Hard Cash

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Alfred said he ought; he had given his whole soul to it in Germany last
Long.

"Then I can have the pleasure of dropping the tyrant. Away with you both
while there is room to circulate."

Alfred took his partner delicately; they made just two catlike steps
forward, and melted into the old-fashioned waltz.

It was an exquisite moment. To most young people Love comes after a great
deal of waltzing. But this pair brought the awakened tenderness and
trembling sensibilities of two burning hearts to this their first
intoxicating whirl. To them, therefore, everything was an event,
everything was a thrill--the first meeting and timid pressure of their
hands, the first delicate enfolding of her supple waist by his strong arm
but trembling hand, the delightful unison of their unerring feet, the
movement, the music, the soft delicious whirl, her cool breath saluting
his neck, his ardent but now liquid eyes seeking hers tenderly, and
drinking them deep, hers that now and then sipped his so sweetly--all
these were new and separate joys, that linked themselves in one soft
delirium of bliss. It was not a waltz it was an Ecstasy.

Starting almost alone, this peerless pair danced a gauntlet. On each side
admiration and detraction buzzed all the time.

"Beautiful! They are turning in the air."

"Quite gone by. That's how the old fogies dance."

Chorus of shallow males: "How well she waltzes."

Chorus of shallow females: "How well he waltzes."

But they noted neither praise nor detraction: they saw nothing, heard
nothing, felt nothing, but themselves and the other music, till two
valsers _a deux temps_ plunged into them. Thus smartly reminded they had
not earth all to themselves, they laughed good-humouredly and paused.

"Ah! I am happy!" gushed from Julia. She hushed at herself, and said
severely, "You dance very well, sir." This was said to justify her
unguarded admission, and did, after a fashion. "I think it is time to go
to mamma," said she demurely.

"So soon? And I had so much to say to you."

"Oh, very well. I am all attention."

The sudden facility offered set Alfred stammering a little. "I wanted to
apologise to you for something--you are so good you seem to have
forgotten it--but I dare not hope that--I mean at Henley--when the beauty
of your character, and your goodness, so overpowered me, that a fatal
impulse----"

"What do you mean, sir?" said Julia, looking him full in the face, like
an offended lion, while, with true feminine and Julian inconsistency her
bosom fluttered like a dove. "I never exchanged one word with you in my
life before to-day; and I never shall again if you pretend the contrary."

Alfred stood stupified, and looked at her in piteous amazement.

"I value your acquaintance highly, Mr. Hardie, now I have made it, as
acquaintances are made; but please to observe, I never saw you
before--scarcely; not even in church."

"As you please," said he, recovering his wits in part. "What you say I'll
swear to."

"Then I say, never remind a lady of what you ought to wish her to
forget."

"I was a fool, and you are an angel of tact and goodness."

"Oh, now I am sure it is time to join mamma," said she in the driest,
drollest way. _"Valsons._"

They waltzed down to Mrs. Dodd, exchanging hearts at every turn, and they
took a good many in the space of a round table, for in truth both were
equally loth to part.

At two o'clock Mrs. Dodd resumed common-place views of a daughter's
health, and rose to go.

Her fly had played her false, and, being our island home, it rained
buckets. Alfred ran, before they could stop him, and caught a fly. He was
dripping. Mrs. Dodd expressed her regrets; he told her it did not matter;
for him the ball was now over, the flowers faded, and the lights darkness
visible.

"The extravagance of these children!" said Mrs. Dodd to Julia, with a
smile, as soon as he was out of hearing. Julia made no reply.

Next day she was at evening church: the congregation was very sparse. The
first glance revealed Alfred Hardie standing in the very next pew. He
wore a calm front of conscious rectitude; under which peeped sheep-faced
misgivings as to the result of this advance; for, like all true lovers,
he was half impudence, half timidity; and both on the grand scale.

Now Julia in a ball-room was one creature, another in church. After the
first surprise, which sent the blood for a moment to her cheek, she found
he had come without a prayer-book. She looked sadly and half
reproachfully at him; then put her white hand calmly over the wooden
partition, and made him read with her out of her book. She shared her
hymn-book with him, too, and sang her Maker's praise modestly and
soberly, but earnestly, and quite undisturbed by her lover's presence. It
seemed as if this pure creature was drawing him to heaven holding by that
good book, and by her touching voice. He felt good all over. To be like
her, be tried to bend his whole mind on the prayers of the church, and
for the first time realised how beautiful they are.

After service he followed her to the door. Island home again, by the
pailful; and she had a thick shawl but no umbrella. He had brought a
large one on the chance; he would see her home.

"Quite unnecessary; it is so near."

He insisted; she persisted; and, persisting, yielded. They said but
little; yet they seemed to interchange volumes; and, at each gaslight
they passed, they stole a look and treasured it to feed on.

That night was one broad step more towards the great happiness, or great
misery, which awaits a noble love. Such loves, somewhat rare in Nature,
have lately become so very rare in Fiction that I have ventured, with
many misgivings, to detail the peculiarities of its rise and progress.
But now for a time it advanced on beaten tracks. Alfred had the right to
call at Albion Villa, and he came twice; once when Mrs. Dodd was out.
This was the time he stayed the two hours. A Mrs. James invited Jane and
him to tea and exposition. There he met Julia and Edward, who had just
returned. Edward was taken with Jane Hardie's face and dovelike eyes;
eyes that dwelt with a soft and chastened admiration on his masculine
face and his model form, and their owner felt she had received "a call"
to watch over his spiritual weal. So they paired off.

Julia's fluctuating spirits settled now into a calm, demure, complacency.
Her mother, finding this strange remedial virtue in youthful society,
gave young parties, inviting Jane and Alfred in their turn. Jane
hesitated, but, as she could no longer keep Julia from knowing her
worldly brother, and hoped a way might be opened for her to rescue
Edward, she relaxed her general rule, which was to go into no company
unless some religious service formed part of the entertainment. Yet her
conscience was ill at ease; and, to set them an example, she took care,
when she asked the Dodds in return, to have a clergyman there of her own
party, who could pray and expound with unction.

Mrs. Dodd, not to throw cold water on what seemed to gratify her
children, accepted Miss Hardie's invitation; but she never intended to
go, and at the last moment wrote to say she was slightly indisposed. The
nature of her _indisposition_ she revealed to Julia alone. "That young
lady keeps me on thorns. I never feel secure she will not say or do
something extravagant or unusual: she seems to suspect sobriety and good
taste of being in league with impiety. Here I succeed in bridling her a
little; but encounter a female enthusiast in her own house? _merci!_
After all, there must be something good in her, since she is your friend,
and you are hers. But I have something more serious to say before you go
there: it is about her brother. He is a flirt: in fact, a notorious one,
more than one lady tells me."

Julia was silent, but began to be very uneasy; they were sitting and
talking after sunset, yet without candles. She profited for once by that
prodigious gap in the intelligence of "the sex."

"I hear he pays you compliments, and I have seen a disposition to single
you out. Now, my love, you have the good sense to know that, whatever a
young gentleman of that age says to you, he says to many other ladies;
but your experience is not equal to your sense; so profit by mine. A girl
of your age must never be talked of with a person of the other sex: it is
fatal; fatal! but if you permit yourself to be singled out, you will be
talked of, and distress those who love you. It is easy to avoid
injudicious duets in society; oblige me by doing so to-night." To show
how much she was in earnest, Mrs. Dodd hinted that, were her admonition
neglected, she should regret for once having kept clear of an enthusiast.

Julia had no alternative; she assented in a faint voice. After a pause
she faltered out, "And suppose he should esteem me seriously?"

Mrs. Dodd replied quickly, "Then that would be much worse. But," said
she, "I have no apprehensions on that score; you are a child, and he is a
precocious boy, and rather a flirt. But forewarned is forearmed. So now
run away and dress, sweet one: my lecture is quite ended."

The sensitive girl went up to her room with a heavy heart. All the fears
she had lulled of late revived. She saw plainly now that Mrs. Dodd only
accepted Alfred as a pleasant acquaintance: as a son-in-law he was out of
the question. "Oh, what will she say when she knows all?" thought Julia.

Next day, sitting near the window, she saw him coming up the road. After
the first movement of pleasure at the bare sight of him, she was sorry he
had come. Mamma's suspicions awake at last, and here he was again; the
third call in one fortnight! She dared not risk an interview with him,
ardent and unguarded, under that penetrating eye, which she felt would
now be on the watch. She rose hurriedly, said as carelessly as she could,
"I am going to the school," and tying her bonnet on all in a flurry,
whipped out at the back-door with her shawl in her hand just as Sarah
opened the front door to Alfred. She then shuffled on her shawl, and
whisked through the little shrubbery into the open field, and reached a
path that led to the school, and so gratified was she at her dexterity in
evading her favourite, that she hung her head, and went murmuring,
"Cruel, cruel, cruel!"

Alfred entered the drawing-room gaily, with a good-sized card and a
prepared speech. His was not the visit of a friend, but a functionary;
the treasurer of the cricket-ground come to book two of his eighteen to
play against the All-England Eleven next month. "As for you, my worthy
sir (turning to Edward), I shall just put you down without ceremony. But
I must ask leave to book Captain Dodd. Mrs. Dodd, I come at the universal
desire of the club; they say it is sure to be a dull match without
Captain Dodd. Besides, he is a capital player."

"Mamma, don't you be caught by his chaff," said Edward, quietly. "Papa is
no player at all. Anything more unlike cricket than his way of making
runs!"

"But he makes them, old fellow; now you and I, at Lord's the other day,
played in first-rate form, left shoulder well up, and achieved--with
neatness, precision, dexterity, and despatch--the British duck's-egg.

_"Misericorde!_ What is that?" inquired Mrs. Dodd.

Why, a round O," said the other Oxonian, coming to his friend's aid.

"And what is that, pray?"

Alfred told her "the round O," which had yielded to "the duck's egg," and
was becoming obsolete, meant the cypher set by the scorer against a
player's name who is out without making a run.

"I see," sighed Mrs. Dodd. "The jargon of the day penetrates to your very
sports and games. And why British?"

"Oh, 'British' is redundant: thrown in by the universities."

"But what does it mean?"

"It means nothing. That is the beauty of it. British is inserted in
imitation of our idols, the Greeks; they adored redundancy."

In short, poor Alfred, though not an M. P., was talking to put off time,
till Julia should come in: so he now favoured Mrs. Dodd, of all people,
with a flowery description of her husband's play, which I, who have not
his motive for volubility, suppress. However, he wound up with the
captains "moral influence." "Last match," said he, "Barkington did not do
itself justice. Several, that could have made a stand, were frightened
out, rather than bowled, by the London professionals. Then Captain Dodd
went in, and treated those artists with the same good-humoured contempt
he would a parish bowler, and, in particular, sent Mynne's over-tossed
balls flying over his head for five, or to square leg for four, and, on
his retiring with twenty-five, scored in eight minutes, the remaining
Barkingtonians were less funky, and made some fair scores."

Mrs. Dodd smiled a little ironically at this tirade, but said she thought
she might venture to promise Mr. Dodd's co-operation, should he reach
home in time. Then, to get rid of Alfred before Julia's return, the
amiable worldling turned to Edward. "Your sister will not be back, so you
may as well ring the bell for luncheon at once. Perhaps Mr. Hardie will
join us."

Alfred declined, and took his leave with far less alacrity than he had
entered; Edward went down-stairs with him.

"Miss Dodd gone on a visit?" asked Alfred, affecting carelessness.

"Only to the school. By-the-bye, I will go and fetch her."

"No, don't do that; call on my sister instead, and then you will pull me
out of a scrape. I promised to bring her here; but her saintship was so
long adorning 'the poor perishable body,' that I came alone."

"I don't understand you," said Edward. "I am not the attraction here; it
is Julia."

"How do you know that? When a young lady interests herself in an
undergraduate's soul, it is a pretty sure sign she likes the looks of
him. But perhaps you don't want to be converted; if so, keep clear of
_her._ 'Bar the fell dragon's blighting way; but shun that lovely
snare.'"

"On the contrary," said Edward calmly, " I only wish she could make me as
good as she is, or half as good."

"Give her the chance, old fellow, and then it won't be your fault if she
makes a mess of it. Call at two, and Jenny will receive you very kindly,
and will show you you are in the 'gall of bitterness and the bond of
iniquity.' Now, won't that be nice?"

"I will go," said Edward gravely.

They parted. Where Alfred went the reader can perhaps guess; Edward to
luncheon.

"Mamma," said he, with that tranquillity which sat so well on him, "don't
you think Alfred Hardie is spoony upon our Julia?"

Mrs. Dodd suppressed a start, and (perhaps to gain time before replying
sincerely) said she had not the honour of knowing what "spoony" meant.

"Why, sighs for her, and dies for her, and fancies she is prettier than
Miss Hardie. He must be over head and ears to think that."

"Fie, child! " was the answer. "If I thought so, I should withdraw from
their acquaintance. Excuse me; I must put on my bonnet at once, not to
lose this fine afternoon."

Edward did not relish her remark: it menaced more Spoons than one.
However, he was not the man to be cast down at a word: he lighted a
cigar, and strolled towards Hardie's house. Mr. Hardie, senior, had left
three days ago on a visit to London; Miss Hardie received him; he passed
the afternoon in calm complacency, listening reverently to her
admonitions, and looking her softly out of countenance, and into earthly
affections, with his lion eyes.

Meantime his remark, so far from really seeming foolish to Mrs. Dodd, was
the true reason for her leaving him so abruptly "Even this dear slow
Thing sees it," thought she. She must talk to Julia more seriously, and
would go to the school at once. She went up-stairs, and put on her bonnet
and shawl before the glass; then moulded on her gloves, and came down
equipped. On the stairs was a large window, looking upon the open field;
she naturally cast her eyes through it in the direction she was going,
and what did she see but a young lady and gentleman coming slowly down
the path towards the villa. Mrs. Dodd bit her lip with vexation, and
looked keenly at them, to divine on what terms they were. And the more
she looked the more uneasy she grew.

The head, the hand, the whole body of a sensitive young woman walking
beside him she loves, betray her heart to experienced eyes watching
unseen; and especially to female eyes. And why did Julia move so slowly,
especially after that warning ? Why was her head averted from that
encroaching boy, and herself so near him? Why not keep her distance, and
look him full in the face? Mrs. Dodd's first impulse was that of
leopardesses, lionesses, hens, and all the mothers in nature; to dart
from her ambush and protect her young; but she controlled it by a strong
effort; it seemed wiser to descry the truth, and then act with
resolution: besides, the young people were now almost at the shrubbery;
so the mischief if any, was done.

They entered the shrubbery.

To Mrs. Dodd's surprise and dismay, they did not come out this side so
quickly. She darted her eye into the plantation; and lo! Alfred had
seized the fatal opportunity foliage offers, even when thinnish: he held
Julia's hand, and was pleading eagerly for something she seemed not
disposed to grant; for she turned away and made an effort to leave him.
But Mrs. Dodd, standing there quivering with maternal anxiety, and hot
with shame, could not but doubt the sincerity of that graceful
resistance. If she had been quite in earnest, Julia had fire enough in
her to box the little wretch's ears. She ceased even to doubt, when she
saw that her daughter's opposition ended in his getting hold of two hands
instead of one, and devouring them with kisses, while Julia still drew
her head and neck away, but the rest of her supple frame seemed to yield
and incline, and draw softly towards her besieger by some irresistible
spell.

"I can bear no more!" gasped Mrs. Dodd aloud, and turned to hasten and
part them; but even as she curved her stately neck to go, she caught the
lovers' parting; and a very pretty one too, if she could but have looked
at it, as these things ought always to be looked at: artistically.

Julia's head and lovely throat, unable to draw the rest of her away,
compromised: they turned, declined, drooped, and rested one half moment
on her captor's shoulder, like a settling dove: the next, she scudded
from him, and made for the house alone.

Mrs. Dodd, deeply indignant, but too wise to court a painful interview,
with her own heart beating high, went into the drawing-room, and there
sat down, to recover some little composure. But she was hardly seated
when Julia's innocent voice was heard calling "Mamma, mamma!" and soon
she came bounding into the drawing-room, brimful of good news, her cheeks
as red as fire and her eyes wet with happy tears; and there confronted
her mother, who had started up at her footstep, and now, with one hand
nipping the back of the chair convulsively, stood lofty, looking
strangely agitated and hostile.

The two ladies eyed one another, silent, yet expressive, like a picture
facing a statue; but soon the colour died out of Julia's face as well,
and she began to cower with vague fears before that stately figure, so
gentle and placid usually, but now so discomposed and stern.

"Where have you been, Julia?"

"Only at the school," she faltered.

"Who was your companion home?"

"Oh, don't be angry with me! It was Alfred."

"Alfred! His Christian name! You try my patience too hard."

"Forgive me. I was not to blame this time, indeed! indeed! You frighten
me. What will become of me? What have I done for my own mamma to look at
me so?"

Mrs. Dodd groaned. "Was that young coquette I watched from my window the
child I have reared ? No face on earth is to be trusted after this. 'What
have you done' indeed? Only risked your own mother's esteem, and nearly
broken her heart!" And with these words her own courage began to give
way, and she sank into a chair with a deep sigh.

At this Julia screamed, and threw herself on her knees beside her, and
cried "Kill me! oh, pray kill me! but don't drive me to despair with such
cruel words and looks!" and fell to sobbing so wildly that Mrs. Dodd
altered her tone with almost ludicrous rapidity. "There, do not terrify
me with your impetuosity, after grieving me so. Be calm, child; let me
see whether I cannot remedy your sad imprudence; and, that I may, pray
tell me the whole truth. How did this come about?"

In reply to this question, which she somewhat mistook, Julia sobbed out,
"He met me c-coming out of the school, and asked to s-see me home. I said
'No thank you,' because I th-thought of your warning. 'Oh yes!' said he,
and _would_ walk with me, and keep saying he loved me. So, to stop him, I
said, 'M-much ob-liged, but I was b-busy and had no time to flirt.' 'Nor
have I the in-inclination,' said he. 'That is not what others say of
you,' said I--you know what you t-told me, mamma--so at last he said
d-did ever he ask any lady to be his wife? 'I suppose not,' said I, 'or
you would be p-p-private property by now instead of p-public.'"

"Now there was a foolish speech; as much as to say nobody could resist
him."

"W-wasn't it? And n-no more they could. You have no idea how he makes
love; _so_ unladylike: keeps advancing and advancing, and never once
retreats, nor even st-ops. 'But I ask _you_ to be my wife,' said he. Oh,
mamma, I trembled so. Why did I tremble? I don't know. I made myself cold
and haughty; 'I should make no reply to such ridiculous questions; say
that to mamma, if you dare!' I said."

Mrs. Dodd bit her lip, and said, "Was there ever such simplicity?"

"Simple! Why that was my cunning. You are the only creature he is afraid
of; so I thought to stop his mouth with you. But instead of that, my lord
said calmly, 'That was understood; he loved me too well to steal me from
her to whom he was indebted for me.' Oh, he has always an answer ready.
And that makes him such a p-pest."

"It was an answer that did him credit."

"Dear mamma! now did it not? Then at parting he said he would come
to-morrow, and ask you for my hand; but I must intercede with you first,
or you would be sure to say 'No.' So I declined to interfere: 'W-w-what
was it to me?' I said. He begged and prayed me: 'Was it likely you would
give him such a treasure as Me unless I stood his friend?' (For the
b-b-brazen Thing turns humble now and then.) And, oh, mamma, he did so
implore me to pity him, and kept saying no man ever loved as he loved me,
and with his begging and praying me so passionately--oh, so
passionately--I felt something warm drop from his poor eyes on my hand.
Oh! oh! oh! oh!--What could I do? And then, you know, I wanted to get
away from him. So I am afraid I did just say 'Yes.' But only in a
whisper. Mamma! my own, good, kind, darling mamma, have pity on him and
on me; we love one another so."

A shower of tender tears gushed out in support of this appeal and in a
moment she was caught up with Love's mighty arms, and her head laid on
her mother's yearning bosom. No word was needed to reconcile these two.

After a long silence, Mrs. Dodd said this would be a warning never to
judge her sweet child from a distance again, nor unheard. "And
therefore," said she, "let me hear from your own lips how so serious an
attachment could spring up. Why, it is scarcely a month since you were
first introduced at that ball."

"Mamma," murmured Julia, hanging her head, "you are mistaken; we knew
each other before."

Mrs. Dodd looked all astonishment.

"Now I _will_ ease my heart," said Julia, impetuously, addressing some
invisible obstacle. "I tell you I am sick of having secrets from my own
mother." And with this out it all came. She told the story of her heart
better than I have; and, woman-like, dwelt on the depths of loyalty and
delicate love she had read in Alfred's moonlit face that night at Henley.
She said no eloquence could have touched her like it. "Mamma, something
said to me, 'Ay, look at him well, for that is your husband to be.'" She
even tried to solve the mystery of her _soi-disant_ sickness: "I was
disturbed by a feeling so new and so powerful,* but, above all, by having
a secret from you; the first--the last."

*Perhaps even this faint attempt at self-analysis was due to the
influence of Dr. Whately. For, by nature, young ladies of this age seldom
turn the eye inward.

"Well, darling, then why have a secret? Why not trust me, your friend as
well as your mother?"

"Ah! why, indeed? I am a puzzle to myself. I wanted you to know, and yet
I could not tell you. I kept giving you hints, and hoped so you would
take them, and make me speak out. But when I tried to tell you plump,
something kept pull--pull--pulling me inside, and I couldn't. Mark my
words! some day it will turn out that I am neither more nor less than a
fool."

Mrs. Dodd slighted this ingenious solution. She said, after a moment's
reflection, that the fault of this misunderstanding lay between the two.
"I remember now I have had many hints; my mind must surely have gone to
sleep. I was a poor simple woman who thought her daughter was to be
always a child. And you were very wrong to go and set a limit to your
mother's love: there is none--none whatever." She added: "I must import a
little prudence and respect for the world's opinion into this new
connection; but whoever you love shall find no enemy in me."