第 十五 章 · Chapter XV

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“_Festina lente_—celerity should be contempered with

cunctation.”—SIR THOMAS BROWNE.

Gwendolen, we have seen, passed her time abroad in the new excitement

of gambling, and in imagining herself an empress of luck, having

brought from her late experience a vague impression that in this

confused world it signified nothing what any one did, so that they

amused themselves. We have seen, too, that certain persons,

mysteriously symbolized as Grapnell & Co., having also thought of

reigning in the realm of luck, and being also bent on amusing

themselves, no matter how, had brought about a painful change in her

family circumstances; whence she had returned home—carrying with her,

against her inclination, a necklace which she had pawned and some one

else had redeemed.

While she was going back to England, Grandcourt was coming to find her;

coming, that is, after his own manner—not in haste by express straight

from Diplow to Leubronn, where she was understood to be; but so

entirely without hurry that he was induced by the presence of some

Russian acquaintances to linger at Baden-Baden and make various

appointments with them, which, however, his desire to be at Leubronn

ultimately caused him to break. Grandcourt’s passions were of the

intermittent, flickering kind: never flaming out strongly. But a great

deal of life goes on without strong passion: myriads of cravats are

carefully tied, dinners attended, even speeches made proposing the

health of august personages without the zest arising from a strong

desire. And a man may make a good appearance in high social

positions—may be supposed to know the classics, to have his reserves

on science, a strong though repressed opinion on politics, and all the

sentiments of the English gentleman, at a small expense of vital

energy. Also, he may be obstinate or persistent at the same low rate,

and may even show sudden impulses which have a false air of daemonic

strength because they seem inexplicable, though perhaps their secret

lies merely in the want of regulated channels for the soul to move

in—good and sufficient ducts of habit without which our nature easily

turns to mere ooze and mud, and at any pressure yields nothing but a

spurt or a puddle.

Grandcourt had not been altogether displeased by Gwendolen’s running

away from the splendid chance he was holding out to her. The act had

some piquancy for him. He liked to think that it was due to resentment

of his careless behavior in Cardell Chase, which, when he came to

consider it, did appear rather cool. To have brought her so near a

tender admission, and then to have walked headlong away from further

opportunities of winning the consent which he had made her understand

him to be asking for, was enough to provoke a girl of spirit; and to be

worth his mastering it was proper that she should have some spirit.

Doubtless she meant him to follow her, and it was what he meant too.

But for a whole week he took no measures toward starting, and did not

even inquire where Miss Harleth was gone. Mr. Lush felt a triumph that

was mingled with much distrust; for Grandcourt had said no word to him

about her, and looked as neutral as an alligator; there was no telling

what might turn up in the slowly-churning chances of his mind. Still,

to have put off a decision was to have made room for the waste of

Grandcourt’s energy.

The guests at Diplow felt more curiosity than their host. How was it

that nothing more was heard of Miss Harleth? Was it credible that she

had refused Mr. Grandcourt? Lady Flora Hollis, a lively middle-aged

woman, well endowed with curiosity, felt a sudden interest in making a

round of calls with Mrs. Torrington, including the rectory, Offendene,

and Quetcham, and thus not only got twice over, but also discussed with

the Arrowpoints, the information that Miss Harleth was gone to

Leubronn, with some old friends, the Baron and Baroness von Langen; for

the immediate agitation and disappointment of Mrs. Davilow and the

Gascoignes had resolved itself into a wish that Gwendolen’s

disappearance should not be interpreted as anything eccentric or

needful to be kept secret. The rector’s mind, indeed, entertained the

possibility that the marriage was only a little deferred, for Mrs.

Davilow had not dared to tell him of the bitter determination with

which Gwendolen had spoken. And in spite of his practical ability, some

of his experience had petrified into maxims and quotations. Amaryllis

fleeing desired that her hiding-place should be known; and that love

will find out the way “over the mountain and over the wave” may be said

without hyperbole in this age of steam. Gwendolen, he conceived, was an

Amaryllis of excellent sense but coquettish daring; the question was

whether she had dared too much.

Lady Flora, coming back charged with news about Miss Harleth, saw no

good reason why she should not try whether she could electrify Mr.

Grandcourt by mentioning it to him at the table; and in doing so shot a

few hints of a notion having got abroad that he was a disappointed

adorer. Grandcourt heard with quietude, but with attention; and the

next day he ordered Lush to bring about a decent reason for breaking up

the party at Diplow by the end of another week, as he meant to go

yachting to the Baltic or somewhere—it being impossible to stay at

Diplow as if he were a prisoner on parole, with a set of people whom he

had never wanted. Lush needed no clearer announcement that Grandcourt

was going to Leubronn; but he might go after the manner of a creeping

billiard-ball and stick on the way. What Mr. Lush intended was to make

himself indispensable so that he might go too, and he succeeded;

Gwendolen’s repulsion for him being a fact that only amused his patron,

and made him none the less willing to have Lush always at hand.

This was how it happened that Grandcourt arrived at the _Czarina_ on

the fifth day after Gwendolen had left Leubronn, and found there his

uncle, Sir Hugo Mallinger, with his family, including Deronda. It is

not necessarily a pleasure either to the reigning power or the heir

presumptive when their separate affairs—a touch of gout, say, in the

one, and a touch of willfulness in the other—happen to bring them to

the same spot. Sir Hugo was an easy-tempered man, tolerant both of

differences and defects; but a point of view different from his own

concerning the settlement of the family estates fretted him rather more

than if it had concerned Church discipline or the ballot, and faults

were the less venial for belonging to a person whose existence was

inconvenient to him. In no case could Grandcourt have been a nephew

after his own heart; but as the presumptive heir to the Mallinger

estates he was the sign and embodiment of a chief grievance in the

baronet’s life—the want of a son to inherit the lands, in no portion

of which had he himself more than a life-interest. For in the

ill-advised settlement which his father, Sir Francis, had chosen to

make by will, even Diplow with its modicum of land had been left under

the same conditions as the ancient and wide inheritance of the two

Toppings—Diplow, where Sir Hugo had lived and hunted through many a

season in his younger years, and where his wife and daughters ought to

have been able to retire after his death.

This grievance had naturally gathered emphasis as the years advanced,

and Lady Mallinger, after having had three daughters in quick

succession, had remained for eight years till now that she was over

forty without producing so much as another girl; while Sir Hugo, almost

twenty years older, was at a time of life when, notwithstanding the

fashionable retardation of most things from dinners to marriages, a

man’s hopefulness is apt to show signs of wear, until restored by

second childhood.

In fact, he had begun to despair of a son, and this confirmation of

Grandcourt’s interest in the estates certainly tended to make his image

and presence the more unwelcome; but, on the other hand, it carried

circumstances which disposed Sir Hugo to take care that the relation

between them should be kept as friendly as possible. It led him to

dwell on a plan which had grown up side by side with his disappointment

of an heir; namely, to try and secure Diplow as a future residence for

Lady Mallinger and her daughters, and keep this pretty bit of the

family inheritance for his own offspring in spite of that

disappointment. Such knowledge as he had of his nephew’s disposition

and affairs encouraged the belief that Grandcourt might consent to a

transaction by which he would get a good sum of ready money, as an

equivalent for his prospective interest in the domain of Diplow and the

moderate amount of land attached to it. If, after all, the unhoped-for

son should be born, the money would have been thrown away, and

Grandcourt would have been paid for giving up interests that had turned

out good for nothing; but Sir Hugo set down this risk as _nil_, and of

late years he had husbanded his fortune so well by the working of mines

and the sale of leases that he was prepared for an outlay.

Here was an object that made him careful to avoid any quarrel with

Grandcourt. Some years before, when he was making improvements at the

Abbey, and needed Grandcourt’s concurrence in his felling an

obstructive mass of timber on the demesne, he had congratulated himself

on finding that there was no active spite against him in his nephew’s

peculiar mind; and nothing had since occurred to make them hate each

other more than was compatible with perfect politeness, or with any

accommodation that could be strictly mutual.

Grandcourt, on his side, thought his uncle a superfluity and a bore,

and felt that the list of things in general would be improved whenever

Sir Hugo came to be expunged. But he had been made aware through Lush,

always a useful medium, of the baronet’s inclinations concerning

Diplow, and he was gratified to have the alternative of the money in

his mind: even if he had not thought it in the least likely that he

would choose to accept it, his sense of power would have been flattered

by his being able to refuse what Sir Hugo desired. The hinted

transaction had told for something among the motives which had made him

ask for a year’s tenancy of Diplow, which it had rather annoyed Sir

Hugo to grant, because the excellent hunting in the neighborhood might

decide Grandcourt not to part with his chance of future possession;—a

man who has two places, in one of which the hunting is less good,

naturally desiring a third where it is better. Also, Lush had thrown

out to Sir Hugo the probability that Grandcourt would woo and win Miss

Arrowpoint, and in that case ready money might be less of a temptation

to him. Hence, on this unexpected meeting at Leubronn, the baronet felt

much curiosity to know how things had been going on at Diplow, was bent

on being as civil as possible to his nephew, and looked forward to some

private chat with Lush.

Between Deronda and Grandcourt there was a more faintly-marked but

peculiar relation, depending on circumstances which have yet to be made

known. But on no side was there any sign of suppressed chagrin on the

first meeting at the _table d’hôte_, an hour after Grandcourt’s

arrival; and when the quartette of gentlemen afterward met on the

terrace, without Lady Mallinger, they moved off together to saunter

through the rooms, Sir Hugo saying as they entered the large _saal_,

“Did you play much at Baden, Grandcourt?”

“No; I looked on and betted a little with some Russians there.”

“Had you luck?”

“What did I win, Lush?”

“You brought away about two hundred,” said Lush.

“You are not here for the sake of the play, then?” said Sir Hugo.

“No; I don’t care about play now. It’s a confounded strain,” said

Grandcourt, whose diamond ring and demeanor, as he moved along playing

slightly with his whisker, were being a good deal stared at by rouged

foreigners interested in a new milord.

“The fact is, somebody should invent a mill to do amusements for you,

my dear fellow,” said Sir Hugo, “as the Tartars get their praying done.

But I agree with you; I never cared for play. It’s monotonous—knits

the brain up into meshes. And it knocks me up to watch it now. I

suppose one gets poisoned with the bad air. I never stay here more than

ten minutes. But where’s your gambling beauty, Deronda? Have you seen

her lately?”

“She’s gone,” said Deronda, curtly.

“An uncommonly fine girl, a perfect Diana,” said Sir Hugo, turning to

Grandcourt again. “Really worth a little straining to look at her. I

saw her winning, and she took it as coolly as if she had known it all

beforehand. The same day Deronda happened to see her losing like

wildfire, and she bore it with immense pluck. I suppose she was cleaned

out, or was wise enough to stop in time. How do you know she’s gone?”

“Oh, by the Visitor-list, ...” said Deronda, with a scarcely perceptible

shrug. “Vandernoodt told me her name was Harleth, and she was with the

Baron and Baroness von Langen. I saw by the list that Miss Harleth was

no longer there.”

This held no further information for Lush than that Gwendolen had been

gambling. He had already looked at the list, and ascertained that

Gwendolen had gone, but he had no intention of thrusting this knowledge

on Grandcourt before he asked for it; and he had not asked, finding it

enough to believe that the object of search would turn up somewhere or

other.

But now Grandcourt had heard what was rather piquant, and not a word

about Miss Harleth had been missed by him. After a moment’s pause he

said to Deronda,

“Do you know those people—the Langens?”

“I have talked with them a little since Miss Harleth went away. I knew

nothing of them before.”

“Where is she gone—do you know?”

“She is gone home,” said Deronda, coldly, as if he wished to say no

more. But then, from a fresh impulse, he turned to look markedly at

Grandcourt, and added, “But it is possible you know her. Her home is

not far from Diplow: Offendene, near Winchester.”

Deronda, turning to look straight at Grandcourt, who was on his left

hand, might have been a subject for those old painters who liked

contrasts of temperament. There was a calm intensity of life and

richness of tint in his face that on a sudden gaze from him was rather

startling, and often made him seem to have spoken, so that servants and

officials asked him automatically, “What did you say, sir?” when he had

been quite silent. Grandcourt himself felt an irritation, which he did

not show except by a slight movement of the eyelids, at Deronda’s

turning round on him when he was not asked to do more than speak. But

he answered, with his usual drawl, “Yes, I know her,” and paused with

his shoulder toward Deronda, to look at the gambling.

“What of her, eh?” asked Sir Hugo of Lush, as the three moved on a

little way. “She must be a new-comer at Offendene. Old Blenny lived

there after the dowager died.”

“A little too much of her,” said Lush, in a low, significant tone; not

sorry to let Sir Hugo know the state of affairs.

“Why? how?” said the baronet. They all moved out of the _salon_ into an

airy promenade.

“He has been on the brink of marrying her,” Lush went on. “But I hope

it’s off now. She’s a niece of the clergyman—Gascoigne—at Pennicote.

Her mother is a widow with a brood of daughters. This girl will have

nothing, and is as dangerous as gunpowder. It would be a foolish

marriage. But she has taken a freak against him, for she ran off here

without notice, when he had agreed to call the next day. The fact is,

he’s here after her; but he was in no great hurry, and between his

caprice and hers they are likely enough not to get together again. But

of course he has lost his chance with the heiress.”

Grandcourt joining them said, “What a beastly den this is!—a worse

hole than Baden. I shall go back to the hotel.”

When Sir Hugo and Deronda were alone, the baronet began,

“Rather a pretty story. That girl has something in her. She must be

worth running after—has _de l’imprévu_. I think her appearance on the

scene has bettered my chance of getting Diplow, whether the marriage

comes off or not.”

“I should hope a marriage like that would not come off,” said Deronda,

in a tone of disgust.

“What! are you a little touched with the sublime lash?” said Sir Hugo,

putting up his glasses to help his short sight in looking at his

companion. “Are you inclined to run after her?”

“On the contrary,” said Deronda, “I should rather be inclined to run

away from her.”

“Why, you would easily cut out Grandcourt. A girl with her spirit would

think you the finer match of the two,” said Sir Hugo, who often tried

Deronda’s patience by finding a joke in impossible advice. (A

difference of taste in jokes is a great strain on the affections.)

“I suppose pedigree and land belong to a fine match,” said Deronda,

coldly.

“The best horse will win in spite of pedigree, my boy. You remember

Napoleon’s _mot—Je suis un ancêtre_” said Sir Hugo, who habitually

undervalued birth, as men after dining well often agree that the good

of life is distributed with wonderful equality.

“I am not sure that I want to be an ancestor,” said Deronda. “It

doesn’t seem to me the rarest sort of origination.”

“You won’t run after the pretty gambler, then?” said Sir Hugo, putting

down his glasses.

“Decidedly not.”

This answer was perfectly truthful; nevertheless it had passed through

Deronda’s mind that under other circumstances he should have given way

to the interest this girl had raised in him, and tried to know more of

her. But his history had given him a stronger bias in another

direction. He felt himself in no sense free.