She went up at last to her room doubting, unhappy
and ill at ease. To have such a secret long kept
from her mother would make her life unendurable to
her. But she felt that, in speaking to her mother,
only one aspect of the affair would be possible.
Even though she loved him, how could she marry a curate
whose only income was seventy pounds a year?
The Russian Spy
When the baby died at Clavering Park, somebody hinted
that Sir Hugh would certainly quarrel with his brother
as soon as Archie should become the father of a presumptive
heir to the title and property. That such would
be the case those who best knew Sir Hugh would not
doubt. That Archie should have that of which
he himself had been robbed, would of itself be enough
to make him hate Archie. But, nevertheless, at
this present time, he continued to instigate his brother
in that matter of the proposed marriage with Lady
Ongar. Hugh, as well as others, felt that Archie’s
prospects were now improved, and that he could demand
the hand of a wealthy lady with more of seeming propriety
than would have belonged to such a proposition while
the poor child was living. No one would understand
this better than Lady Ongar, who knew so well all the
circumstances of the family. The day after the
funeral the two brothers returned to London together,
and Hugh spoke his mind in the railway carriage.
“It will be no good for you to hang on about
Bolton Street, off and on, as though she were a girl
of seventeen,” he said.
“I’m quite up to that,” said Archie.
“I must let her know I’m there, of course.
I understand all that.”
“Then why don’t you do it? I thought
you meant to go to her at once when we were talking
about it before in London.”
“So I did go to her, and got on with her very
well, too, considering that I hadn’t been there
long when another woman came.”
“But you didn’t tell her what you had
come about?”
“No; not exactly. You see it doesn’t
do to pop at once to a widow like her. Ongar,
you know, hasn’t been dead six months. One
has to be a little delicate in these things.”
“Believe me, Archie, you had better give up
all notions of being delicate, and tell her what you
want at once—plainly and fairly. You
may be sure that she will not think of her former husband,
if you don’t.”
“Oh! I don’t think about him at all.”
“Who was the woman you say was there?”
“That little Frenchwoman—the sister
of the man—Sophie she calls her. Sophie
Gordeloup is her name. They are bosom friends.”
“The sister of that count?”
“Yes; his sister. Such a woman for talking!
She said ever so much about your keeping Hermione
down in the country.”
“The devil she did. What business was that
of hers? That is Julia’s doing.”
“Well; no, I don’t think so. Julia
didn’t say a word about it. In fact, I
don’t know how it came up. But you never
heard such a woman to talk—an ugly, old,
hideous little creature! But the two are always
together.”
