Wealth enables us to see the world, the beautiful scenes of the earth. Laetitia had long thirsted both for a dowering money-bag at her girdle, and the wings to fly abroad over lands which had begun to seem fabulous in her starved imagination. Then, moreover, if her sentiment for this gentleman was gone, it was only a delusion gone; accurate sight and knowledge of him would not make a woman the less helpful mate. That was the mate he required: and he could be led. A sentimental attachment would have been serviceless to him. Not so the woman allied by a purely rational bond: and he wanted guiding. Happily, she had told him too much of her feeble health and her lovelessness to be reduced to submit to another attack.
She busied herself in her room, arranging for her departure, so that no minutes might be lost after her father had breakfasted and dressed.
Clara was her earliest visitor, and each asked the other whether she had slept, and took the answer from the face presented to her.
The rings of Laetitia's eyes were very dark. Clara was her mirror, and she said: "A singular object to be persecuted through a night for her hand! I know these two damp dead leaves I wear on my cheeks to remind me of midnight vigils. But you have slept well, Clara."
"I have slept well, and yet I could say I have not slept at all, Laetitia. I was with you, dear, part in dream and part in thought: hoping to find you sensible before I go."
"Sensible. That is the word for me."
Laetitia briefly sketched the history of the night; and Clara said, with a manifest sincerity that testified of her gratitude to Sir Willoughby: "Could you resist him, so earnest as he is?"
Laetitia saw the human nature, without sourness: and replied, "I hope, Clara, you will not begin with a large stock of sentiment, for there is nothing like it for ****** you hard, matter-of-fact, worldly, calculating."
The next visitor was Vernon, exceedingly anxious for news of Mr. Dale. Laetitia went into her father's room to obtain it for him.
Returning, she found them both with sad visages, and she ventured, in alarm for them, to ask the cause.
"It's this," Vernon said: "Willoughby will everlastingly tease that boy to be loved by him. Perhaps. poor fellow, he had an excuse last night. Anyhow, he went into Crossjay's room this morning, woke him up and talked to him, and set the lad crying, and what with one thing and another Crossjay got a berry in his throat, as he calls it, and poured out everything he knew and all he had done. I needn't tell you the consequence. He has ruined himself here for good, so I must take him."
Vernon glanced at Clara. "You must indeed," said she. "He is my boy as well as yours. No chance of pardon?"
"It's not likely."
"Laetitia!"
"What can I do?"
"Oh! what can you not do?"
"I do not know."
"Teach him to forgive!"
Laetitia's brows were heavy and Clara forbore to torment her.
She would not descend to the family breakfast-table. Clara would fain have stayed to drink tea with her in her own room, but a last act of conformity was demanded of the liberated young lady. She promised to run up the moment breakfast was over. Not unnaturally, therefore, Laetitia supposed it to be she to whom she gave admission, half an hour later, with a glad cry of, "Come in, dear."
The knock had sounded like Clara's.
Sir Willoughby entered.
He stepped forward. He seized her hands. "Dear!" he said.
"You cannot withdraw that. You call me dear. I am, I must be dear to you. The word is out, by accident or not, but, by heaven, I have it and I give it up to no one. And love me or not--marry me, and my love will bring it back to you. You have taught me I am not so strong. I must have you by my side. You have powers I did not credit you with."
"You are mistaken in me, Sir Willoughby." Laetitia said feebly, outworn as she was.
"A woman who can resist me by declining to be my wife, through a whole night of entreaty, has the quality I need for my house, and I will batter at her ears for months, with as little rest as I had last night, before I surrender my chance of her. But I told you last night I want you within the twelve hours. I have staked my pride on it. By noon you are mine: you are introduced to Mrs.
Mountstuart as mine, as the lady of my life and house. And to the world! I shall not let you go.
"You will not detain me here, Sir Willoughby?"
"I will detain you. I will use force and guile. I will spare nothing."
He raved for a term, as he had done overnight.
On his growing rather breathless, Laetitia said: "You do not ask me for love?"
"I do not. I pay you the higher compliment of asking for you, love or no love. My love shall be enough. Reward me or not. I am not used to be denied."
"But do you know what you ask for? Do you remember what I told you of myself? I am hard, materialistic; I have lost faith in romance, the skeleton is present with me all over life. And my health is not good. I crave for money. I should marry to be rich. I should not worship you. I should be a burden, barely a living one, irresponsive and cold. Conceive such a wife, Sir Willoughby!"
"It will be you!"
She tried to recall how this would have sung in her cars long back. Her bosom rose and fell in absolute dejection. Her ammunition of arguments against him had been expended overnight.
"You are so unforgiving," she said.
"Is it I who am?"
"You do not know me."
"But you are the woman of all the world who knows me, Laetitia."
"Can you think it better for you to be known?"
