to Prince Hermann. He is an emissary, we treat him with courtesy, and if he comes to diplomatize we, of course, give a patient hearing. I have only to observe in the most emphatic manner possible that I do not retract one step. I will have this marriage: I have spoken! It rests with Prince Ernest.’
The squire threw a hasty glare of his eyes back as he was hobbling on Janet’s arm. She stopped short, and replied for him.
‘Mr. Beltham will speak for himself, in his own name. We are not concerned in any unworthy treatment of Prince Ernest. We protest against it.’
‘Dear young lady!’ said my father, graciously. ‘I meet you frankly. Now tell me. I know you a gallant horsewoman: if you had lassoed the noble horse of the desert would you let him run loose because of his remonstrating? Side with me, I entreat you! My son is my first thought. The pride of princes and wild horses you will find wonderfully similar, especially in the way they take their taming when once they feel they are positively caught. We show him we have him fast—he falls into our paces on the spot! For Harry’s sake—for the princess’s, I beg you exert your universally—deservedly acknowledged influence. Even now—and you frown on me!—I cannot find it in my heart to wish you the sweet and admirable woman of the world you are destined to be, though you would comprehend me and applaud me, for I could not—no, not to win your favourable opinion!—consent that you should be robbed of a single ray of your fresh maidenly youth. If you must misjudge me, I submit. It is the price I pay for seeing you young and lovely. Prince Ernest is, credit me, not unworthily treated by me, if life is a battle, and the prize of it to the General’s head. I implore you’—he lured her with the dimple of a lurking smile—‘do not seriously blame your afflicted senior, if we are to differ. I am vastly your elder: you instil the doubt whether I am by as much the wiser of the two; but the father of Harry Richmond claims to know best what will ensure his boy’s felicity. Is he rash? Pronounce me guilty of an excessive anxiety for my son’s welfare; say that I am too old to read the world with the accuracy of a youthful intelligence: call me indiscreet: stigmatize me unlucky; the severest sentence a judge’—he bowed to her deferentially—‘can utter; only do not cast a gaze of rebuke on me because my labour is for my son—my utmost devotion. And we know, Miss Ilchester, that the princess honours him with her love. I protest in all candour, I treat love as love; not as a weight in the scale; it is the heavenly power which dispenses with weighing! its ascendancy…’
The squire could endure no more, and happily so, for my father was losing his remarkably moderated tone, and threatening polysyllables. He had followed Janet, step for step, at a measured distance, drooping toward her with his winningest air, while the old man pulled at her arm to get her out of hearing of the obnoxious flatterer. She kept her long head in profile, trying creditably not to appear discourteous to one who addressed her by showing an open ear, until the final bolt made by the frenzied old man dragged her through the doorway. His neck was shortened behind his collar as though he shrugged from the blast of a bad wind. I believe that, on the whole, Janet was pleased. I will wager that, left to herself, she would have been drawn into an answer, if not an argument. Nothing would have made her resolution swerve, I admit.
They had not been out of the room three seconds when my aunt Dorothy was called to join them. She had found time to say that she hoped the money was intact.
CHAPTER LII. STRANGE REVELATIONS, AND MY GRANDFATHER HAS HIS LAST OUTBURST
My father and I stood at different windows, observing the unconcerned people below.
‘Did you scheme to bring Prince Hermann over here as well?’ I asked him.
He replied laughing: ‘I really am not the wonderful wizard you think me, Richie. I left Prince Ernest’s address as mine with Waddy in case the Frau Feld-Marschall should take it into her head to come. Further than that you must question Providence, which I humbly thank for its unfailing support, down to unexpected trifles. Only this—to you and to all of them: nothing bends me. I will not be robbed of the fruit of a lifetime.’
‘Supposing I refuse?’
‘You refuse, Richie, to restore the princess her character and the prince his serenity of mind at their urgent supplication? I am utterly unable to suppose it. You are married in the papers this morning. I grieve to say that the position of Prince Hermann is supremely ridiculous. I am bound to add he is a bold boy. It requires courage in one of the pretenders to the hand of the princess to undertake the office of intercessor, for he must know—the man must know in his heart that he is doing her no kindness. He does not appeal to me, you see. I have shown that my arrangements are unalterable. What he will make of your grandad!… Why on earth he should have been sent to—of all men in the world—your grandad, Richie!’
I was invited to sympathetic smiles of shrewd amusement.
He caught sight of friends, and threw up the window, saluting them.
The squire returned with my aunt Dorothy and Janet to behold the detested man communicating with the outer world from his own rooms. He shouted unceremoniously, ‘Shut that window!’ and it was easy to see that he had come back heavily armed for the offensive. ‘Here, Mr. Richmond, I don’t want all men to know you’re in my apartments.’
‘I forgot, sir, temporarily,’ said my father, ‘I had vacated the rooms for your convenience—be assured.’
An explanation on the subject of the rooms ensued between the old man and the ladies;—it did not improve his temper.
His sense of breeding, nevertheless, forced him to remark, ‘I can’t thank you, sir, for putting me under an obligation I should never have incurred myself.’
‘Oh, I was happy to be of use to the ladies, Mr. Beltham, and require no small coin of exchange,’ my father responded with the flourish of a pacifying hand. ‘I have just heard from a posse of friends that the marriage is signalled in this morning’s papers—numberless congratulations, I need not observe.’
‘No, don’t,’ said the squire. ‘Nobody’ll understand them here, and I needn’t ask you to sit down, because I don’t want you to stop. I’ll soon have done now; the game’s played. Here, Harry, quick; has all that money been spent—no offence to you, but as a matter of business?’
‘Not all, sir,’ I was able to say.
‘Half?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘Three parts?’
‘It may be.’
‘And liabilities besides?’
‘There are some.’
‘You’re not a liar. That’ll do for you.’
He turned to my aunt: her eyes had shut.
‘Dorothy, you’ve sold out twenty-five thousand pounds’ worth of stock. You’re a truthful woman, as I said, and so I won’t treat you like a witness in a box. You gave it to Harry to help him out of his scrape. Why, short of staring lunacy, did you pass it through the hands of this man? He sweated his thousands out of it at the start. Why did you make a secret of it to make the man think his nonsense?—Ma’am, behave like a lady and my daughter,’ he cried, fronting her, for the sudden and blunt attack had slackened her nerves; she moved as though to escape, and was bewildered. I stood overwhelmed. No wonder she had attempted to break up the scene.
‘Tell me your object, Dorothy Beltham, in passing the money through the hands of this man? Were you for helping him to be a man of his word? Help the boy—that I understand. However, you were mistress of your money! I’ve no right to complain, if you will go spending a fortune to whitewash the blackamoor! Well, it’s your own, you’ll say. So it is: so ‘s your character!’
The egregious mildness of these interjections could not long be preserved.
‘You deceived me, ma’am. You wouldn’t build school-houses, you couldn’t subscribe to Charities, you acted parsimony, to pamper a scamp and his young scholar! You went to London—you did it in cool blood; you went to your stockbroker, and from the stockbroker to the Bank, and you sold out stock to fling away this big sum. I went to the Bank on business, and the books were turned over for my name, and there at “Beltham” I saw quite by chance the cross of the pen, and I saw your folly, ma’am; I saw it all in a shot. I went to the Bank on my own business, mind that. Ha! you know me by this time; I loathe spying; the thing jumped out of the book; I couldn’t help seeing. Now I don’t reckon how many positive fools go to make one superlative humbug; you’re one of the lot, and I’ve learnt it.’
My father airily begged leave to say: ‘As to positive and superlative, Mr. Beltham, the three degrees of comparison are no longer of service except to the trader. I do not consider them to exist for ladies. Your positive is always particularly open to dispute, and I venture to assert I cap you your superlative ten times over.’
He talked the stuff for a diversion, presenting in the midst of us an incongruous image of smiles that filled me with I knew not what feelings of angry alienation, until I was somewhat appeased by the idea that he had not apprehended the nature of the words just spoken.
It seemed incredible, yet it was true; it was proved to be so to me by his pricking his ears and his attentive look at the mention of the word prepossessing him in relation to the money: Government.
The squire said something of Government to my aunt Dorothy, with sarcastical emphasis.
As the observation was unnecessary, and was wantonly thrown in by him, she seized on it to escape from her compromising silence: ‘I know nothing of Government or its ways.’
She murmured further, and looked at Janet, who came to her aid, saying: ‘Grandada, we’ve had enough talk of money, money! All is done that you wanted done. Stocks, Shares, Banks—we’ve gone through them all. Please, finish! Please, do. You have only to state what you have heard from Prince Hermann.’
Janet gazed in the direction of my father, carefully avoiding my eyes, but evidently anxious to shield my persecuted aunty.
‘Speaking of Stocks and Shares, Miss Ilchester,’ said my father, ‘I myself would as soon think of walking into a field of scythe-blades in full activity as of dabbling in them. One of the few instances I remember of our Jorian stooping to a pun, is upon the contango: ingenious truly, but objectionable, because a pun. I shall not be guilty of repeating it. “The stockmarket is the national snapdragon bowl,” he says, and is very amusing upon the Jews; whether quite fairly, Mr. Beltham knows better than I, on my honour.’
He appealed lightly to the squire, for thus he danced on the crater’s brink, and had for answer,
‘You’re a cool scoundrel, Richmond.’
‘I choose to respect you, rather in spite of yourself, I fear, sir,’ said my father, bracing up.
‘Did you hear my conversation with my daughter?’
‘I heard, if I may say so, the lion taking his share of it.’
‘All roaring to you, was it?’
‘Mr. Beltham, we have our little peculiarities; I am accustomed to think of a steam-vent when I hear you indulging in a sentence of unusual length, and I hope it is for our good, as I thoroughly believe it is for yours, that you should deliver yourself freely.’
‘So you tell me; like a stage lacquey!’ muttered the old man, with surprising art in caricaturing a weakness in my father’s bearing, of which I was cruelly conscious, though his enunciation was flowing. He lost his naturalness through forcing for ease in the teeth of insult.
‘Grandada, aunty and I will leave you,’ said Janet, waxing importunate.
‘When I’ve done,’ said he, facing his victim savagely. ‘The fellow pretends he didn’t understand. She’s here to corroborate. Richmond, there, my daughter, Dorothy Beltham, there’s the last of your fools and dupes. She’s a truthful woman, I’ll own, and she’ll contradict me if what I say is not the fact. That twenty-five thousand from “Government” came out of her estate.’
‘Out of—’
‘Out of be damned, sir! She’s the person who paid it.’
‘If the “damns” have set up, you may as well let the ladies go,’ said I.
He snapped at me like a rabid dog in career.
‘She’s the person—one of your petticoat “Government”—who paid—do you hear me, Richmond?—the money to help you to keep your word: to help you to give your Balls and dinners too. She—I won’t say she told you, and you knew it—she paid it. She sent it through her Mr. Bannerbridge. Do you understand now? You had it from her. My God! look at the fellow!’
A dreadful gape of stupefaction had usurped the smiles on my father’s countenance; his eyes rolled over, he tried to articulate, and was indeed a spectacle for an enemy. His convulsed frame rocked the syllables, as with a groan, unpleasant to hear, he called on my aunt Dorothy by successive stammering apostrophes to explain, spreading his hands wide. He called out her Christian name. Her face was bloodless.
‘Address my daughter respectfully, sir, will you! I won’t have your infernal familiarities!’ roared the squire.
‘He is my brother-in-law,’ said Dorothy, reposing on the courage of her blood, now that the worst had been spoken. ‘Forgive me, Mr. Richmond, for having secretly induced you to accept the loan from me.’
‘Loan!’ interjected the squire. ‘They fell upon it like a pair of kites. You’ll find the last ghost of a bone of your loan in a bill, and well picked. They’ve been doing their bills: I’ve heard that.’
My father touched the points of his fingers on his forehead, straining to think, too theatrically, but in hard earnest, I believe. He seemed to be rising on tiptoe.
‘Oh, madam! Dear lady! my friend! Dorothy, my sister! Better a thousand times that I had married, though I shrank from a heartless union! This money?—it is not—’
The old man broke in: ‘Are you going to be a damned low vulgar comedian and tale of a trumpet up to the end, you Richmond? Don’t think you’ll gain anything by standing there as if you were jumping your trunk from a shark. Come, sir, you’re in a gentleman’s rooms; don’t pitch your voice like a young jackanapes blowing into a horn. Your gasps and your spasms, and howl of a yawning brute! Keep your menagerie performances for your pantomime audiences. What are you meaning? Do you pretend you’re astonished? She’s not the first fool of a woman whose money you’ve devoured, with your “Madam,” and “My dear” and mouthing and elbowing your comedy tricks; your gabble of “Government” protection, and scandalous advertisements of the by-blow of a star-coated rapscallion. If you’ve a recollection of the man in you, show your back, and be off, say you’ve fought against odds—I don’t doubt you have, counting the constables—and own you’re a villain: plead guilty, and be off and be silent, and do no more harm. Is it “Government” still?’
My aunt Dorothy had come round to me. She clutched my arm to restrain me from speaking, whispering:
‘Harry, you can’t save him. Think of your own head.’ She made me irresolute, and I was too late to check my father from falling into the trap.
‘Oh! Mr. Beltham,’ he said, ‘you are hard, sir. I put it to you: had you been in receipt of a secret subsidy from Government for a long course of years—’
‘How long?’ the squire interrupted.
Prompt though he would have been to dismiss the hateful person, he was not, one could see, displeased to use the whip upon so exciteable and responsive a frame. He seemed to me to be basely guilty of leading his victim on to expose himself further.
‘There’s no necessity for “how long,”’ I said.
The old man kept the question on his face.
My father reflected.
‘I have to hit my memory, I am shattered, sir. I say, you would be justified, amply justified—’
‘How long?’ was reiterated.
‘I can at least date it from the period of my marriage.’
‘From the date when your scoundrelism first touches my family, that’s to say! So “Government” agreed to give you a stipend to support your wife!’
‘Mr. Beltham, I breathe with difficulty. It was at that period, on the death of a nobleman interested in restraining me—I was his debtor for kindnesses… my head is whirling! I say, at that period, upon the recommendation of friends of high standing, I began to agitate for the restitution of my rights. From infancy–’
‘To the deuce, your infancy! I know too much about your age. Just hark, you Richmond! none of your “I was a child” to provoke compassion from women. I mean to knock you down and make you incapable of hurting these poor foreign people you trapped. They defy you, and I’ll do my best to draw your teeth. Now for the annuity. You want one to believe ‘you thought you frightened “Government,” eh?’
‘Annual proof was afforded me, sir.’
‘Oh! annual! through Mr. Charles Adolphus Bannerbridge, deceased!’
Janet stepped up to my aunt Dorothy to persuade her to leave the room, but she declined, and hung by me, to keep me out of danger, as she hoped, and she prompted me with a guarding nervous squeeze of her hand on my arm to answer temperately when I was questioned:
‘Harry, do you suspect Government paid that annuity?’
