The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson – Swanston Edition. Volume 15

Anthony. The Colonel told me that you liked to shake an elbow. Your big main, sir, with Lord Wensleydale, is often talked about. I hope I may have the occasion to sit down with you. I shall count it an honour, I assure you.

Austin. But would your aunt, my very good friend, approve?

Anthony. Why, sir, you do not suppose I am in leading-strings?

Austin. You forget, child: a family must hang together. When I was young – in my time – I was alone; and what I did concerned myself. But a youth who has – as I think you have – a family of ladies to protect, must watch his honour, child, and preserve his fortune… You have no commands from Sir Frederick?

Anthony. None, sir, none.

Austin. Shall I find you this noon upon the Pantiles?.. I shall be charmed. Commend me to your aunt and your fair sister. Menteith?

Menteith. Yes, Mr. George. (Shows Anthony out.)

SCENE III

Austin, Menteith, returning

Austin. Was I ever like that, Menteith?

Menteith. No, Mr. George, you was always a gentleman.

Austin. Youth, my good fellow, youth.

Menteith. Quite so, Mr. George.

Austin. Well, Menteith, we cannot make nor mend. We cannot play the jockey with Time. Age is the test; of wine, Menteith, and men.

Menteith. Me and you and the old Hermitage, Mr. George, he-he!

Austin. And the best of these, the Hermitage. But come: we lose our day. Help me off with this.

(Menteith takes off Austin’s dressing-gown; Austin passes R. to dressing-table, and takes up first cravat.)

Austin. Will the hair do, Menteith?

Menteith. Never saw it lay better, Mr. George. (Austin proceeds to wind first cravat. A bell: exit Menteith. Austin drops first cravat in basket and takes second.)

Austin (winding and singing) —

“I’d crowns resign
To call her mine,
Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill!”

(Second cravat a failure. Re-enter Menteith with card.) Fenwick? of Allonby Shaw? A good family, Menteith, but I don’t know the gentleman. (Lays down card, and takes up third cravat.) Send him away with every consideration.

Menteith. To be sure, Mr. George. (He goes out. Third cravat a success. Re-enter Menteith.) He says, Mr. George, that he has an errand from Miss Musgrave.

Austin (with waistcoat). Show him in, Menteith, at once. (Singing and fitting waistcoat at glass) —

“I’d crowns resign
To call her mine,
Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill!”

SCENE IV

Austin, R. To him, Menteith and Fenwick

Menteith (announcing). Mr. Fenwick, Mr. George.

Austin. At the name of Miss Musgrave, my doors fly always open.

Fenwick. I believe, sir, you are acquainted with my cousin, Richard Gaunt?

Austin. The county member? An old and good friend. But you need not go so far afield: I know your good house of Allonby Shaw since the days of the Black Knight. We are, in fact, and at a very royal distance, cousins.

Fenwick. I desired, sir, from the nature of my business, that you should recognise me for a gentleman.

Austin. The preliminary, sir, is somewhat grave.

Fenwick. My business is both grave and delicate.

Austin. Menteith, my good fellow. (Exit Menteith.) Mr. Fenwick, honour me so far as to be seated. (They sit.) I await your pleasure.

Fenwick. Briefly, sir, I am come, not without hope, to appeal to your good heart.

Austin. From Miss Musgrave?

Fenwick. No, sir, I abused her name, and am here upon my own authority. Upon me the consequence.

Austin. Proceed.

Fenwick. Mr. Austin, Dorothy Musgrave is the oldest and dearest of my friends; is the lady whom for ten years it has been my hope to make my wife. She has shown me reason to discard that hope for another: that I may call her Mrs. Austin.

Austin. In the best interests of the lady (rising) I question if you have been well inspired. You are aware, sir, that from such interference there is but one issue: to whom shall I address my friend?

Fenwick. Mr. Austin, I am here to throw myself upon your mercy. Strange as my errand is, it will seem yet more strange to you that I came prepared to accept at your hands any extremity of dishonour and not fight. The lady whom it is my boast to serve has honoured me with her commands. These are my law, and by these your life is sacred.

Austin. Then, sir (with his hand upon the bell), this conversation becomes impossible. You have me at too gross a disadvantage; and, as you are a gentleman and respect another, I would suggest that you retire.

Fenwick. Sir, you speak of disadvantage; think of mine. All my life long, with all the forces of my nature, I have loved this lady. I came here to implore her to be my wife, to be my queen; my saint she had been always! She was too noble to deceive me. She told me what you know. I will not conceal that my first mood was of anger: I would have killed you like a dog. But, Mr. Austin – bear with me a while – I, on the threshold of my life, who have made no figure in the world, nor ever shall now, who had but one treasure, and have lost it – if I, abandoning revenge, trampling upon jealousy, can supplicate you to complete my misfortune – O Mr. Austin! you who have lived, you whose gallantry is beyond the insolence of a suspicion, you who are a man crowned and acclaimed, who are loved, and loved by such a woman – you who excel me in every point of advantage, will you suffer me to surpass you in generosity?

Austin. You speak from the heart. (Sits.) What do you want with me?

Fenwick. Marry her.

Austin. Mr. Fenwick, I am the older man. I have seen much of life, much of society, much of love. When I was young, it was expected of a gentleman to be ready with his hat to a lady, ready with his sword to a man; to honour his word and his king; to be courteous with his equals, generous to his dependants, helpful and trusty in friendship. But it was not asked of us to be quixotic. If I had married every lady by whom it is my fortune – not my merit – to have been distinguished, the Wells would scarce be spacious enough for my establishment. You see, sir, that while I respect your emotion, I am myself conducted by experience. And besides, Mr. Fenwick, is not love a warfare? has it not rules? have not our fair antagonists their tactics, their weapons, their place of arms? and is there not a touch of – pardon me the word! of silliness in one who, having fought and having vanquished, sounds a parley, and capitulates to his own prisoner? Had the lady chosen, had the fortune of war been other, ’tis like she had been Mrs. Austin. Now!.. You know the world.

Fenwick. I know, sir, that the world contains much cowardice. To find Mr. Austin afraid to do the right, this surprises me.