"We have had very beautiful weather lately, Sir," said Mrs. Sherwin, almost inaudibly; looking as she spoke, with anxious eyes towards her husband, to see if she was justified in uttering even those piteously common-place words. "Very beautiful weather to be sure," continued the poor woman, as timidly as if she had become a little child again, and had been ordered to say her first lesson in a stranger's presence.
"Delightful weather, Mrs. Sherwin. I have been enjoying it for the last two days in the country—in a part of Surrey (the neighbourhood of Ewell) that I had not seen before."
There was a pause. Mr. Sherwin coughed; it was evidently a warning matrimonial peal that he had often rung before—for Mrs. Sherwin started, and looked up at him directly.
"As the lady of the house, Mrs. S., it strikes me that you might offer a visitor, like this gentleman, some cake and wine, without making any particular hole in your manners!"
"Oh dear me! I beg your pardon! I'm very sorry, I'm sure"—and she poured out a glass of wine, with such a trembling hand that the decanter tinkled all the while against the glass. Though I wanted nothing, I ate and drank something immediately, in common consideration for Mrs. Sherwin's embarrassment.
Mr. Sherwin filled himself a glass—held it up admiringly to the light—said, "Your good health, Sir, your very good health;" and drank the wine with the air of a connoisseur, and a most expressive smacking of the lips. His wife (to whom he offered nothing) looked at him all the time with the most reverential attention.
"You are taking nothing yourself, Mrs. Sherwin," I said.
"Mrs. Sherwin, Sir," interposed her husband, "never drinks wine, and can't digest cake. A bad stomach—a very bad stomach. Have another glass yourself. Won't you, indeed? This sherry stands me in six shillings a bottle—ought to be first-rate wine at that price: and so it is. Well, if you won't have any more, we will proceed to business. Ha! ha! business as I call it; pleasure I hope it will be to you."
Mrs. Sherwin coughed—a very weak, small cough, half-stifled in its birth.
"There you are again!" he said, turning fiercely towards her—"Coughing again! Six months of the doctor—a six months' bill to come out of my pocket—and no good done—no good, Mrs. S."
"Oh, I am much better, thank you—it was only a little—"
"Well, Sir, the evening after you left me, I had what you may call an explanation with my dear girl. She was naturally a little confused and—and embarrassed, indeed. A very serious thing of course, to decide at her age, and at so short a notice, on a point involving the happiness of her whole life to come."
Here Mrs. Sherwin put her handkerchief to her eyes—quite noiselessly; for she had doubtless acquired by long practice the habit of weeping in silence. Her husband's quick glance turned on her, however, immediately, with anything but an expression of sympathy.
"Good God, Mrs. S.! what's the use of going on in that way?" he said, indignantly. "What is there to cry about? Margaret isn't ill, and isn't unhappy—what on earth's the matter now? Upon my soul this is a most annoying circumstance: and before a visitor too! You had better leave me to discuss the matter alone—you always were in the way of business, and it's my opinion you always will be."
Mrs. Sherwin prepared, without a word of remonstrance, to leave the room. I sincerely felt for her; but could say nothing. In the impulse of the moment, I rose to open the door for her; and immediately repented having done so. The action added so much to her embarrassment that she kicked her foot against a chair, and uttered a suppressed exclamation of pain as she went out.
Mr. Sherwin helped himself to a second glass of wine, without taking the smallest notice of this.
"I hope Mrs. Sherwin has not hurt herself?" I said. "Oh dear no! not worth a moment's thought—awkwardness and nervousness, nothing else—she always was nervous—the doctors (all humbugs) can do nothing with her—it's very sad, very sad indeed; but there's no help for it."
By this time (in spite of all my efforts to preserve some respect for him, as Margaret's father) he had sunk to his proper place in my estimation.
"Well, my dear Sir," he resumed, "to go back to where I was interrupted by Mrs. S. Let me see: I was saying that my dear girl was a little confused, and so forth. As a matter of course, I put before her all the advantages which such a connection as yours promised—and at the same time, mentioned some of the little embarrassing circumstances—the private marriage, you know, and all that—besides telling her of certain restrictions in reference to the marriage, if it came off, which I should feel it my duty as a father to impose; and which I shall proceed, in short, to explain to you. As a man of the world, my dear Sir, you know as well as I do, that young ladies don't give very straightforward answers on the subject of their prepossessions in favour of young gentlemen. But I got enough out of her to show me that you had made pretty good use of your time—no occasion to despond, you know—I leave you to make her speak plain; it's more in your line than mine, more a good deal. And now let us come to the business part of the transaction. All I have to say is this:—if you agree to my proposals, then I agree to yours. I think that's fair enough—Eh?"
"Quite fair, Mr. Sherwin."
"Just so. Now, in the first place, my daughter is too young to be married yet. She was only seventeen last birthday."
"You astonish me! I should have imagined her three years older at least."
"Everybody thinks her older than she is—everybody, my dear Sir—and she certainly looks it. She's more formed, more developed I may say, than most girls at her age. However, that's not the point. The plain fact is, she's too young to be married now—too young in a moral point of view; too young in an educational point of view; too young altogether. Welclass="underline" the upshot of this is, that I could not give my consent to Margaret's marrying, until another year is out—say a year from this time. One year's courtship for the finishing off of her education, and the formation of her constitution—you understand me, for the formation of her constitution."
A year to wait! At first, this seemed a long trial to endure, a trial that ought not to be imposed on me. But the next moment, the delay appeared in a different light. Would it not be the dearest of privileges to be able to see Margaret, perhaps every day, perhaps for hours at a time? Would it not be happiness enough to observe each development of her character, to watch her first maiden love for me, advancing nearer and nearer towards confidence and maturity the oftener we met? As I thought on this, I answered Mr. Sherwin without further hesitation.
"It will be some trial," I said, "to my patience, though none to my constancy, none to the strength of my affection—I will wait the year."