The Hoyden by Margaret Wolfe Hungerford (first ebook reader .txt) 📕

shoulder--"who has been kind to me!"


CHAPTER XVI.

HOW MAURICE TELLS HIS MOTHER OF THE GREAT FIASCO; AND HOW SHE RECEIVES THE NEWS.


The guests have all gone! The morning train had swallowed up the Hescotts, and the eleven o'clock had disposed of the rest. Only the Dowager Lady Rylton and Margaret still remain.

The latter has decided on going by the evening train and taking Tita with her, deeming it best to separate husband and wife for a little while, until the calamity be overpast for a few weeks, at all events. As for Tessie, she had come with a determination to linger on until Christmas with her son and his wife, though asked for three weeks only; and it is her son's pleasing task to be obliged now to explain to her why and wherefore she must go back at once to the old home--to The Place--to the old home partially saved from ruin by his unhappy marriage, and now doomed to a sure destruction because of the loss of the fortune that had been the primary motive in the making of that marriage.

Rylton got through the telling of his lamentable tale more easily than he could have supposed possible. Whilst walking up the stairs to his mother's room, he had tried to compose certain forms of speech that might let the whole affair "down easy," to quote from the modern English language, but had failed utterly. Yet, when on the spot, he had run glibly through it all--coldly--almost without feeling. And his mother had heard him as coldly, until she learned all hope was at an end--as far as Tita's thousands were concerned.

Then she gave way to hysterics!

And even now, when, by the help of a wet sponge and a maid and a bottle of champagne, he has pulled her through, sufficient at all events to be able to talk rationally, she is still in the very lowest depths of despair.

"And to think you should have sacrificed yourself for a mere 'person' like that! A little"--sob--"wretched _nobody_. Oh! if your father could only see you now! A creature of no family, no manners, no----"

"Who are you talking of, mother? My father?"

"If you can be frivolous at this moment, Maurice, you can be frivolous for ever," says his mother, weeping (presumably) behind her little lace rag, her voice like a dagger.

"I'm far from that," says Maurice, flinging himself into a chair. "But the fact is, mother, let us leave Tita out of this affair. I object to hearing her--er--criticised by you--or anyone."

Tessie weeps afresh.

"The soul of honour," breathes she, apostrophizing the ceiling. "But I cannot let you, Maurice, be so deceived by a mere swindler such as she is. Do you for a moment imagine--ah yes!" throwing up her hands and plainly admiring Maurice with great fervour--"you probably do; you have a soul, Maurice, a great soul, inherited from _me!_ But I shall not permit that little vulgar fraud of a girl to demoralize it. Of _course_ she knew all about her uncle's speculations--and married you gladly, knowing what the end would be. Oh! my poor boy!"

Lady Rylton retires again behind her lace rag.

"That will do," says Maurice curtly.

It seems almost funny to him that he, who has been condemning Tita all the night and morning in his heart, can now be so violently angry with another fellow-creature for decrying her.

"Of course, I know. I understand," says Tessie, still weeping, "it is always so painful to know that one has been thoroughly taken in. No wonder you can't listen even to your own mother with common patience. I excuse you, Maurice. I often had to excuse your dear father. Both you and he were a little weak--a little noble, perhaps--but well, you required someone to look after you. And I--poor, _poor_ I--what could I do?" Tessie shakes her head mournfully from side to side. "And as for this miserable little deception----"

"Look here, mother----"

"Oh! I know, I know. It is not the nice thing to do, of course, but alone with one's only son one may waive a point and condole with him on the abominable qualities of the woman he has chosen to be his wife---- Dear Maurice, you should be careful. Didn't you _see_ that footstool? I quite thought you kicked it. And her laugh. Do you know it used to hurt me?"

"Not until after our marriage, however," says Rylton, who is now a little strung.

"Oh! no wonder you reproach me," says his mother. "I shall for ever reproach myself. _Such_ a person--without a penny--to fling herself into your arms."

"Ah! she had a penny then," says Maurice.

"Then? Yes! Do you think I should have countenanced your marriage otherwise?"

"My dear mother, of course not. I know you too well for that."

His irony is thrown away upon Tessie, who is not equal to these drags upon her intellect, and as a fact Rylton is scarcely listening to her; his whole soul is in a turmoil. He scarcely knows what he wants or what he does not want--whom he loves or hates. Only Tita--Tita is always before him; and as hate is stronger than love, as some folk have it (though they lie), he believes that all his thoughts grow with a cruel persistence of detestation towards the small, ill-tempered child whom he has married.

"At all events _she_ knew what she was about," says Tessie, flinging down her handkerchief and speaking with a touch of viciousness. "She knew perfectly how she stood with her wretched uncle before she married you. No doubt they arranged it between them. She was fully aware of the state of her finances, and so was the uncle. So glad that miserable old person is out of the way for ever, of making young men of family marry young women of no family, who have not even money to recommend them. I must say your--_I shudder_ to utter the word, Maurice--your wife--is as thoroughly dishonest a person as----" Tessie pauses, and casts a furtive glance at him. "After all, there may be a hope for you, Maurice. That cousin! So _prononcée_ the whole thing--so unmistakable. And once a divorce was established----"

She never knew afterwards what really happened. Perhaps, after all, nothing happened--nothing material; but what she does know if that Maurice is standing before her, looking like a demon.

"D----n it!" says he. His temper is _very_ bad sometimes. "Can't you _see_ that I won't have a word said against her?"


CHAPTER XVII.

HOW MATTERS COME TO A CLIMAX; AND HOW TITA TELLS MAURICE MANY THINGS THAT STING HIM SHARPLY; AND HOW HE LAYS HANDS UPON HER; AND HOW THE LAST ADIEUX ARE SAID.


"So you have made up your mind," says Maurice, looking at his wife with a glance as full of coldness as it is of rage. "You see your way? It is for ever, remember. You decide on leaving me?"

"Why should I stay?" says Tita.

There is evidently no idea of "staying" about her; she is dressed for a journey, with care--_great_ care--but with all the air of one who is going away for a long, long time. She is exquisitely dressed; the soft gray costume, trimmed with costly furs, sets off her bijou figure to perfection, and her soft, dainty curls show coquettishly from beneath her fur cap. Her eyes are shining like stars; her lips have taken a slightly malicious curve; her rounded chin, soft and white as a baby's, is delicately tilted. She is looking lovely. "Why should I stay?" Her question seems to beat upon his brain. He could have answered it, perhaps, had pride permitted him, but pride is a great tyrant, and rules with an iron rod. And, besides, even if he had answered, _she_ has a tyrant, too--her own pride. As a fact we all have these tyrants, and it is surprising how we hug them to our breasts.

"Why should I stay?" says Tita. "All you wanted from me is gone; now I go too. You should rejoice. If you have lost in one way you have gained in another. You will never see me or my money again!"

The bitterness in the young voice, the hatred in the young eyes, is terrible.

For a full minute Rylton remains silent. The mind is a strange thing, not to be controlled, full of vagaries, and now, for no reason whatever, as it seems to him, it has run back to his wedding morning. Is _this_ the careless, idle, little tomboy who had stood before the altar--the little girl he had assured himself he could mould to his will?

"You forget," says he coldly, "that you are married to me. It is not so simple a matter as you seem to imagine for a wife to throw off her marriage yoke."

"Yoke! What a good word that is!" says Tita, with the air of one making a discovery. Then lightly, "Pouf! Nonsense! I'll show you how easy it is! And as for that----" Again her mood changes. "Don't go in for that sort of thing," says she contemptuously. "Be honest with me now, at the last. You know you will be as glad to get rid of me, as I shall be to be rid of you."

"Speak for yourself," says Rylton slowly. His eyes are on the ground. "I have not said I shall be glad to get rid of you."

"No, I have said it for you. I have befriended you to the very end; and if you _will_ be a hypocrite, why--_be it!"_ cries she gaily.

She throws up her hands with an airy little gesture, full of grace, and anger, and something else difficult to describe, but that certainly is devoid of any sort of mirth.

"Hypocrite or not, remember this," says Maurice, "it is _you_ who have decided on a separation."

"Yes; I--I." She bursts out laughing. "'Alone I did it!' To-day I set you free!"

"Free!"

"Ah, not so free as I _would_ make you!" shaking her head.

He looks at her.

_ "You_ are honest, at all events," says he bitterly; then, after a moment, "You approve, then, on the step you are taking?"

Tita makes a gesture of impatience.

"What _will_ you have?" says she. "What do you find fault with now? Have I not behaved well? Have I not behaved beautifully? I stayed with you as long as I had any money--the money for which you gave me your--title. I cannot flatter myself that you gave me more than that for it. Probably you gave me too much. And so now, when the money is gone, the bargain is off, and"--with a shrug of her shoulders, and the saucy glance of a naughty child from under her long lashes--_"I_ am off too! Isn't that being good?"

"Have you no charity?" says he. A dark red flush has crimsoned his forehead. "What a character you give me! Do you think I have no heart?"

"Oh, _your_ heart!" says she gaily. "I don't think you need to be unhappy about it. It will do. You say I am honest, and one thing honestly I do regret, that I should have unwittingly tempted you to marry me because of my money--when now it has all dropped overboard. If I had only known how you regarded it, I----"

"That infernal money!" says he violently.

There is almost a groan in his voice. His eyes are fixed upon her; he is wondering at her. What a child she looks in her pretty