Parlous Times: A Novel of Modern Diplomacy

"I see. And what did you propose to give to Miss Fitzgerald?"

"I said I'd share it with her."

"That is, you'd each have two thousand pounds."

"Exactly – but she's such a mercenary, avaricious little baggage, she struck for more; said she had the most dangerous part to perform, and by Gad! they allotted her three-fourths."

"Three thousand pounds. Quite a neat little sum."

"Rather! I was only to receive one thousand pounds."

"Now about those letters?"

Darcy looked them over hurriedly, and remarked: —

"Purely commercial."

"So I supposed. But how do you explain that sentence in your letter, in which you refer to there being a happy future for both of you?"

The Colonel thrust his hands in his pockets, and looked the Secretary squarely in the face.

"See here, Stanley," he said. "I'm not altogether a cad, and I'll be damned if I explain any more."

The Secretary flushed, and there was an awkward silence, which he broke by speaking nervously.

"That's all, I think," he continued, "except – I suppose you'll have no trouble in getting the money?"

Darcy laughed.

"Give me twenty-four hours," he said.

The Secretary nodded.

"Well, I must be going," remarked the Colonel regretfully, as if he was just bringing to a close a protracted, but delightful, interview. "You've paid a high price for rather indifferent goods, young man, and to show you that I'm dealing fair, I'll throw in a bit of advice. Drop our Irish friend as soon as you know how. Take my word for it, she's a thoroughly bad lot. I don't care what you're worth, she'd run through it in five years, and then – "

"Don't say it!" commanded the Secretary.

"As you like, it's the truth. The money will be in the Victoria Street Branch of the Bank of England till day after to-morrow? Yes. Thank you, Mr. Stanley. Trust you're satisfied. I am. Good day."

The door closed. He was gone.

CHAPTER XXXVII

THE PRICE OF KNOWLEDGE

"I can never thank you sufficiently for all you've done, old man," said Stanley to Kent-Lauriston, as the latter stood beside him, a few moments later.

"Which means," said his friend, "that you are going to ask me to do you another favour."

"How well you understand human nature," replied the Secretary, smiling sadly. "Yes, it's quite true; I want you to go to —her– you understand, for me. I meant to go myself, but after what Darcy has told me, it's impossible."

"It's infinitely better to leave the affair in my hands. It will be easier for both of you."

"I'm sure of it. You once said to me, you may remember, that it required more skill to break than to make an engagement, and I'm certain that you'd do this with great tact, and that I should blunder. You'll make it as easy for her as you can, I know – perhaps she'll save you any awkwardness by breaking it off herself. From what she said yesterday, I should think it possible."

"I trust so."

"Here are her letters to me – you'll take them back."

"I will. Do you feel sure of yourself?"

"You need have no fears on that account. I think Madame Darcy was right when she told me once that she was certain that I'd never loved."

"What reason did she give for that statement?"

"Reason – that's just it, she said I'd reasoned about my love, therefore it couldn't be real."

"Madame Darcy is a very clever woman."

"And a very charming one."

"I fully agree with you, but of course she has her drawbacks."

"You think so?"

"Her present position is, to say the least, equivocal; and as a divorcée – "

"Oh, come, Kent-Lauriston, can't you let anyone alone? I never think of those things in connection with her. She's just Madame Darcy – that's all. She forms her own environment; one is so completely dominated by her presence, that other circumstances connected with her don't occur to one."

"In other words, you do not reason."

"Kent-Lauriston!"

"There, I won't say it – only you admit that so far I've known you better than you've known yourself. – Yes? – Well, do not forget what I once told you before. You can never love a woman whom you cannot respect, and no woman who respects herself would permit even a hint of a man's affections until she was free to receive them. Any such premature attempt would be fatal to his suit."

"Thank you," said Stanley, "I won't forget;" and then, with a touch of his old humour, which the responsibilities of the last few days had nearly crushed out, he added: "You're not going to try to save me again?"

"No, thank you, one experience of that sort has been quite enough," replied Kent-Lauriston, laughing.

"Now about this present matter," continued the Secretary. "I don't want you to think me callous or shallow, because I don't appear all broken up; it has hit me very hard. I admit I was a fool, that I took for real passion a sort of sentimentalism born of pity; but, nevertheless, I was honest in my self-deception, and I assure you, even though you may laugh at me, that could I restore her to the innocent girl I believed her to be a few days ago; could I even be assured that she'd join this conspiracy to help a friend, and not as a cold-blooded speculation; I'd gladly marry her with all her faults, and give up my life to leading her into better paths."

"I do not laugh at you, my boy," said Kent-Lauriston. "I respect you for it, I believe you, too; but, as I said in our first interview on this subject, you're too good for her; and she has underrated what she is not fitted to understand."

"There, go now," said the Secretary. "If I talk of this any more, I shall be unnerved, and I've need of all my self-control to-day. Go and do the best you can. Be gentle and tender for my sake. I suppose I ought to face the matter myself, but I can't bear to. I simply can't look her in the face – now I know – " and he bent his head, choking back a sob.

His friend pressed his hand silently, and left the room.

"Just one moment, if you please, Colonel Darcy," Kent-Lauriston had said, overtaking that officer as he was crossing the park, about an hour after his interview with Stanley.