The Vicissitudes of Evangeline 2
A combination I am that Mrs. Carruthers assured me would cause
anxieties. “With that mixture, Evangeline,” she often said, “you would
do well to settle yourself in life as soon as possible. Good girls
don’t have your colouring.” So you see, as I am branded as bad from
the beginning, it does not much matter what I do. My eyes are as green
as pale emeralds, and long, and not going down at the corners with the
Madonna __EXPRESSION__ of Cicely Parker, the Vicar’s daughter. I do not
know yet what is being good, or being bad, perhaps I shall find out
when I am an adventuress, or married to Mr. Carruthers.
All I know is that I want to _live_, and feel the blood rushing through
my veins. I want to do as I please, and not have to be polite when I
am burning with rage. I want to be late in the morning if I happen
to fancy sleeping, and I want to sit up at night if I don’t want to
go to bed! So, as you can do what you like when you are married, I
really hope Mr. Carruthers will take a fancy to me, and then all will
be well! I shall stay upstairs until I hear the carriage-wheels, and
leave Mr. Barton--the lawyer--to receive him. Then I shall saunter
down nonchalantly while they are in the hall. It will be an effective
entrance. My trailing black garments, and the great broad stairs--this
is a splendid house--and if he has an eye in his head he must see my
foot on each step! Even Mrs. Carruthers said I have the best foot she
had ever seen. I am getting quite excited. I shall ring for Véronique
and begin to dress!... I shall write more presently.
_Thursday evening._
IT is evening, and the fire is burning brightly in my sitting-room
where I am writing. _My_ sitting-room!--did I say? Mr. Carruthers’
sitting-room I meant--for it is mine no longer, and on Saturday, the
day after to-morrow, I shall have to bid good-bye to it forever.
For yes--I may as well say it at once--the affair did not walk. Mr.
Carruthers quietly, but firmly, refused to obey his aunt’s will, and
thus I am left an old maid!
I must go back to this afternoon to make it clear, and I must say my
ears tingle as I think of it.
I rang for Véronique, and put on my new black afternoon frock, which
had just been unpacked. I tucked in the violets in a careless way.
Saw that my hair was curling as vigorously as usual, and not too
rebelliously for a demure appearance, and so, at exactly the right
moment, began to descend the stairs.
There was Mr. Carruthers in the hall. A horribly nice-looking, tall
man, with a clean-shaven face, and features cut out of stone. A square
chin, with a nasty twinkle in the corner of his eye. He has a very
distinguished look, and that air of never having had to worry for his
things to fit, they appear as if they had grown on him. He has a cold,
reserved manner, and something commanding and arrogant in it, which
makes one want to contradict him at once, but his voice is charming.
One of that cultivated, refined kind, that sounds as if he spoke a
number of languages, and so does not slur his words. I believe this
is diplomatic, for some of the old ambassador people had this sort of
voice.
He was standing with his back to the fire, and the light of the big
window with the sun getting low was full on his face, so I had a good
look at him. I said in the beginning that there was no use pretending
when one is writing one’s own thoughts for one’s own self to read when
one is old, and keeping them in a locked-up journal, so I shall always
tell the truth here--quite different things to what I should say if
I were talking to someone, and describing to them this scene. Then I
should say I found him utterly unattractive, and in fact, I hardly
noticed him! As it was, I noticed him very much, and I have a tiresome
inward conviction that he could be very attractive indeed, if he liked.
He looked up, and I came forward with my best demure air, as Mr. Barton
nervously introduced us, and we shook hands. I left him to speak first.
“Abominably cold day,” he said, carelessly. That was English and
promising!
“Yes, indeed,” I said. “You have just arrived?”
And so we continued in this banal way, with Mr. Barton twirling his
thumbs, and hoping, one could see, that we should soon come to the
business of the day; interposing a remark here and there, which added
to the _gêne_ of the situation.
At last Mr. Carruthers said to Mr. Barton that he would go round and
see the house; and I said tea would be ready when they got back. And so
they started.
My cheeks would burn, and my hands were so cold, it was awkward and
annoying, not half the simple affair I had thought it would be upstairs.
When it was quite dark, and the lamps were brought, they came back to
the hall, and Mr. Barton, saying he did not want any tea, left us to
find papers in the library.
I gave Mr. Carruthers some tea, and asked the usual things about sugar
and cream. His eye had almost a look of contempt as he glanced at me,
and I felt an angry throb in my throat. When he had finished he got up,
and stood before the fire again. Then, deliberately, as a man who has
determined to do his duty at any cost, he began to speak:
“You know the wish--or rather, I should say, the command, my aunt left
me,” he said--“in fact she states that she had always brought you up
to the idea. It is rather a tiresome thing to discuss with a stranger,
but perhaps we had better get it over as soon as possible, as that
is what I came down here to-day for. The command was, I should marry
you.”--He paused a moment. I remained perfectly still, with my hands
idly clasped in my lap, and made myself keep my eyes on his face.
He continued, finding I did not answer--just a faint tone of resentment
creeping into his voice--because I would not help him out, I suppose--I
should think not! I loved annoying him!
“It is a preposterous idea in these days for any one to dispose of
people’s destinies in this way, and I am sure you will agree with me
that such a marriage would be impossible.”
“Of course I agree,” I replied, lying with a tone of careless
sincerity. I had to control all my real feelings of either anger or
pleasure for so long in Mrs. Carruthers’ presence that I am now an
adept.
“I am so glad you put it so plainly,” I went on sweetly. “I was
wondering how I should write it to you, but now you are here it
is quite easy for us to finish the matter at once. Whatever Mrs.
Carruthers may have intended me to do, I had no intention of obeying
her, but it would have been useless for me to say so to her, and so I
waited until the time for speech should come. Won’t you have some more
tea?”
He looked at me very straightly, almost angrily, for an instant;
presently, with a sigh of relief, he said, half laughing--
“Then we are agreed, we need say no more about it!”
“No more,” I answered, and I smiled too, although a rage of anger
was clutching my throat. I do not know who I was angry with--Mrs.
Carruthers for procuring this situation, Christopher for being
insensible to my charms, or myself for ever having contemplated for a
second the possibility of his doing otherwise. Why, when one thinks of
it calmly, should he want to marry me? A penniless adventuress with
green eyes, and red hair, that he had never seen before in his life. I
hoped he thought I was a person of naturally high colour, because my
cheeks from the moment I began to dress had been burning and burning.
It might have given him the idea the scene was causing me some emotion,
and that he should never know!
He took some more tea, but he did not drink it, and by this I guessed
that he also was not as calm as he looked!
“There is something else,” he said. And now there was almost an
awkwardness in his voice. “Something else which I want to say, though
perhaps Mr. Barton could say it for me--but which I would rather say
straight to you--and that is you must let me settle such a sum of
money on you as you had every right to expect from my aunt, after the
promises I understand she always made to you----”
This time I did not wait for him to finish! I bounded up from my
seat--some uncontrollable sensation of wounded pride throbbing and
thrilling through me.
“Money!--Money from you!” I exclaimed. “Not if I were starving!”--then
I sat down again, ashamed of this vehemence. How would he interpret
it! But it galled me so, and yet I had been ready an hour ago to have
accepted him as my husband! Why, then, this revolt at the idea of
receiving a fair substitute in gold? Really, one is a goose, and I had
time to realize, even in this tumult of emotion, that there can be
nothing so inconsistent as the feelings of a girl.
“You must not be foolish!” he said, coldly. “I intend to settle the
money whether you will or no, so do not make any further trouble about
it!”
There was something in his voice so commanding and arrogant, just as
I noticed at first, that every obstinate quality in my nature rose to
answer him.
“I do not know anything about the law in the matter; you may settle
what you choose, but I shall never touch any of it,” I said, as calmly
as I could; “so it seems ridiculous to waste the money, does it not?
You may not, perhaps, be aware I have enough of my own, and do not in
any way require yours.”
He became colder and more exasperated.
“As you please, then,” he said, snappishly, and Mr. Barton, fortunately
entering at that moment, the conversation was cut short, and I left
them.
They are not going back to London until to-morrow morning, and dinner
has yet to be got through. Oh! I do feel in a temper, and I can never
tell of the emotions that were throbbing through me as I came up the
great stairs just now. A sudden awakening to the humiliation of the
situation! How had I ever been able to contemplate marrying a man
I did not know, just to secure myself a comfortable home! It seems
preposterous now. I suppose it was because I have always been brought
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