“If his lordship dies first,” the lawyer proceeded, “I have been
informed that the only provision he can make for his widow consists in
a rent-charge on the property of no more than four hundred a year. His
retiring pension and allowances, it is well known, die with him. Four
hundred a year is therefore all that he can leave to the Countess, if
he leaves her a widow.”
“Four hundred a year is _not_ all,” was the reply to this. “My brother
has insured his life for ten thousand pounds; and he has settled the
whole of it on the Countess, in the event of his death.”
This announcement produced a strong sensation. Men looked at each
other, and repeated the three startling words, “Ten thousand pounds!”
Driven fairly to the wall, the lawyer made a last effort to defend his
position.
“May I ask who made that settlement a condition of the marriage?” he
said. “Surely it was not the Countess herself?.”
Henry Westwick answered, “It was the Countess’s brother”; and added,
“which comes to the same thing.”
After that, there was no more to be said—so long, at least, as
Montbarry’s brother was present. The talk flowed into other channels;
and the Doctor went home.
But his morbid curiosity about the Countess was not set at rest yet. In
his leisure moments he found himself wondering whether Lord Montbarry’s
family would succeed in stopping the marriage after all. And more than
this, he was conscious of a growing desire to see the infatuated man
himself. Every day during the brief interval before the wedding, he
looked in at the club, on the chance of hearing some news. Nothing had
happened, so far as the club knew. The Countess’s position was secure;
Montbarry’s resolution to be her husband was unshaken. They were both
Roman Catholics, and they were to be married at the —el in Spanish
Place. So much the Doctor discovered about them—and no more.
On the day of the wedding, after a feeble struggle with himself, he
actually sacrificed his patients and their guineas, and slipped away
secretly to see the marriage. To the end of his life, he was angry with
anybody who reminded him of what he had done on that day!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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