I have not made a serious reply since I gave up practice at the Scottish Bar. At my age," added Sir Patrick, cunningly drifting into generalities, "nothing is serious--except Indigestion. I say, with the philosopher, 'Life is a comedy to those who think, and tragedy to those who feel.' " He took his sister-in-law's hand, and kissed it. "Dear Lady Lundie, why feel?"
Lady Lundie, who had never "felt" in her life, appeared perversely determined to feel, on this occasion. She was offended--and she showed it plainly.
"When you are next called on, Sir Patrick, to judge of Miss Silvester's conduct," she said, "unless I am entirely mistaken, you will find yourself compelled to consider it as something beyond a joke." With those words, she walked out of the summer-house--and so forwarded Arnold's interests by leaving Blanche's guardian alone at last.
It was an excellent opportunity. The guests were safe in the house--there was no interruption to be feared, Arnold showed himself. Sir Patrick (perfectly undisturbed by Lady Lundie's parting speech) sat down in the summer-house, without noticing his young friend, and asked himself a question founded on profound observation of the female sex. "Were there ever two women yet with a quarrel between them," thought the old gentleman, "who didn't want to drag a man into it? Let them drag me in, if they can!"
Arnold advanced a step, and modestly announced himself. "I hope I am not in the way, Sir Patrick?"
"In the way? of course not! Bless my soul, how serious the boy looks! Are you going to appeal to me as the head of the family next?"
It was exactly what Arnold was about to do. But it was plain that if he admitted it just then Sir Patrick (for some unintelligible reason) would decline to listen to him. He answered cautiously, "I asked leave to consult you in private, Sir; and you kindly said you would give me the opportunity before I left W indygates?"
"Ay! ay! to be sure. I remember. We were both engaged in the serious business of croquet at the time--and it was doubtful which of us did that business most clumsily. Well, here is the opportunity; and here am I, with all my worldly experience, at your service. I have only one caution to give you. Don't appeal to me as 'the head of the family.' My resignation is in Lady Lundie's hands."
He was, as usual, half in jest, half in earnest. The wry twist of humor showed itself at the corners of his lips. Arnold was at a loss how to approach Sir Patrick on the subject of his niece without reminding him of his domestic responsibilities on the one hand, and without setting himself up as a target for the shafts of Sir Patrick's wit on the other. In this difficulty, he committed a mistake at the outset. He hesitated.
"Don't hurry yourself," said Sir Patrick. "Collect your ideas. I can wait! I can wait!"
Arnold collected his ideas--and committed a second mistake. He determined on feeling his way cautiously at first. Under the circumstances (and with such a man as he had now to deal with), it was perhaps the rashest resolution at which he could possibly have arrived--it was the mouse attempting to outmanoeuvre the cat
"You have been very kind, Sir, in offering me the benefit of your experience," he began. "I want a word of advice."
"Suppose you take it sitting?" suggested Sir Patrick. "Get a chair." His sharp eyes followed Arnold with an expression of malicious enjoyment. "Wants my advice?" he thought. "The young humbug wants nothing of the sort--he wants my niece."
Arnold sat down under Sir Patrick's eye, with a well-founded suspicion that he was destined to suffer, before he got up again, under Sir Patrick's tongue.
"I am only a young man," he went on, moving uneasily in his chair, "and I am beginning a new life--"
"Any thing wrong with the chair?" asked Sir Patrick. "Begin your new life comfortably, and get another."
"There's nothing wrong with the chair, Sir. Would you--"
"Would I keep the chair, in that case? Certainly."
"I mean, would you advise me--"
"My good fellow, I'm waiting to advise you. (I'm sure there's something wrong with that chair. Why be obstinate about it? Why not get another?)"
"Please don't notice the chair, Sir Patrick--you put me out. I want--in short--perhaps it's a curious question--"
"I can't say till I have heard it," remarked Sir Patrick. "However, we will admit it, for form's sake, if you like. Say it's a curious question. Or let us express it more strongly, if that will help you. Say it's the most extraordinary question that ever was put, since the beginning of the world, from one human being to another."
"It's this!" Arnold burst out, desperately. "I want to be married!"
"That isn't a question," objected Sir Patrick. "It's an assertion. You say, I want to be married. And I say, Just so! And there's an end of it."
Arnold's head began to whirl. "Would you advise me to get married, Sir?" he said, piteously. "That's what I meant."
"Oh! That's the object of the present interview, is it? Would I advise you to marry, eh?"
(Having caught the mouse by this time, the cat lifted his paw and let the luckless little creature breathe again. Sir Patrick's manner suddenly freed itself from any slight signs of impatience which it might have hitherto shown, and became as pleasantly easy and confidential as a manner could be. He touched the knob of his cane, and helped himself, with infinite zest and enjoyment, to a pinch of snuff.)
"Would I advise you to marry?" repeated Sir Patrick. "Two courses are open to us, Mr. Arnold, in treating that question. We may put it briefly, or we may put it at great length. I am for putting it briefly. What do you say?"
"What you say, Sir Patrick."
"Very good. May I begin by making an inquiry relating to your past life?"
"Certainly!"
"Very good again. When you were in the merchant service, did you ever have any experience in buying provisions ashore?"
Arnold stared. If any relation existed between that question and the subject in hand it was an impenetrable relation to him. He answered, in unconcealed bewilderment, "Plenty of experience, Sir."
"I'm coming to the point," pursued Sir Patrick. "Don't be astonished. I'm coming to the point. What did you think of your moist sugar when you bought it at the grocer's?"
"Think?" repeated Arnold. "Why, I thought it was moist sugar, to be sure!"
"Marry, by all means!" cried Sir Patrick. "You are one of the few men who can try that experiment with a fair chance of success."
The suddenness of the answer fairly took away Arnold's breath. There was something perfectly electric in the brevity of his venerable friend. He stared harder than ever.
"Don't you understand me?" asked Sir Patrick.
"I don't understand what the moist sugar has got to do with it, Sir."
"You don't see that?"
"Not a bit!"
"Then I'll show you," said Sir Patrick, crossing his legs, and setting in comfortably for a good talk "You go to the tea-shop, and get your moist sugar. You take it on the understanding that it is moist sugar. But it isn't any thing of the sort. It's a compound of adulterations made up to look like sugar. You shut your eyes to that awkward fact, and swallow your adulterated mess in various articles of food; and you and your sugar get on together in that way as well as you can. Do you follow me, so far?"
Yes. Arnold (quite in the dark) followed, so far.
"Very good," pursued Sir Patrick. "You go to the marriage-shop, and get a wife. You take her on the understanding--let us say--that she has lovely yellow hair, that she has an exquisite complexion, that her figure is the perfection of plumpness, and that she is just tall enough to carry the plumpness off. You bring her home, and you discover that it's the old story of the sugar over again. Your wife is an adulterated article. Her lovely yellow hair is--dye. Her exquisite skin is--pearl powder. Her plumpness is--padding. And three inches of her height are--in the boot-maker's heels. Shut your eyes, and swallow your adulterated wife as you swallow your adulterated sugar--and, I tell you again, you are one of the few men who can try the marriage experiment with a fair chance of success."
With that he uncrossed his legs again, and looked hard at Arnold. Arnold read the lesson, at last, in the right way.