“I want that too,” she said shyly.
“Then come away with me, as we planned! Dare you snap your fingers in the face of the world? Tell me!”
“Yes, indeed I dare!” she said, with a sparkling look.
“How shall I ever be able to prove to you how much I adore you? Let us put a period to this hateful situation into which we have been driven, and let us do it as soon as may be contrived! Tomorrow!”
“Tomorrow?”Fanny echoed blankly. “Oh, no,Stacy! I—I couldn’t! I mean, it is too soon!”
“The next day, then!”
It was at this moment that Fanny began to perceive the difference between dreams and reality. She shook her head, saying pleadingly: “I wish I could, but—you don’t perfectly understand, Stacy! It would be too difficult. I have so many things to attend to!”
“It must be soon!” he urged. “At any moment you may be swept from me! I suspect that your aunt is contemplating doing so already. If that were to happen, our tale would be told!”
“No, it wouldn’t!” she objected. “Besides, she isn’t content, plating it! How could she, when we are holding a rout-patty next week? And that’s another reason why I couldn’t possibly run away immediately. I daresay you may have forgotten about it, but—”
“What do I care for rout-parties?” he exclaimed. “Our happiness is at stake!”
Fanny had no objection to Mr Calverleigh’s dramatic utterances, for they bore a close resemblance to the impassioned speeches of her favourite heroes of romance, but a strong vein of commonsense underlay her imaginings, and she replied, in an alarmingly practical spirit: “No, no! How should that be? It means only a little put-off!”
“Only—! When every hour that I am apart from you seems a week, and every week a year!”
No arithmetician, she found no fault with this mathematical progression. The sentiment thus expressed made her blush rosily, and slide her hand into his again. “I know. It’s so with me too, but you haven’t considered, my dearest one! How could I run away before Aunt Selina’s party? It would be the most infamous thing to do, because she is looking forward to it so much, poor darling, and it would destroy all her pleasure in it if—Good God! she wouldn’t be able to hold it at all! Only think what an uproar there will be!”
Exasperation seized him, and for an instant she caught a glimpse of it in his face. It was gone so quickly that she could not be sure that it had ever been there at all. He saw doubt in her widening eyes, and said ruefully: “That I should be willing to consign Aunt Selina to perdition! Isn’t it shocking? So kind as she is, and—as I believe—so much my friend! For how long must I wait before I can call you my own—to cherish and protect?”
Had she been privileged to hear these noble words, Miss Abigail Wendover would have informed Mr Calverleigh, in explicit terms, that Fanny needed to be protected only from himself. Their effect on Fanny was to make her blush still more vividly, and to whisper: “Not long! I promise!”
He had seldom felt less amorous, for he considered that she was being irritatingly capricious, but he responded at once with one of his lover-like speeches. His fear was that she might, if she were given time for reflection, draw back from the pro-posed elopement. It had not escaped his notice that she had recoiled from his suggestion of an immediate flight. He set himself to the task of winning her back to her former mood of acceptance, employing all the arts at his command. He did not doubt his power over her, but he reckoned without the streak of obstinacy her aunts knew welclass="underline" she responded deliciously to his love-making; she listened in soft-eyed rapture to the idyllic picture he drew of the life they would lead together; but she would not consent to elope with him before her aunts’ party. He dared not persist, for there was a mulish look in her face, and his fear was that if he pressed her too hard she might cry off altogether. He assured her that he had no other wish than to please her, and hoped to God that she did not often fall into distempered freaks.
Chapter XI
The clandestine meeting in the Abbey was undetected; but although Fanny was relieved to find her aunts quite unsuspicious she was also made to feel guilty, and ashamed. Nor did she any longer feel quite so happy in her love. It was not that she did not most ardently desire to pass the rest of her life in Stacy’s protective arms, but she could not help thinking how very much more pleasant it would be if she could be married to him with the blessing of her family. There was a flavour of high adventure about an elopement; she had been quite sincere when she had said that she neither shrank from taking so bold a step, nor cared a button for the inevitable censure of the world. It had not occurred to her, until she had recollected her aunts’ rout-party, that her elopement would pitchfork them into a very disagreeable situation. Floating in a dream of love and heroism, she had scarcely considered any but the broader aspects of the case, and even those only as they concerned herself.
The opinion of the world was of no consequence; she and Stacy would be blissfully indifferent if the world cast them off, for they needed only each other for perfect happiness. As for her aunts, they would be very much shocked at first, even angry, but when they saw how right she had been to marry Stacy they would come round, and end by doting as fondly upon him as upon her. Not until Stacy urged her to fly with him immediately did she begin to perceive some of the minor objections attached to an elopement. Such things as rout-parties were quite unimportant, of course: Stacy said so, and it was so. But they were not unimportant to two maiden ladies who had been numbered for years amongst Bath’s most respected residents. Not one of the invitations sent out on Aunt Selina’s gilt-edged cards had been declined, for an invitation to attend one of the Misses Wendover’s select parties was considered to confer distinction on the recipient. It had flashed through Fanny’s mind as soon as Stacy had made his proposal that to subject her aunts to the humiliation of being obliged to cancel their party would be conduct too base ever to be pardoned. It would be even worse if they decided to hold it, as though they had not been plunged into a scandal (and it was stupid to suppose that the news of the elopement would not spread through Bath like wildfire),for if they did that they would find their big double drawing-room woefully thin of company. Several other minor objections occurred to her, but she resolutely banished them. One could not be expected to sacrifice the happiness of oneself and one’s beloved merely to save one’s aunts from embarrassment.
There was yet another objection which she found oddly daunting. Never having formed any very clear picture of the actual ceremony, who was to perform it, and where it was to take place, it came as a shock to her when Stacy described in romantic detail a flight to the Border. Innocent as she was, she yet knew that nothing could be more improper. Even her closest friends would find it hard to excuse conduct so indelicate: she had as well tie her garter in public! “You cannot mean Gretna Green?” she had exclaimed incredulously. “No, no! I know people do so in novels, but not—real people, like us! It is not at all the thing, Stacy! Why, I daresay it would take us two or three days to reach the Border! You can’t have considered! We must be married in London, or—Bristol, or somewhere much nearer to Bath!”
So Stacy had had to explain to her that there were certain difficulties attached to the clandestine marriages of minors. He had done it very well, so that by the time they had parted at the door of the Abbey she was convinced that there was no other way open to them, and that it was as repugnant to him as it was to her. He would be no more than her courier until the knot was tied. “But I will not press you,” he had said. “If your courage fails you—if you cannot trust me enough—tell me! I’ll go away—try to forget you!” He had added with a melancholy smile: “You will forget me more easily!”