CHAPTER VI.

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 411, 16 October 1889, Page 3

CHAPTER VI.

ASKING 'IN MARRIAGE. Mrs Vavasor might be never so vivacious, bub it was a very silent, hot to say gloomyi meal. . Sir John sat moodily, eating little' and watching his daughter with strange new interest in his eyes. His perplexities seemed thickening around him. It was surely bad enough to have this obnoxious visitor on his hands, without an objectionable son-in-law flung in hi>» face willy-nilly also. Who' could the man be? He had not^if you will believe it, the remotest idea. He had been so completely abiorbed by his espionage over the little widow all night that he had scarcely once remarked his daughter. Who can the man be ? He thought over the list of his unmarried masculine guests and lit upon Captain De Vere, of the Plungers, as the man. ' And if it be he,' the baronet thought with an, inward groan, 'there is nothing for it but to make a clean breast of it before the wedding. And how will it be then ? He Is a very heavy swell, De Vere, and will one day write his name high in the peerage. He may be in love with Katherine now — how will it be, when he knows the truth? Heaven help me !' wasever man so badgered as I am ?' Katherine was very silent, too ; even her hearty girl's morning appetite seemed "to have failed her. She trifled with what lay, on her plate, a tender half-smile on her lip? and in her eyes. Love had taken away appetite. How handsome he had looked ! the mellow lamp-light of the conservatory streaming across his dark, southern beauty. How nobly he had spoken ! And he had feared refusal — this darling of the gods ! He had thought himself unworthy the heiress of Scarswood — he who was worthy the heiress of a throne ! \ ' I am glad I am an heiress for his sake,' she thought : ' I only wish my thousands were millions ! Oh, Gaston ! to think that your poverty would be any obstacle to me. I am. glad you are poor — yes, glad, that • Ijinay give you all ; that I may be in every way the good angel of your life !' Mrs Vavasor, chattering 1 cheerily on all I imaginable subjects, asked her a question. It had to be repeated ere it reached her ear, . dulled §y her blissful trance. She lifted ! *• her dreamy eyes. ' ) c What did you say, madome?' * Mrs Vavasor's rather shrill laugh chimed . . -fpjfch. - •• '* What did I say, madame ! and I have asked her three times. No, my dear, I'll „^,.not lepeat'my question as to whether you'll < drive me to Castleford if it clears up, ..as I seejft is going to do, being quite certain you „ .vyll have other -and pleasanter company; Look at that abstracted face, Sir John, and tell me wftat you' think.' , " f The baronetrs -answer was a . u sortj "of - 'growl, as he ,arose abruptly from jthe v table. - - ' " • "■••--M am.- .going to my study, Katherino, -. .and/- I. want to speak to you— will, you , x; comej?' .«.., 'Speak to me, papa?' Katherine res Pleated, faintly, her colour coming and.going >t nervously for the first time in her life." ' Yes.' He offered her his arm looking .' grimmer than she had ever seen him in all .'"her experience. • • Mrs Vavasor will find sotne other means of amusing herself besides ','' tfiatf drive to 'Castleford. My carriage and ' coachman are at her service' if she really ' desires.it." ?•.; ' Very well, papa,' Miss Dangerfield re- * -a£ottded, with a meekness very different is from her usual frank impertinence which sat so well upon her. 'Could he know ?' she was thinking in some trepidation. ' Can he know so soon ? Did he see us last night in' the conservatory together ? and, oh .' wh"at will he say ?' Mrs Vavasor watched the stalwart, soldierly figure, and the slight girlish form • on his arm, irom sight with a hard, cold glitter in her black eyes. 'Your coachman is at mv service. Sir John, but your daughter is not. And her -Royal Highness, the Princess of Scarswood, would not let me kiss her this morning ! Like her mother again very much like her mother indeed. And I have a good memory for all slights, little and great.' Sir John's study was a cozy room, on the same floor with the breakfast parlour, and commanding a view of the entrance avenue with its arching-elms. He placed a chair for his daughter, still in grim silence, and Katherine sank into it in a little flutter of apprehension. Fear was a weakness that perhaos had never troubled the girl in her life. Whatever the blood in her veins, it was at least thoroughly brave. And, womanlike, it was more for her lover than heraelf'she trembled now. ' Papa won't like it,' 3he thought. 'Gaston's poverty will be a drawback to him. He will forget that he was poor himself only half a year ago, and refuee hip consent. No, he won't do that ; he would consent to anything, I think, sooner than see me miserable.' • Katherine,' her father began, abruptly, ' Peter Dangerfield proposed last night.' Katherine looked up with a start. Nothing was further from her thoughts at that moment than her cousin Peter — she had entirely forgotten him and their quarrel of last night. 'Peter? Oh, yes, papa, I forgot all about it.' • Humph ! highly complimentary to Peter. I need hardly ask if you' refused him, Miss Dangerfield ? • Certainly 1 ! refused him ! ' Miss, Dangerfield retorted, her spirits rising, now she' bad found her tongue, and his declaration ended in no end of a row. The heiress of Scarswood was a trifle slangj at times. ' I lost my temper — that's the truth — at one thine he said, and spoke to him as I had no business to. I'm sorry now, and I apologised, but I know he'll never forget or forgive the affront. He's one of your nice, quiet, inoffensive people who go to church three times every Sunday, and who never do forgive anything.' ' What did. you. Bay ?' Papa's Ivoice was terribly stern — for him. Miss Dangerfield hung her head in deserved contrition. . . 'Papa 1 ! you know what an abominable > temper I've got, and still more abominable tongu9 — I called him a rickety dwarf. • * Kjatherine /' ' I'm sorry, papa,' Kafcherine repeated a little sullenly, and nob looking: up. ' I apologised ;",ifc is alii can do ; it's said and can'fc be recalled ! Scolding will do no good now.' ' There was silence . for , a moment. A pallor that even her .wicked words seemed too trifling to call there overspread tois 'face. • A bad business !' he muttered. ' Peter Dangerfield will never forget or forgive your insult) as long as he lives. Heaven help you now, child, if you are ever in, his power.' •In his power ! in Peter's !' Katherine said, lilting her head haughtily. * What nonaense,p»pa! of course I shall never be in

I his power. And he provoked me into saying it, if it comes to that ! What business had he to speak as he did, to insult ' Miss Dangertield pulled herself up with a jerk, and looked up. 4 Insult whom, my daughter ?' ' Never mind, papa— a friend of mine.' * And a rival of his. Was it Captain De Vere, Kathie ?' 4 Captain De Vere ! Oh dear, no, papa ! Captain De Vere can fight his own battles — he's big eoough and old enough. ( He has nothing to do with me.' ' Then somebody else has. You are keeping something from me, and that is not like you, Kathie. You had another proposal last night.' Katherine looked at her father in sheer amaze. ' Why, papa, you must be a wizard — how Ho you find these things out? Did -did you see me in the conservatory ?' '/did not — I did not deem it necessary to place Katherine Dangerfbld under surveillance at her first party.' 4 Papa !' ' Oh, child ! You compel me to say cruel things. The world will watch you if I do not, and report all shortcomings.' 'The world may,' Katherine said, proudly. *I' have done nothing wrong— l know who has told you — you would- never play the spy ; it was that odious woman in the breakfast room. Who is she, papa, and what does she do here, and how long is she going to stay ? I don't know anything about her, but I hate her already. Who is she?' * She is Mrs Vavasor. Never mind her at present, my dear — you are the subject under discussion. We have not come to this other lover yet — let us come to him at , once. Two lovers ! and yesterday I thought you a child. Well, well ! ib is the way of the world — the female portion ot it at least. Katherine, who is tht) man ?' She looked up — grew very pale — met her father's stern, sorrowful eyes, and looked down. 4lt is — papa, papa ! don't be angry. He can't help being poor — and I—lI — I like him — so,' with little gasps. ' Oh, papa, please ! You never were cruel to your little Kathie in all your life — please don't begin now !' He stood very etill, listening to this outburst with a face that grew every moment graver. 4 And it needs such a preface as this ! You have to plead for him before even you tell hi? name. Who is he, Kathie ?' She got up, flung her arms round him, and hid her face on his shoulder. 'It is — papa, pp-please don't be angry. It is Ga?ton Dantrep !' The murder was out ! Of all the men he had thought of, he had never once thought of him, Gaston Dantree i An utter stranger -"a singer of songs — his voice giving him the entree into houses where else he had never set his foot. A schemer probably -an adventurer certainly — a foreigner also — and Sir John Dangerfield had all your true- Born Briton's hearty detestation of foreigners. 'Kathie, 5 he could just exclaim ; ' that man !' i« ' E loye.him. papa'!' she whispered, between an impulsive shower of, coaxing kisses ; ' and -oil, please don't call him that man ! H& may' be poor; but he is.so good, so' noble— dearer, better every way than any man 1 ever knew.'"' lf you hadonjy heardhim talk l&gt night,»papa !| 'Talk ! Yes, I daresay.!: , The bkronet' lau'ghed — a dreary-sounding, laugh enough. ' It is his stock-in-trade— that silvery tenor-.', of- his £ and all adventurers' possess 1 tbesgift of gab\ It is the rubbish that keeps them afloat.' ' - ' "" ' An adventurer, papa.! no right tb call him that.. You don't' linjcfw him— you should not juo!ge s hira. -He, may be poor, but poverty is his* only, disgrace. He does not deserve' that opprobrious name !' . v 'It -would ! be difficult, .indeed, to sily ' what name Mr Gaston Dantree does notdeserve. A penniless stranger who could deliberately se6 himself to work to.,steal the affection* of a child, like you— for your fortune alone ! That will do, Katherine : I know what lam talking about — I have met men like Mr Gaston Dantree before. And I have no right to judge hitri — the thief who comes to steal away my treasure ! Child — child ! you have disappointed- me — you have disappointed me more than I can say.' He sighed bitterly, and covered hi 9 eyep with his hand ; Katherine's arm tightened imploringly, round his neck. '.Bub not angered you, papa, not grieved you ; don't say I have done that !' she cried faintly, hiding her' face. ' Dearest, v best father that ever was in this world, don't say you are angry with Katherine — for the first, the only time !' ' Heaven knows, my dear, I con Id not' be angry with you if I tried. Lift up* your head, Kathie, and give me a kiss. Don't cry for your new toy, my child ; you shall have it, a,3 you have had all the rest. Only whatever happens in the future, don't blame me. Remember that I have nothing but your happine&s at heart.' ■ Her impetuous kisses, her happy tears thanked him. Since her childhood he had not seen her weep before/ and the sight moved him strangely. ' And when am I to see him, Katherine'?' he asked; 'when is this unknown hero, without money in his purse, coming to claim the heiress of Scarswood ? It requires some courage, doubtless, to face the " heavy father;" but I suppose he does intend to come. And I think your Mr Dantree ha<* courage — no, that's not the word — cheek enough for anything." ' He will be here to-day,' she whispered, lifting her head, ' and papa, for my sake don't be hard on him— don't hurt his" feel ings, don't insult him for his poverty !' He put her from him, and walked away with a gesture almost of anger. ' His poverty ! as if I cared for that ! The baronets of Scarswood have been poor men, often enough ; but they were always ! gentlemen. I don't think your handsome lover with the tenor voice can say much. But, whatever he is— blackleg, adventurer, ' fortune-hunter — lam to bake him, it seems, to give him my daughter, and heiress, as soon as it pleases his. sultanship to claim her. If not, you'll become alveroine, won't you KaHe, and run away to Gretna Green with him ? Katherine, if by some freak of fortune. Scarswood and its long rent-roll 1 pass from you to-morrow, and you stood before him penniless as he is, how long do you think he would piove true to all the love vows of last night— in the conservatory •was it?' i ; , *„ ' • t. : '.JFor all , the' years of his life, papa,' the ,■ eirl- cried, her large eye's flashing. ' Yqu don't know him I—you1 — you judge him cruelly, arid unkindly. He»ioves me for .myself —as •I do him. . Papa* I never k,n©.w ypu fco'be so unkind before, in all my life." ~\ 'That will do, Kathie — I, have promised to accept Him when be comes — let that suffice. "'X confess I should have liked a gentleman born and bred for a son-in-law, but that, weakness will no doubt wear away with time. Ah, I see — '* lo ! the conquering hero comes !" Will you dare trust him to my tender mercies, my, dear, or do you wish to remain, and do battle for your knight ?' For Mr Gaston Dantree was riding slowly up the avenue. The sun, which all the morping had been struggling with the clouds, burst out at the moment, and Mr £ Danbree approached through the sunburst as through & glory. The girl's eyes lit, her

whole face kindled with the radiance of love at seventeen. And fchis son of the gods was hers. She turned in her switb, impulsive fashion, and flung her arms round her father's neck once more. 'Don't be unkind, papa, for my sake. It would kill me if I lost him— just that.' ' Kill you,' he laughed cynically.' ' Men have died, and worms have eaten them, but not for love. There, qo — I may be an ogre, but 111 prpmise, not to devour';Mr Donfcree this morning, if I can-help it:' << « . He led her to the door, and held it open if>v her to pass out. She gave.him one'hiat im- ! ploring glance. ' . • , | ' For my sake, papa,' she repeated,' and tied. , . , a j He" closed the door and went, back -to his seat beside the window. The,laet trace of softness died out of his face, he sighed heavily, and in the garish sunshine his florid face looked haggard and worn. j 'If I only had courage to face the worsb, 5 he though b-^-' if I only had courage to tell the truth. Bub lam a coward, and I cannot. „The revelation will kill 'her — to lose lover. 1 fortune, all at, one blow. If it must 1 fall, mine will never be the hand'bo strike, and yet it might be greatest mercy after all.' The door was flung wide< > ' Mr Dan tree,' announced the footman. Sir John rose with a stern ceremoniousness that might have abashed most men. But it did nor. abasli Katherine's lover In the whole course of his chequered career no man had ever seen Mr Dantree put out of countenance. He came forward, hat in hand, that handsome mask, his* face, 1 wearing a polite smile. 'Good-morning, Sir John— l hope I see you well after last night's late hours. It was a most delightful reunion. And Miss Katherine, I ti usfc, is well also after the fatigue of so much dancing? 1 * My daughter is well !' very stiff and fiigid, this' response. 'Will, you take a seat, Mr Dantree, and tell me to, what I owe the honour of this visit?' He paused. The tone, the look, wereenough to chill the ardour of the warmest lover. Mr Dantree took them, and thechair, as matters of course. ' He laid' his hat on the floor, , drew oft' his gloves, ran his fingers, through his glossy black curls, and met Sir John's irate gaze with unflmqhing good humour. ' 1 come to you, Sir John, on a matter ofsupieme importance. As you appear in haste 1 will not detain you long— l will come to the point at once. Last night I had tire ■ honour of proposing for your daughter's hand, and the happiness of being accepted.' This was coming to the point at once with a venerearKie Sir John sat,gazing at him blankly. The stupendous magnificence of his cheekiness completely toVk his b"reath ; • away. . ' * _ *• : * ' . 'It maybe presumptuous on -my part.' Mr Da"ntiee coolly went on ; -' hut om\ affections aie not under our control. , Love" knows no distinction of rank. "I ib've'y'biir daughter. Sir John, and have the yreaf happiness ot knowing my love is returned.' Sir John Dangerfield actually burst outlaughing. Somewhere in the old moustache., there. lay a'lurking vein of humour, and Mr< Dantree's perfect, sang- froia' and pat littlespeech.tickled it ; and the laugh took Mr,; Dantree more aback than 'any .words in the, English language. ''.-*' • • . »-.. ' Sir V fie began; reddening, ? .-,,, , ' rbeg'your pardon, Mr .Dauvrea— \ cer-.' tainly hadno intention ;of Jaughjng,",aj>d ; I" cefia'inly suppose y'du ddji.'t see, anything, .to lahgh at-. •Itewns'ihab pretty speech ! of' •ydars-^-how.. glibly y.Qu .say _.. "yo,ui\ lesson ;K Lon&'practice, now. „I ^s uppose 'has: 'madei you perfect.':, -,_' "' " * J - «': § ... ' .-'Sir* Jo,hn Danger Held— -ii .you m'e&u to-, nnstftb'me— ' ' ■" '' ' t '' '_ ' ' '•• fv '"> n': '„-,, ,'.| Keep t](uiejt', Mr'paYvfcree— you're no£M;i, a passion-, thbjigji yfni'fergti dn'e .Ver>y. welll! You may be an. actor by profession. "foPi -what I bni^bub t'f^. r^t&e,r ' w,e T dropped' .melodmrna and kept'to. humdrum tfommdnsense. Reserve alt yo'ur^flbwe'ry -"periods about love overleap'ihg'the barriers of rank — Katherine. is nob 'listening. Am I- tounderstand you are^ here t6 demand my daughter's hand in marriage? 1 * r • Mi n^ntree. bowecL v " „'•''. 'You are to understand that, Sir John. I possess Mibs Dahgerrield's heart. I have,^| come here this morning, with her consent;., to ask you for her" hand.' " . 'And 'my daughter has known you — three, or four weeks— which is it? .And you aiegood^enough to acknowledge it may_, be a little presumptuous 1 Mr, Danijree,what are you? Ka'theririb "is ( seve'qteei), and in love with you; I am- 'sixty-five',' and not in' love ; you possess a -handsome' face and a very fine voice— may-I asli what < additional virtues and claims y6u can p f ut forth for my favour? Dar.k eyes and' melodidus tenors are very ,erood and pleasant things >n their way, but I am an unromantic old soldier, and I should like you.< to show som.e more substantial reasons why 1 am to give you my daughter for life.' •If by substantial reasons you mean fame or fortune, Sir John, I possess neither. I own it — I am poor. lam a journalist. By my pen I earn my bread, and I -have, yet to learn there is any disgrace in honest poverty.' * .* 1 There are many things you .have yet to learn, I think, Mr Dantree, but easy assurance and self-conceit not among them. You are poor, no doubt — of the honesty of that poverty I have no means of judging. At present liiave" but your own word for it. Would you like to know what I think of you, Mr Dantree— in plain language ?' •If you- please, Sir John, and it will-be plain, 1 have no doubt.' ' Then, sir, you are, I believe, simply and solely an adventurer — a fortune-hunter. J Be good enough to hear me out. I am=nob" likely to repeat this conversation for some time, and it is much better we should understand each othej at once. There is bub one thing 1 would rather nob see my daughter than your wife, and that is — dead !' 'Thank you, Sir John— you arealmost morecorapHmentfiry th.an- 1 hadf" hoped. lam to understand, .then,' he said this with perfect coolness, ' that you refuse your oonsent. Jn that case I have only- to bid you goodday and go.'. . Sir John glanced^ at him- in impotent rising wrath. ' WKab it cost httn bo' preserve even a show of self-eoubrol the fiery old • soldier alone knew. • • - i • You do wejl,'*he" cried;' -hia -blue eyes afire, 'to taunt me with my impotence. If I were a wiser man and a less indulgent father, by heavens ! you should go, and ,'hat qjuickly ! But I have never refused 'Katherine anything yet, and I am not going, to begin now. "She has set her foolish, child's 'hearb on you, sir, with y,6ur cursed womanish beauty and. ltalian sQng-sitjginer, and she •shall nob be ,thjwarted^b.y. me. She^hall" marry, you i£ she wishes ib-she shall /inetel ; j .say / came her andHhe dfcaresi 1 desire t of; her . heart. Take -her, Gaston Danbree,' he arose, 'and mayian old ina/n's» , cujse blighb you if ever you ma^ke her repent ■it ! • *■• • Perhaps,. somewhere in his^hard anatomy Gasfcon Danbree had an organ that did du,ty as a heart ; it smote him now. He held out his hand to the'passionate'old soldier, ,,. 'So help me Heaven ! she never phalli As I deal by her may 1 be dealt with !' He spoke the words that sealed his cond.emnation. *In the troubled after-days it was only the retribution he invoked then that fell. •