CHAPTER IX.
THUS airy Strephon tuned his lyre.--SHENSTONE.
IN his meeting with Evelyn, Vargrave certainly exerted to the utmost all
his ability and all his art. He felt that violence, that sarcasm, that
selfish complaint would not avail in a man who was not loved,--though
they are often admirable cards in the hands of a man who is. As his own
heart was perfectly untouched in the matter, except by rage and
disappointment,--feelings which with him never lasted very long,--he
could play coolly his losing game. His keen and ready intellect taught
him that all he could now expect was to bequeath sentiments of generous
compassion and friendly interest; to create a favourable impression,
which he might hereafter improve; to reserve, in short, some spot of
vantage-ground in the country from which he was to affect to withdraw all
his forces. He had known, in his experience of women, which, whether as
an actor or a spectator, was large and various--though not among very
delicate and refined natures--that a lady often takes a fancy to a suitor
_after_ she has rejected him; that precisely _because_ she has once
rejected she ultimately accepts him. And even this chance was, in
circumstances so desperate, not to be neglected. He assumed, therefore,
the countenance, the postures, and the voice of heart-broken but
submissive despair; he affected a nobleness and magnanimity in his grief,
which touched Evelyn to the quick, and took her by surprise.
"It is enough," said he, in sad and faltering accents; "quite enough for
me to know that you cannot love me,--that I should fail in rendering you
happy. Say no more, Evelyn, say no more! Let me spare you, at least,
the pain your generous nature must feel in my anguish. I resign all
pretensions to your hand; you are free!--may you be happy!"
"Oh, Lord Vargrave! oh, Lumley!" said Evelyn, weeping, and moved by a
thousand recollections of early years. "If I could but prove in any
other way my grateful sense of your merits, your too partial appreciation
of me, my regard for my lost benefactor, then, indeed, nor till then,
could I be happy. Oh that this wealth, so little desired by me, had been
more at my disposal! but as it is, the day that sees me in possession of
it, shall see it placed under your disposition, your control. This is
but justice,--common justice to you; you were the nearest relation of the
departed. I had no claim on him,--none but affection. Affection! and
yet I disobey him!"
There was much in all this that secretly pleased Vargrave; but it only
seemed to redouble his grief.
"Talk not thus, my ward, my friend--ah, still my friend," said he,
putting his handkerchief to his eyes. "I repine not; I am more than
satisfied. Still let me preserve my privilege of guardian, of
adviser,--a privilege dearer to me than all the wealth of the Indies!"
Lord Vargrave had some faint suspicion that Legard had created an undue
interest in Evelyn's heart; and on this point he delicately and
indirectly sought to sound her. Her replies convinced him that if Evelyn
had conceived any prepossession for Legard, there had not been time or
opportunity to ripen it into deep attachment. Of Maltravers he had no
fear. The habitual self-control of that reserved personage deceived him
partly; and his low opinion of mankind deceived him still more. For if
there had been any love between Maltravers and Evelyn, why should the
former not have stood his ground, and declared his suit? Lumley would
have "bah'd" and "pish'd" at the thought of any punctilious regard for
engagements so easily broken having power either to check passion for
beauty, or to restrain self-interest in the chase of an heiress. He had
known Maltravers ambitious; and with him, ambition and self-interest
meant the same. Thus, by the very _finesse_ of his character--while
Vargrave ever with the worldly was a keen and almost infallible
observer--with natures of a more refined, or a higher order, he always
missed the mark by overshooting. Besides, had a suspicion of Maltravers
ever crossed him, Caroline's communications would have dispelled it. It
was more strange that Caroline should have been blind; nor would she have
been so had she been less absorbed in her own schemes and destinies. All
her usual penetration had of late settled in self; and an uneasy
feeling--half arising from conscientious reluctance to aid Vargrave's
objects, half from jealous irritation at the thought of Vargrave's
marrying another--had prevented her from seeking any very intimate or
confidential communication with Evelyn herself.
The dreaded conference was over; Evelyn parted from Vargrave with the
very feelings he had calculated on exciting,--the moment he ceased to be
her lover, her old childish regard for him recommenced. She pitied his
dejection, she respected his generosity, she was deeply grateful for his
forbearance. But still--still she was free; and her heart bounded within
her at the thought.
Meanwhile, Vargrave, after his solemn farewell to Evelyn, retreated again
to his own room, where he remained till his post-horses arrived. Then,
descending into the drawing-room, he was pleased to find neither Aubrey
nor Evelyn there. He knew that much affectation would be thrown away
upon Mr. and Mrs. Merton; he thanked them for their hospitality, with
grave and brief cordiality, and then turned to Caroline, who stood apart
by the window.
"All is up with me at present," he whispered. "I leave you, Caroline, in
anticipation of fortune, rank, and prosperity; that is some comfort. For
myself, I see only difficulties, embarrassment, and poverty in the
future; but I despond of nothing. Hereafter you may serve me, as I have
served you. Adieu!--I have been advising Caroline not to spoil
Doltimore, Mrs. Merton; he is conceited enough already. Good-by! God
bless you all! love to your little girls. Let me know if I can serve you
in any way, Merton,--good-by again!" And thus, sentence by sentence,
Vargrave talked himself into his carriage. As it drove by the
drawing-room windows, he saw Caroline standing motionless where he had
left her; he kissed his hand,--her eyes were fixed mournfully on his.
Hard, wayward, and worldly as Caroline Merton was, Vargrave was yet not
worthy of the affection he had inspired; for she could _feel_, and he
could not,--the distinction, perhaps, between the sexes. And there still
stood Caroline Merton, recalling the last tones of that indifferent
voice, till she felt her hand seized, and turned round to see Lord
Doltimore, and smile upon the happy lover, persuaded that he was adored!
