Bildungsromans; Domestic fiction; England -- Fiction; Mothers and daughters -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
“I see, I see.” She did full justice to his explanation. “And what did
you say about a ‘basis’? The blessed man offers to settle--?”
“You’re a real prodigy,” her visitor answered, “and your imagination
takes its fences in a way that, when I’m out with you, quite puts mine
to shame. When he mentioned it to me I was quite surprised.”
“And I,” Mrs. Brook asked, “am not surprised a bit? Isn’t it only,” she
modestly suggested, “because I’ve taken him in more than you? Didn’t you
know he WOULD?” she quavered.
Vanderbank thought or at least pretended to. “Make ME the condition? How
could I be sure of it?”
But the point of his question was lost for her in the growing light. “Oh
then the condition’s ‘you’ only--?”
“That, at any rate, is all I have to do with. He’s ready to settle if
I’m ready to do the rest.”
“To propose to her straight, you mean?” She waited, but as he said
nothing she went on: “And you’re not ready. Is that it?”
“I’m taking my time.”
“Of course you know,” said Mrs. Brook, “that she’d jump at you.”
He turned away from her now, but after some steps came back. “Then you
do admit it.”
She hesitated. “To YOU.”
He had a strange faint smile. “Well, as I don’t speak of it--!”
“No--only to me. What is it he settles?” Mrs. Brook demanded.
“I can’t tell you.”
“You didn’t ask?”
“On the contrary I stopped him off.”
“Oh then,” Mrs. Brook exclaimed, “that’s what I call declining.”
The words appeared for an instant to strike her companion. “Is it? Is
it?” he almost musingly repeated. But he shook himself the next moment
free of his wonder, was more what would have been called in Buckingham
Crescent on the spot. “Isn’t there rather something in my having thus
thought it my duty to warn you that I’m definitely his candidate?”
Mrs. Brook turned impatiently away. “You’ve certainly--with your talk
about ‘warning’--the happiest expressions!” She put her face into the
flowers as he had done just before; then as she raised it: “What kind of
a monster are you trying to make me out?”
“My dear lady”--Vanderbank was prompt--“I really don’t think I say
anything but what’s fair. Isn’t it just my loyalty to you in fact that
has in this case positively strained my discretion?”
She shook her head in mere mild despair. “‘Loyalty’ again is exquisite.
The tact of men has a charm quite its own. And you’re rather good,” she
continued, “as men go.”
His laugh was now a little awkward, as if she had already succeeded
in making him uncomfortable. “I always become aware with you sooner or
later that they don’t go at all--in your sense: but how am I, after all,
so far out if you HAVE put your money on another man?”
“You keep coming back to that?” she wearily sighed.
He thought a little. “No, then. You’ve only to tell me not to, and I’ll
never speak of it again.”
“You’ll be in an odd position for speaking of it if you do really go in.
You deny that you’ve declined,” said Mrs. Brook; “which means then that
you’ve allowed our friend to hope.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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