Squire Arden; volume 1 of 3

Edgar stood and looked at his cousin with unfeigned surprise. He watched him as he got through his speech with a wonder which was soon mingled with other emotions. He was not prejudiced either for or against him; but the more he said the less and less favourable became Edgar’s countenance. “Does Clare know of this?” he inquired coldly, in a tone which suffered surprise to be seen under a veil of indifference. Such a sentiment was the very last which Arthur had imagined possible. He could conceive his cousin angry, or he could conceive, what in his superficial eyes seemed equally probable, that Edgar would have embraced his cause at once with the impulsive readiness with which he had invited him to his house. But this chilling calm was utterly unexpected. Notwithstanding all his self-command, he stammered and faltered as he replied—

“No, I don’t suppose she does. She looks on me as an uncle, I have no doubt. Arden, you young fellows are lucky fellows, I can tell you, who know what you are born to. And you don’t know what injury you did me by not coming into the world ten years sooner. The foundations of my education were laid on the principle that I was the heir.”

“I beg your pardon, I am sure, for being born at all,” said Edgar, with a laugh in which there was not much mirth; “I could not help it, you know. But I cannot see how that can have done you much harm at ten years old. However, this is a very useless discussion. I don’t quite know what you expect me to say to you. Am I to make any decision? Is this a confidence that you make to me privately, or am I to consider that my consent is asked?”

“Confound it!” said Arthur Arden, “you look at me as cool as a judge, without a bit of sympathy in you. I did not look for this, at least. Flare up, if you please—treat it any way you like. I was driven to it by my feelings; if yours are so calm–”

“Were you?” said Edgar, gravely. “Perhaps I am wrong. I have no right to make light of any man’s feelings; but naturally it is my sister I must think of, not you. You talk of Newmarch as something not to be supported; but do you really think, Arden, that you yourself would be a better match for Clare?”

“I am a gentleman, at least, though I am not the son of a pasteboard Earl,” said Arthur, angrily. To tell the truth, it was hard upon him. Up to this moment it was he who had held the superior position, as the man of most age, and experience and knowledge of the world. But now he felt that he stood at the bar before this boy, and the change galled him. And then his resentment impaired at once his dignity and judgment, as may be supposed.

“He is a gentleman also, whatever his father may be,” said Edgar; “and though he is a bore he has a great many advantages to offer. He is rich and he has a good position, and some reputation, such as it is. I should not like to marry him myself, if the question were put to me; but Clare has her own ambitions, and might choose to influence the world as the wife of a statesman. Why shouldn’t she? These are all substantial advantages, whereas–”

“Whereas I am a miserable beggar, twice her age, with not even much to brag of in the way of reputation,” said Arthur Arden. “Say no more about it; I perceive the contrast sufficiently as it is.”

Edgar did not say any more; but looked so serious and unmoved by his cousin’s impatience, that he occasioned Arthur a new sensation. To be set down by this boy, whom he had believed to be a simpleton and enthusiast! To meet the gravity of a look which became penetrating and keen the moment it was roused with such an interest—all this was utterly unexpected. He had feared Clare, but he had said to himself, with the contempt of a man of the world for Edgar’s open temper and liberal heart, that he could twine her brother round his finger. Indeed, there had not seemed any particular credit in so doing. Anybody could do it, even a novice. The young man could be persuaded out of or into anything, and was not in reality worth considering at all. But now Arthur Arden paused, and changed his mind. The tables were turned—the simpleton had seen through the whole question at once, and had calmly snubbed him, Arthur Arden, and put him back in his proper place. By Jove!—a fellow who had taken his inheritance from him, and who probably had no more real right to it than–. What a drivelling fool old Arden was to put up with it, and how hard a case for himself! All this fermented so strongly in Arthur’s mind that he flung off the restraints which had hitherto confined him. He had been, by way of being very civil to Edgar since he came to the house, deferring to his wishes and consulting all his tastes; but if this was all that was to come of it! Accordingly, he left Edgar abruptly, and went and joined himself to Clare and her supposed admirer. “Here is Frivolity come to the rescue, in case my young cousin should become too wise,” he said. “We don’t want to have her made too wise. She is cleverer than all the rest of us by nature; and, Newmarch, I can’t have her made more dangerous still by your art.”

“Miss Arden instructs instead of needing to be instructed,” said Lord Newmarch. “What astonishes me is the breadth of her views. She does not go into detail, as women generally do, but takes a broad grasp. I assure you, her feeling about the education of the people and the knowledge of their wants is marvellous. She knows the poorer classes as well as I flatter myself I know them, and her knowledge can only come by intuition, whereas mine is the result of careful study and–”

“You ought to know them better, certainly,” said Arthur, with suppressed insolence. “As a race advances in the world it forgets the sentiments of the common stock it sprang from—and we Ardens are a long way off the original root.”

“Yes, very true,” said Lord Newmarch, with a little bow, “very much what I was saying. I am going to persuade your brother to make a run up to town with me,” he added, turning to Clare, and rising from his seat—into which Arthur threw himself without loss of time.

“Mr. Arden, how could you speak to him so? You were rude to him,” said Clare, the moment they were left alone.

“I meant to be,” said Arthur Arden, carelessly. “What right had he, I should like to know, to monopolise you? What right had he to cross his legs, and sit here talking to you all the evening? Besides, it is perfectly true; and why should I be expected to eat humble pie, and loiter at a distance, and see you appropriated? You might have a little pity on your kinsman, Lady Clare.”

“My kinsman ought not to be rude,” said Clare. But that was all the punishment she inflicted. Something warped her judgment and blinded her clear eyes. She was not even angry at this piece of incivility, much as she prided herself upon the stateliness of the Arden manners, which Edgar could not acquire. And she sat on the terrace for ever so long after, and let him talk to her, compensating herself for the severity of the morning. And her brother looked on with a grave countenance, wondering much what he could or ought to do.

END OF VOL. I