A Civil Contract Read online

  He responded at once by saying that he would very much like to hear Miss Chawleigh play, but she excused herself with so much determination that he forbore to press her. Mrs Quarley-Bix appealed for support to Mr Chawleigh, but in vain.

  ‘Ay, she plays very prettily, and I don’t deny I’m fond of a good tune now and then, but we don’t want any music now,’ he said. ‘I’ve promised his lordship a sight of my china, love, so do you come over to the cabinet and show him the best pieces, for you know more about it than I do, as I’ve told him.’

  She obeyed, but as Adam knew too little about china to be able to draw her out, this attempt to promote a good understanding between them was not very successful. Miss Chawleigh’s knowledge might be considerable, but she was plainly not an enthusiast. Adam, recalling that her father had told him that she was as good as an almanack, thought that textbook would have been the better simile. She could enlighten his ignorance on soft paste and hard; explain that the Vincennes blue on a bowl which he admired was applied with a brush; tell him that a pair of brilliantly enamelled creatures seated on pedestals were kylins; but when she drew his attention to the beautiful texture of an inkstand of St Cloud porcelain she did so in a flat, dispassionate voice; and her hands, when she displayed a ruby-backed plate of the Yung-Chêng dynasty, were careful, but not the hands of a lover. Adam realized suddenly, and with a flicker of surprise, that it was not she, with her superior knowledge, who really loved all these bowls, beakers, and groups, but her father, who could only say, as he fondled a famille noire vase: ‘It’s the feel of it, my lord: you can always tell!’

  It seemed so strange that a man who judged the worth of a picture by its size, and furnished his house with vulgar opulence, should not only collect china but distinguish instinctively between the good and the bad, that Adam’s interest was caught. He tried to lure Mr Chawleigh on to talk about his hobby, but no sooner did that gentleman perceive that his daughter had retired into the background than he broke off, and said, as he restored to the cabinet a graceful Capo di Monte group: ‘Well, I don’t know why I’ve a liking for these things, and that’s a fact! It’s my Jenny you should talk to, if you want to know about ’em: she’s got book-learning, which I never had.’

  ‘I don’t think Miss Chawleigh will be offended, sir, if I venture to say that you have something of more worth than book-learning.’

  ‘No, for it is very true,’ she said at once. ‘I learned about china to please Papa, but I am not myself of an artistic disposition.’

  ‘Oh, Miss Chawleigh, how can you say so?’ exclaimed the faithful Mrs Quarley-Bix. ‘When I think of the charming sketches you have done, your embroidery, your musical talent –’

  ‘Now, that does put me in mind of something!’ interrupted Mr Chawleigh. ‘I want to show his lordship the perspective drawing Jenny did of the square! Do you come down to the library, ma’am, and help me to look for it!’

  To her credit, Mrs Quarley-Bix did her best to combat this blatant attempt to leave the young couple alone; but not all her assurances that Mr Chawleigh would find the sketch in a certain portfolio availed to turn him from his purpose. His Juggernaut quality came to the fore; and in a very few minutes he had succeeded in sweeping the reluctant lady out of the room, saying, with obvious mendacity, that both she and he would be back in a trice.

  The situation was awkward, and was not rendered less so by Miss Chawleigh’s embarrassment. It rendered her scarlet-faced and tongue-tied; and when Adam made some light remark to bridge the awkward moment she did not respond, but, raising her eyes to his face in a stricken look, blurted out: ‘I’m sorry!’ before turning away, her hands pressed to her burning cheeks.

  For a moment his only feeling was one of vexation with her for having so little address. She had only to respond to his lead, and the situation could have been carried off. Her look of consciousness, the words she had uttered, even the hasty way she turned from him, made this impossible. Had she not been so unmistakably distressed he could almost have suspected her of trying to force his hand.

  She had walked away to the fire, and after a struggle to regain her composure, she said: ‘It is – it is the greatest imposition to be obliged to admire my drawings; and to have them displayed to visitors – is what I particularly dislike! But Papa – You see, nothing will deter him! I – I am so sorry!’

  He recognized a gallant, if belated, attempt to pass the thing off, and his vexation died. He hesitated, and then said: ‘Miss Chawleigh, would you prefer me to agree that it is a sore trial to have one’s sketches shown-off, or – or to say, quite frankly, that I don’t think any two persons can ever have found themselves in such an embarrassing fix as this?’

  ‘Oh, no! so mortifying!’ she said, in a stifled voice. ‘I didn’t know that – that Papa had the intention – tonight – so soon – !’

  ‘Nor I, indeed! But he has done it, and it would be foolish in either of us, don’t you think? to pretend not to understand why we have been pitchforked together.’ He saw her nod; and continued, not easily, but with a good deal of earnestness: ‘I wish you will be open with me. Your father is trying to make a match between us, but you don’t like it, do you? You needn’t be afraid of telling me so: how should you like it, when we are barely acquainted? My fear is that you have been compelled to entertain me tonight against your wish. Believe me, you have only to tell me that this is so, and the affair shall go no further!’

  This frankness steadied her. She had been standing with her back to him, looking down into the fire, but she turned now, and replied, in a low tone: ‘I wasn’t compelled. Papa wouldn’t do so. I know it must appear – and he does like to rule the roast – but he is too fond of me to constrain me, and – and too kind, even though he may seem, sometimes, a – little overbearing.’

  He smiled. ‘Yes, a benevolent despot, which is, perhaps, the worst sort of tyrant, because the hardest to withstand! Where all is being done with the best of intentions – and by a parent, to whom one must owe obedience – it seems almost monstrous to rebel!’

  Her flush had faded; she was even rather pale. ‘I should be reluctant to do so, but if it were necessary, in such a matter as this, I – I should rebel. That’s not the case. He wishes me to marry you, my lord: he doesn’t compel me.’

  There was a faint frown on his brow; he regarded her intently, trying to read her face. ‘The tyranny of affection?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. It would grieve me to disappoint him, but I shouldn’t hesitate, if – if my affections were already engaged, or I disliked the scheme.’ This was spoken calmly, but with an effort. She moved towards a chair, and sat down. ‘You asked me to be open with you, my lord. I don’t dislike it. If you think – if you feel you could bear –’ She checked, and went on after a tiny pause. ‘I’m not romantic. I perfectly understand the – the circumstances, and don’t expect – You said yourself that we are barely acquainted.’

  He was obliged to master an impulse to retreat, and to tell himself that her acceptance of the proposed match was no more coldblooded than his own. He was quite as pale as she, and he replied, in a strained voice: ‘Miss Chawleigh, if you feel that you could bear it I shall count myself fortunate. I won’t offer you false coin. To make the sort of protestations natural to this occasion would be to insult you, but you may believe me sincere when I say that if you do me the honour to marry me I shall try to make you happy.’

  She got up. ‘I shall be. Don’t think of that! I don’t wish you to try to – Only to be comfortable! I hope I can make you so: I’ll do my best. And you’ll tell me what you wish me to do – or if I do something you don’t like – won’t you?’

  He was surprised, and a little touched, but he said, as he took her hand: ‘Yes, indeed! Whenever I’m out of temper, or grow tired of being comfortable!’

  She stared for a second, saw the quizzical look in his eyes, and laughed suddenly. ‘Oh – ! No, I promise you I won’t get into a miff!’

  He kissed her hand, and then, l