The Bertrams

Missish and girlish! Miss Waddington felt that it behoved her to look to her character. These were words which had not usually been applied to her.

"Indeed, Mr. Bertram, I should think myself unpardonable to keep you in suspense."

"Then answer me," said he. He had by this time let go her hand, and was standing at a little distance from her, on the hearth-rug. Never had lady been wooed in a sterner manner; but Caroline almost felt that she liked him the better for it. He had simpered and said his little nothings so like an ordinary gentleman during their ride, that his present brusqueness was quite a relief to her.

But still she did not answer him at once. She essayed to stick her needle into her work, and pricked her finger in lieu of it.

"Come, Caroline; am I wrong in supposing that now at least you must know your own feelings? Or shall I tell you again how dearly, how truly I love you?"

"No! – no! – no!"

"Answer me, then. In honest, plain, Christian sincerity, answer me; as a true woman should answer a true man. Do you love me?"

For a moment there was no answer.

"Well, I will not ask again. I will not torment you."

"Oh, Mr. Bertram! What am I to say? What would you have me say? Do not be so stern with me."

"Stern!"

"Well, are you not stern?" And coming up close to him, she looked into his face.

"Caroline," said he, "will you be my wife?"

"I will." It was a motion of the lips rather than a spoken word; but, nevertheless, he heard it. Fool that he was not to have heard it before in the beating of her heart; not to have seen it in the tear in her eye; not to have felt it in the warmth of her hand.

On that afternoon Miss Waddington's ride was much more energetic, and on that evening Miss Baker did not think it necessary to catch a curate to drink wine with George Bertram. He was made quite at home, and given to understand that he had better leave the dining-room when the ladies did so.

There was much talked over that evening and the next day: the upshot of which was, that no marriage could take place till next summer; that perhaps it might be expedient to postpone it till the summer twelvemonths. To this George put, or would have put, an absolute veto; but Miss Baker only shook her head, and smilingly said that she thought it must be so. Nothing was to be done before Christmas; but as Miss Baker was to be at Hadley very early in January, she undertook to inform Mr. Bertram, and gave strong hopes that he would be prevailed on to favour the marriage.

"It can make no difference to my purpose whether he does or no," said George, very independently.

CHAPTER XIV

WAYS AND MEANS

On the following day Bertram returned to town. Now that he was a successful lover, and about to take upon himself at some future time the responsible duties of a married man, he became very energetic in the chambers of Mr. Die. He could hardly spare a day during the winter for running down to Littlebath, and whenever he did do so, he took Coke upon Lyttleton down with him. Nor did he work in vain. He never had worked in vain. Facility of acquiring the special knowledge which he sought had ever been one of his gifts. Mr. Die was already beginning to prophesy great things; and his friend Harcourt, who occasionally wanted his society, declared that he overdid his labours.

Down at Littlebath they did not quite approve of all this industry. Caroline naturally thought that more of her lover's hours should be devoted to her; and Miss Baker, who looked on Mr. Bertram's money as certainly destined either for Caroline or George, considered that he was wasting his time with his fusty books. She had not dared to say much to George on this subject, and he had not taken very well the little that she did say. She could not tell him that Caroline was Mr. Bertram's granddaughter, but she did remind him that he himself was Mr. Bertram's nephew, and hinted that though a profession might be very eligible for a young man of such brilliant prospects, it could hardly be necessary for him absolutely to make a slave of himself. To this George had answered, somewhat curtly, that he had no reason to expect anything further from his uncle; and that as he looked forward to maintain himself and his wife by his successful exertions as a barrister, it was absolutely necessary that he should at present work very hard. "I have lost a whole year," he said to Miss Baker; "and nothing but very sharp work can atone for that."

He never once saw his uncle after his first visit to Littlebath till the next year was far advanced. He felt no desire to see him, and certainly no wish to be the bearer of tidings as to his own engagement. Miss Baker had undertaken to do this, and might do so if she so pleased. As far as he was concerned, he had no idea of asking permission to marry from any one.

"Why should I ask him," he had once said to Miss Baker. "I shall marry just the same, whether he permits it or whether he does not."

This was grievous to the ladies at Littlebath. Very little had been said about money between George and Miss Baker up to this time; nothing had been said between George and Caroline; but the two ladies knew that there could be no marriage till there was an adequate income. The income of the gentleman when stripped of his fellowship would be two hundred pounds a year; that of the lady was about the same. Now Caroline Waddington had no intention whatever of marrying on four hundred pounds a year; and it must be more than three years at the very least before all this profound study would result in golden fees.

Now that the matter was so far settled – settled as Bertram considered it – he did tell Harcourt of his love. "Harcourt," said he, one day. "I have a piece of news which perhaps I ought to tell you. I am engaged to be married."

"Are you?" said Harcourt, rather too coolly to satisfy his friend's expectation.

"I am not joking."

"Who ever accused you of joking since you took to the law and Mr. Die? I did not give you credit for a joke; not even for so bad a one as that would be. Shall I congratulate or condole with you?"

"Either or neither. Perhaps you had better wait till you see the lady."

"And when is it to be?"

"Well; in this coming summer, I suppose. That is my wish, at least."

"And your wish of course will be law. I presume then that I may be justified in surmising that the lady has some considerable fortune?"

"No, indeed, she has not. Something she has got; about as much, perhaps, as myself. We shall have bread to eat."

"And occasionally cheese," said Harcourt, who could not understand that any rising man could marry early, unless in doing so he acquired money.

"And occasionally cheese," repeated Bertram. "This is a state of things that would not suit your book, I know."

"Not exactly," said Harcourt. "But men have very different ideas about women. I could do, and have done, and am doing with a small income myself; but a wife is in some respects like a horse. If a gentleman does keep a horse, it should be well groomed."

"You could not endure a woman who was not always got up in satin and velvet?"

"Not satin and velvet exactly. I do not require a curiously-mounted saddle for my horse. But I don't think I should have much enjoyment with a cheap wife. I like cold mutton and candle-ends myself very well, but I do not love feminine economies. Family washing-bills kept at the lowest, a maid-of-all-work with an allowance in lieu of beer, and a dark morning gown for household work, would not, if I know myself, add fuel to the ardour of my conjugal affection. I love women dearly; I like them to be near me; but then I like them to be nice. When a woman is nasty, she is very nasty."

Bertram said in his heart that Harcourt was a beast, an animal without a soul, a creature capable of no other joys than those of a material nature; but he kept this opinion at the present moment to himself. Not, however, that he was averse to express himself openly before his friend. He often gave Harcourt to understand that he suspected him of being deficient in the article of a soul; and Harcourt would take the reproach with perfect good-humour, remarking, perhaps, that he might probably find it possible to get on decently without one.

"Is the lady's name a secret?" he asked.

"No; not to you, at least. I believe it is generally considered advisable that these sort of things should not be talked about quite openly till the consummation of them is nigh at hand. I have no wish for any mystery in the matter. Her name is Caroline Waddington."

"What! a daughter of Sir Augustus?"

"No; nothing to Sir Augustus, that I have heard."

"She must, then, be one of the General's family?"

"Not that either. Her only relative, that I know, is a Miss Baker."

"Miss Baker!" said Harcourt; and the tone of his voice was not encouraging.

"Yes, Miss Baker," said Bertram; and the tone of his voice was hardly conciliatory.

"Oh – ah – yes. I don't exactly think I know her. Miss Baker!"

"It would be odd if you did, for she lives at Littlebath, and hardly ever comes to town. When she does, she stays down at Hadley with my uncle."

"Oh – h! That's a horse of another colour. I beg your pardon entirely, my dear fellow. Why did you not tell me at first that this is a match of your uncle's making?"