Ayala's Angel [262]
It was all very well for her to feel that as she was of age she could do as she pleased. But a young lady is constrained by the exigencies of society to live with somebody. She cannot take a lodging by herself, as her brother may do. Therefore, when Mudbury Docimer went down to Cornwall, Imogene was obliged to accompany him.
"Is this intended for banishment?" she said to him when they had been about a week in the country.
"What do you call banishment? You used to like the country in the spring." It was now the middle of April.
"So I do, and in summer also. But I like nothing under constraint." "I am sorry that circumstances should make it imperative upon me to remain here just at present."
"Why cannot you tell the truth, Mudbury?"
"Have I told you any falsehood?"
"Why do you not say outright that I have been brought down here to be out of Frank Houston's way?"
"Because Frank Houston is a name which I do not wish to mention to you again -- at any rate for some time."
"What would you do it he were to show himself here?" she asked. "Tell him at once that he was not welcome. In other words, I would not have him here. It is very improbable I should think that he would come without a direct invitation from me. That invitation he will never have until I feel satisfied that you and he have changed your mind again, and that you mean to stick to it."
"I do not think we shall do that."
"Then he shall not come down here; nor, as far as I am able to arrange it, shall you go up to London."
"Then I am a prisoner?"
"You may put it as you please," said her brother. "I have no power of detaining you. Whatever influence I have I think it right to use. I am altogether opposed to this marriage, believing it to be an absurd infatuation. I think that he is of the same opinion."
"No!" said she, indignantly.
"That I believe to be his feeling," he continued, taking no notice of her assertion. "He is as perfectly aware as I am that you two are not adapted to live happily together on an income of a few hundreds a year. Some time ago it was agreed between you that it was so. You both were quite of one mind, and I was given to understand that the engagement was at an end. It was so much at an end that he made an arrangement for marrying another woman. But your feelings are stronger than his, and you allowed them to get the better of you. Then you enticed him back from the purpose on which you had both decided."
"Enticed!" said she. "I did nothing of the kind!"
"Would he have changed his mind if you had not enticed him?" "I did nothing of the kind. I offered to remain just as we are." "That is all very well. Of course he could not accept such an offer. Thinking as I do, it is my duty to keep you apart as long as I can. If you contrive to marry him in opposition to my efforts, the misery of both of you must be on your head. I tell you fairly that I do not believe he wishes anything of the kind."
"I am quite sure he does," said Imogene.
"Very well. Do you leave him alone; stay down here, and see what will come of it. I quite agree that such a banishment, as you call it, is not a happy prospect for you -- but it is happier than that of a marriage with Frank Houston. Give that up, and then you can go back to London and begin the world again."
Begin the world again! She knew what that meant. She was to throw herself into the market, and look for such other husband as Providence might send her. She had tried that before, and had convinced herself that Providence could never send her any that could be acceptable. The one man had taken possession of her, and there never could be a second. She had not known her own strength -- or her own weakness as the case might be -- when she had agreed to surrender the man she loved because there had been an alteration in their prospects of an income. She had struggled with herself, had attempted to amuse herself with the world, had told herself that somebody would come who would banish that image from her thoughts and heart. She had bade herself to
"Is this intended for banishment?" she said to him when they had been about a week in the country.
"What do you call banishment? You used to like the country in the spring." It was now the middle of April.
"So I do, and in summer also. But I like nothing under constraint." "I am sorry that circumstances should make it imperative upon me to remain here just at present."
"Why cannot you tell the truth, Mudbury?"
"Have I told you any falsehood?"
"Why do you not say outright that I have been brought down here to be out of Frank Houston's way?"
"Because Frank Houston is a name which I do not wish to mention to you again -- at any rate for some time."
"What would you do it he were to show himself here?" she asked. "Tell him at once that he was not welcome. In other words, I would not have him here. It is very improbable I should think that he would come without a direct invitation from me. That invitation he will never have until I feel satisfied that you and he have changed your mind again, and that you mean to stick to it."
"I do not think we shall do that."
"Then he shall not come down here; nor, as far as I am able to arrange it, shall you go up to London."
"Then I am a prisoner?"
"You may put it as you please," said her brother. "I have no power of detaining you. Whatever influence I have I think it right to use. I am altogether opposed to this marriage, believing it to be an absurd infatuation. I think that he is of the same opinion."
"No!" said she, indignantly.
"That I believe to be his feeling," he continued, taking no notice of her assertion. "He is as perfectly aware as I am that you two are not adapted to live happily together on an income of a few hundreds a year. Some time ago it was agreed between you that it was so. You both were quite of one mind, and I was given to understand that the engagement was at an end. It was so much at an end that he made an arrangement for marrying another woman. But your feelings are stronger than his, and you allowed them to get the better of you. Then you enticed him back from the purpose on which you had both decided."
"Enticed!" said she. "I did nothing of the kind!"
"Would he have changed his mind if you had not enticed him?" "I did nothing of the kind. I offered to remain just as we are." "That is all very well. Of course he could not accept such an offer. Thinking as I do, it is my duty to keep you apart as long as I can. If you contrive to marry him in opposition to my efforts, the misery of both of you must be on your head. I tell you fairly that I do not believe he wishes anything of the kind."
"I am quite sure he does," said Imogene.
"Very well. Do you leave him alone; stay down here, and see what will come of it. I quite agree that such a banishment, as you call it, is not a happy prospect for you -- but it is happier than that of a marriage with Frank Houston. Give that up, and then you can go back to London and begin the world again."
Begin the world again! She knew what that meant. She was to throw herself into the market, and look for such other husband as Providence might send her. She had tried that before, and had convinced herself that Providence could never send her any that could be acceptable. The one man had taken possession of her, and there never could be a second. She had not known her own strength -- or her own weakness as the case might be -- when she had agreed to surrender the man she loved because there had been an alteration in their prospects of an income. She had struggled with herself, had attempted to amuse herself with the world, had told herself that somebody would come who would banish that image from her thoughts and heart. She had bade herself to