Our Friend the Charlatan

"Have you been out this afternoon?" he began by asking.

"Yes. Why?"

"You went on business of Lady Ogram's?"

"Yes. Why?"

Dyce gave no answer. He laid aside his hat and stick, sat down not far from Constance, and looked at her steadily.

"I have something rather odd to say to you. As we are both rational persons, I shall talk quite freely, and explain to you exactly the position in which I find myself. It's a queer position, to say the least. When I was at Rivenoak, on the last day of my visit, Lady Ogram had a confidential talk with me; your name came prominently into it, and I went away with certain vague impressions which have kept me, ever since, in a good deal of uneasiness. This afternoon, I have had another private conversation with Lady Ogram. Again your name had a prominent part in it, and this time there was no vagueness whatever in the communication made to me. I was bidden, in plain terms, to make you an offer of marriage."

Constance drooped her eyes, but gave no other sign of disturbance.

"Now," resumed Dyce, leaning forward with hands clasped between his knees, "before I say anything more about this matter as it concerns you, I had better tell you what I think about our friend. I feel pretty sure that she has a very short time to live; it wouldn't surprise me if it were a question of days, but in any case I am convinced she won't live for a month. What is your opinion?"

"I fancy you are right," answered the other, gravely. "If so, this rather grotesque situation becomes more manageable. It is fortunate that you and I know each other so well, and have the habit of straightforward speech. I may assume, no doubt, that, from the very first, our friendship was misinterpreted by Lady Ogram; reasonable relations between man and woman are so very rare, and, in this case, the observer was no very acute psychologist. I feel sure she is actuated by the kindest motives; but what seems to her my inexplicable delay has been too much for her temper, and at last there was nothing for it but to deal roundly with me. One may suspect, too, that she feels she has not much time to spare. Having made up her mind that we are to marry, she wants to see the thing settled. Looking at it philosophically, I suppose one may admit that her views and her behaviour are intelligible. Meanwhile, you and I find ourselves in a very awkward position. We must talk it over—don't you think?—quite simply, and decide what is best to do."

Constance listened, her eyes conning the carpet. There was silence for a minute, then she spoke.

"What did Lady Ogram tell you about me?"

"She repeated in vague terms something she had already said at Rivenoak. It seems that you are to undertake some great responsibility—to receive some proof of her confidence which will affect all the rest of your life. More than that I don't know, but I understand that there has been a conversation between you, in which everything was fully explained."

Constance nodded. After a moment's reflection she raised her eyes to Lashmar's, and intently regarded him; her expression was one of anxiety severely controlled.

"You shall know what that responsibility is," she said, with a just perceptible tremor in her voice. "Lady Ogram, like a good many other people nowadays, has more money than she knows what to do with. For many years, I think, she has been troubled by a feeling that a woman rich as she ought to make some extraordinary use of her riches—ought to set an example, in short, to the wealthy world. But she never could discover the best way of doing this. She has an independent mind, and likes to strike out ways for herself. Ordinary Charities didn't satisfy her; to tell the truth, she wanted not only to do substantial good, but to do it in a way which should perpetuate her name—cause her to be more talked about after her death than she has been in her lifetime. Time went on, and she still could hit upon nothing brilliant; all she had decided was to build and endow a great hospital at Hollingford, to be called by her name, and this, for several reasons, she kept postponing. Then came her acquaintance with me—you know the story. She was troubling about the decay of the village, and trying to hit on remedies. Well, I had the good luck to suggest the paper-mill, and it was a success, and Lady Ogram at once had a great opinion of me. From that day—she tells me—the thought grew in her mind that, instead of devoting all her wealth, by will, to definite purposes, she would leave a certain portion of it to me, to be used by me for purposes of public good. I, in short"—Constance smiled nervously—"was to be sole and uncontrolled trustee of a great fund, which would be used, after her death, just as it might have been had she gone on living. The idea is rather fine, it seems to me; it could only have originated in a mind capable of very generous thought, generous in every sense of the word. It implied remarkable confidence, such as few people, especially few women, are capable of. It strikes me as rather pathetic, too—the feeling that she would continue to live in another being, not a mere inheritor of her money, but a true representative of her mind, thinking and acting as she would do, always consulting her memory, desiring her approval. Do you see what I mean?"

"Of course I do," answered Dyce, meditatively. "Yes, it's fine. It increases my respect for our friend."

"I have always respected her," said Constance, "and I am sorry now that I did not respect her more. Often she has irritated me, and in bad temper I have spoken thoughtlessly. I remember that letter I wrote you, before you first came to Rivenoak; it was silly, and, I'm afraid, rather vulgar."

"Nothing of the kind," interposed Lashmar. "It was very clever. You couldn't be vulgar if you tried."

"Have you the letter still?"

"Of course I have."

"Then do me the kindness to destroy it—will you?"

"If you wish."

"I do, seriously. Burn the thing, as soon as you get home."

"Very well."

They avoided each-other's look, and there was a rather long pause.

"I'll go on with my story," said Constance, in a voice still under studious control. "All this happened when Lady Ogram thought she had no living relative. One fine day, Mr. Kerchever came down with news of Miss Tomalin, and straightway the world was altered. Lady Ogram had a natural heiress, and one in whom she delighted. Everything had to be reconsidered. The great hospital became a dream. She wanted May Tomalin to be rich, very rich, to marry brilliantly. I have always suspected that Lady Ogram looked upon her life as a sort of revenge on the aristocratic class for the poverty and ignorance of her own people; did anything of the kind ever occur to you?"

"Was her family really mean?"

"Everyone says so. Mrs. Gallantry tells me that our illustrious M. P. has made laborious searches, hoping to prove something scandalous. Of course she tells it as a proof of Mr. Robb's unscrupulous hatred of Lady Ogram. I daresay the truth is that she came of a low class. At all events, Miss Tomalin, who represents the family in a progressive stage, is to establish its glory for ever. One understands. It's very human."

Lashmar wore the Toplady smile.

"It never occurred to our friend," he said, "that her niece might undertake the great trust instead of you?"

"She has spoken to me quite frankly about that. The trust cannot be so great as it would have been, but it remains with me. Miss Tomalin, it 'nay be hoped, will play not quite an ordinary part in the fashionable world; she has ideas of her own, and"—the voice was modulated—"some faith in herself. But my position is different, and perhaps my mind. Lady Ogram assures me that her faith in me, and her hopes, have suffered no change. For one thing, the mill is to become my property. Then—"

She hesitated, and her eyes passed over the listener's face. Lashmar was very attentive.

"There's no need to go into details," she added quickly. "Lady Ogram told me everything, saying she felt that the time had come for doing so. And I accepted the trust."

"Without knowing, however," said Dyce, "the not unimportant condition which her mind attached to it."

"There was no condition, expressed or reserved."

Constance's tone had become hard again. Her eyes were averted, her lips set in their firmest lines.

"Are you quite sure of that?"

"Quite," was the decisive reply.

"How do you reconcile that with what has passed today between Lady Ogram and me?"

"It was between Lady Ogram and you," said Constance, subduing her voice.

"I see. You mean that I alone am concerned; that your position will in no case be affected?"

"Yes, I mean that," answered Constance, quietly.

Lashmar thought for a moment, then moved on his chair, and spoke in a low tone, which seemed addressed to his hearer's sympathy.

"Perhaps you are right. Probably you are. But there is one thing of which I feel every assurance. If it becomes plain that her project must come to nothing, Lady Ogram's interest in me is at an end. I may say good-bye to Hollingford."

"You are mistaken," replied Constance, in a voice almost of indifference.

"Well, the question will soon be decided." Lashmar seemed to submit himself to the inevitable. "I shall write to Lady Ogram, telling her the result of our conversation. We shall see how she takes it."

He moved as if about to rise, but only turned his chair slightly aside. Constance was regarding him from under her brows. She spoke in her most businesslike tone.

"It was this that you came to tell me?"

"Why, no. It wasn't that at all."

"What had you in mind, then?"

"I was going to ask if you would marry me—or rather, if you would promise to—or rather, if you would make believe to marry me. I thought that, under the circumstances, it was a justifiable thing to do, for I fancied your future, as well as mine, was at stake. Seeing our friend's condition, it appeared to me that a formal engagement between us would be a kindness to her, and involve no serious consequences for us. But the case is altered. You being secure against Lady Ogram's displeasure, I have, of course, no right to ask you to take a part in such a proceeding—which naturally you would feel to be unworthy of you. All I have to do is to thank you for your efforts on my behalf. Who knows? I may hold my own at Hollingford. But at Rivenoak it's all over with me."