“But, my dear Mrs. Morris, there is an arrangement to be fulfilled,--
there is a preliminary to be settled. No young ladies are received there
without certain stipulations made and complied with.”
“All have been provided for; she is admitted as the ward of Mr. Stocmar.
Here is the document, and here the amount of the first half-year's
pension.”
“'Clara Stocmar,'” read he. “Well, I must say, madam, this is going
rather far.”
“You shall not be ashamed of your niece, sir,” said she, “or else I
mistake greatly your feeling for her aunt.” Oh! Mr. Stocmar, how is it
that all your behind-scene experiences have not hardened you against
such a glance as that which has now set your heart a-beating within that
embroidered waistcoat? “My dear Mr. Stocmar,” she went on, “if the world
has taught me any lesson, it has been to know, by an instinct that never
deceives, the men I can dare to confide in. You had not crossed the
room, where I received you, till I felt you to be such. I said to
myself, 'Here is one who will not want to make love to me, who will not
break out into wild rhapsodies of passion and professions, but who will
at once understand that I need his friendship and his counsel, and
that'”--here she dropped her eyes, and, gently suffering her hand to
touch his, muttered, “and that I can estimate their value, and try to
repay it.” Poor Mr. Stocmar, your breathing is more flurried than ever.
So agitated, indeed, was he, that it was some seconds ere he became
conscious that she had entered upon a narrative for which she had
bespoken his attention, and whose details he only caught some time after
their commencement. “You thus perceive, sir,” said she, “the great
importance of time in this affair. Sir William is confined to his room
with gout, in considerable pain, and, naturally enough, far too much
engrossed by his sufferings to think of anything else; Miss Leslie has
her own preoccupations, and, though the loss of a large sum of money may
not much increase them, the disaster will certainly serve to engage her
attention. This is precisely the moment to get rid of Clara with the
least possible _éclat_; we shall all be in such a state of confusion
that her departure will scarcely be felt or noticed.”
“Upon my life, madam,” said Stocmar, drawing a long breath, “you
frighten--you actually terrify me; you go to every object you have in
view with such energy and decision, noting every chance circumstance
which favors you, so nicely balancing motives, and weighing
probabilities with such cool accuracy, that I feel how we men are mere
puppets, to be moved about the board at your will.”
“And for what is the game played, my dear Mr. Stocmar?” said she, with a
seductive smile. “Is it not to win some one amongst you?”
“Oh, by Jove! if a man could only flatter himself that he held the right
number, the lottery would be glorious sport.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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