Sherwin put her handkerchief to her eyes--quite noiselessly; for she had doubtless acquired by long practice the habit of weeping in silence. Her husband's quick glance turned on her, however, immediately, with anything but an expression of sympathy.
"Good God, Mrs. S.! what's the use of going on in that way?" he said, indignantly. "What is there to cry about? Margaret isn't ill, and isn't unhappy--what on earth's the matter now? Upon my soul this is a most annoying circumstance: and before a visitor too! You had better leave me to discuss the matter alone--you always were in the way of business, and it's my opinion you always will be."
Mrs. Sherwin prepared, without a word of remonstrance, to leave the room. I sincerely felt for her; but could say nothing. In the impulse of the moment, I rose to open the door for her; and immediately repented having done so. The action added so much to her embarrassment that she kicked her foot against a chair, and uttered a suppressed exclamation of pain as she went out.
Mr. Sherwin helped himself to a second glass of wine, without taking the smallest notice of this.
"I hope Mrs. Sherwin has not hurt herself?" I said. "Oh dear no! not worth a moment's thought--awkwardness and nervousness, nothing else--she always was nervous--the doctors (all humbugs) can do nothing with her--it's very sad, very sad indeed; but there's no help for it."
By this time (in spite of all my efforts to preserve some respect for him, as Margaret's father) he had sunk to his proper place in my estimation.
"Well, my dear Sir," he resumed, "to go back to where I was interrupted by Mrs. S. Let me see: I was saying that my dear girl was a little confused, and so forth. As a matter of course, I put before her all the advantages which such a connection as yours promised--and at the same time, mentioned some of the little embarrassing circumstances--the private marriage, you know, and all that--besides telling her of certain restrictions in reference to the marriage, if it came off, which I should feel it my duty as a father to impose; and which I shall proceed, in short, to explain to you. As a man of the world, my dear Sir, you know as well as I do, that young ladies don't give very straightforward answers on the subject of their prepossessions in favour of young gentlemen. But I got enough out of her to show me that you had made pretty good use of your time--no occasion to despond, you know--I leave you to make her speak plain; it's more in your line than mine, more a good deal. And now let us come to the business part of the transaction. All I have to say is this:--if you agree to my proposals, then I agree to yours. I think that's fair enough--Eh?"
"Quite fair, Mr. Sherwin."
"Just so. Now, in the first place, my daughter is too young to be married yet. She was only seventeen last birthday."
"You astonish me! I should have imagined her three years older at least."
"Everybody thinks her older than she is--everybody, my dear Sir--and she certainly looks it. She's more formed, more developed I may say, than most girls at her age. However, that's not the point. The plain fact is, she's too young to be married now--too young in a moral point of view; too young in an educational point of view; too young altogether. Well: the upshot of this is, that I could not give my consent to Margaret's marrying, until another year is out--say a year from this time. One year's courtship for the finishing off of her education, and the formation of her constitution--you understand me, for the formation of her constitution."
A year to wait! At first, this seemed a long trial to endure, a trial that ought not to be imposed on me. But the next moment, the delay appeared in a different light. Would it not be the dearest of privileges to be able to see Margaret, perhaps every day, perhaps for hours at a time? Would it not be happiness enough to observe each development of her character, to watch her first maiden love for me, advancing nearer and nearer towards confidence and maturity the oftener we met? As I thought on this, I answered Mr. Sherwin without further hesitation.
"It will be some trial," I said, "to my patience, though none to my constancy, none to the strength of my affection--I will wait the year."
"Exactly so," rejoined Mr. Sherwin; "such candour and such reasonableness were to be expected from one who is quite the gentleman. And now comes my grand difficulty in this business--in fact, the little stipulation I have to make."
He stopped, and ran his fingers through his hair, in all directions; his features fidgetting and distorting themselves ominously, while he looked at me.
"Pray explain yourself, Mr. Sherwin. Your silence gives me some uneasiness at this particular moment, I assure you."
"Quite so--I understand. Now, you must promise me not to be huffed--offended, I should say--at what I am going to propose."
"Certainly not."
"Well, then, it may seem odd; but under all the circumstances--that is to say, as far as the case concerns you personally--I want you and my dear girl to be married at once, and yet not to be married exactly, for another year. I don't know whether you understand me?"
"I must confess I do not."
He coughed rather uneasily; turned to the table, and poured out another glass of sherry--his hand trembling a little as he did so. He drank off the wine at a draught; cleared his throat three or four times after it; and then spoke again.
"Well, to be still plainer, this is how the matter stands: If you were a party in our rank of life, coming to court Margaret with your father's full approval and permission when once you had consented to the year's engagement, everything would be done and settled; the bargain would have been struck on both sides; and there would be an end of it. But, situated as you are, I can't stop here safely--I mean, I can't end the agreement exactly in this way."
He evidently felt that he got fluent on wine; and helped himself, at this juncture, to another glass.
"You will see what I am driving at, my dear Sir, directly," he continued. "Suppose now, you came courting my daughter for a year, as we settled; and suppose your father found it out--we should keep it a profound secret of course: but still, secrets are sometimes found out, nobody knows how. Suppose, I say, your father got scent of the thing, and the match was broken off; where do you think Margaret's reputation would be? If it happened with somebody in her own station, we might explain it all, and be believed: but happening with somebody in yours, what would the world say? Would the world believe you had ever intended to marry her? That's the point--that's the point precisely."
"But the case could not happen--I am astonished you can imagine it possible. I have told you already, I am of age."
"Properly urged--very properly, indeed. But you also told me, if you remember, when I first had the pleasure of seeing you, that your father, if he knew of this match, would stick at nothing to oppose it--at nothing--I recollect you said so.