"How do you do, Mr. Davies?" he said; "how quietly you must have come.""Yes," answered Owen absently. "The fact is, I have followed you because I want to speak to you alone--quite alone.""Indeed, Mr. Davies--well, I am at your service. What is wrong? You don't look very well.""Oh, I am quite well, thank you. I never was better; and there's nothing wrong, nothing at all. Everything is going to be bright now, Iknow that full surely."
"Indeed," said Mr. Granger, again looking at him with a puzzled air, "and what may you want to see me about? Not but what I am always at your service, as you know," he added apologetically.
"This," he answered, suddenly seizing the clergyman by the coat in a way that made him start.
"What--my coat, do you mean?"
"Don't be so foolish, Mr. Granger. No, about Beatrice.""Oh. indeed, Mr. Davies. Nothing wrong at the school, I hope? I think that she does her duties to the satisfaction of the committee, though I admit that the arithmetic----""No! no, no! It is not about the school. I don't wish her to go to the school any more. I love her, Mr. Granger, I love her dearly, and Iwant to marry her."
The old man flushed with pleasure. Was it possible? Did he hear aright? Owen Davies, the richest man in that part of Wales, wanted to marry his daughter, who had nothing but her beauty. It must be too good to be true!
"I am indeed flattered," he said. "It is more than she could expect--not but what Beatrice is very good-looking and very clever," he added hastily, fearing lest he was detracting from his daughter's market value.
"Good-looking--clever; she is an angel," murmured Owen.
"Oh, yes, of course she is," said her father, "that is, if a woman--yes, of course--and what is more, I think she's very fond of you. Ithink she is pining for you. I've though so for a long time.""Is she?" said Owen anxiously. "Then all I have to say is that she takes a very curious way of showing it. She won't say a word to me;she puts me off on every occasion. But it will be all right now--all right now.""Oh, there, there, Mr. Davies, maids will be maids until they are wives. We know about all that," said Mr. Granger sententiously.
His would-be son-in-law looked as though he knew very little about it indeed, although the inference was sufficiently obvious.
"Mr. Granger," he said, seizing his hand, "I want to make Beatrice my wife--I do indeed.""Well, I did not suppose otherwise, Mr. Davies.""If you help me in this I will do whatever you like as to money matters and that sort of thing, you know. She shall have as fine a settlement as any woman in Wales. I know that goes a long way with a father, and I shall raise no difficulties.""Very right and proper, I am sure," said Mr. Granger, adopting a loftier tone as he discovered the advantages of his position. "But of course on such matters I shall take the advice of a lawyer. I daresay that Mr. Bingham would advise me," he added, "as a friend of the family, you know. He is a very clever lawyer, and, besides, he wouldn't charge anything.""Oh, no, not Mr. Bingham," answered Owen anxiously. "I will do anything you like, or if you wish to have a lawyer I'll pay the bill myself. But never mind about that now. Let us settle it with Beatrice first. Come along at once.""Eh, but hadn't you better arrange that part of the business privately?""No, no. She always snubs me when I try to speak to her alone. You had better be there, and Miss Elizabeth too, if she likes. I won't speak to her again alone. I will speak to her in the face of God and man, as God directed me to do, and then it will be all right--I know it will."Mr. Granger stared at him. He was a clergyman of a very practical sort, and did not quite see what the Power above had to do with Owen Davies's matrimonial intentions.
"Ah, well," he said, "I see what you mean; marriages are made in heaven; yes, of course. Well, if you want to get on with the matter, Idaresay that we shall find Beatrice in."
So they walked back to the Vicarage, Mr. Granger exultant and yet perplexed, for it struck him that there was something a little odd about the proceeding, and Owen Davies in silence or muttering occasionally to himself.
In the sitting-room they found Elizabeth.
"Where is Beatrice?" asked her father.
"I don't know," she answered, and at that moment Beatrice, pale and troubled, walked into the room, like a lamb to the slaughter.
"Ah, Beatrice," said her father, "we were just asking for you."She glanced round, and with the quick wit of a human animal, instantly perceived that some new danger threatened her.
"Indeed," she said, sinking into a chair in an access of feebleness born of fear. "What is it, father?"Mr. Granger looked at Owen Davies and then took a step towards the door. It struck him forcibly that this scene should be private to the two persons principally concerned.
"Don't go," said Owen Davies excitedly, "don't go, either of you; what I have to say had better be said before you both. I should like to say it before the whole world; to cry it from the mountain tops."Elizabeth glared at him fiercely--glared first at him and then at the innocent Beatrice. Could he be going to propose to her, then? Ah, why had she hesitated? Why had she not told him the whole truth before?
But the heart of Beatrice, who sat momentarily expecting to be publicly denounced, grew ever fainter. The waters of desolation were closing in over her soul.
Mr. Granger sat down firmly and worked himself into the seat of his chair, as though to secure an additional fixedness of tenure.
Elizabeth set her teeth, and leaned her elbow on the table, holding her hand so as to shade her face. Beatrice drooped upon her seat like a fading lily, or a prisoner in the dock. She was opposite to them, and Owen Davies, his face alight with wild enthusiasm, stood up and addressed them all like the counsel for the prosecution.
