The heir presumptive

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Contents

CHAP. PAGB

I. — The Proposal 1

II. — ^Thb Sisters. ... . 25 III. — ^The Acceptancb . . . .42

Chapter II. " The Sisters. "

SHE leaves her father perturbed and uneasy. What chord has she struck in his long slumbering heart ? Why does he begin to doubt if he has advised his favourite child for the best ? The fact is, his own marriage has been anything but a happy one. Mrs. Fuller is a lady by birth, but she is a woman of bad taste, and of overbearing and dominant manners, and she has crushed all the pride and pleasure out of her husband's life from the first hour they were brought together. And yet their union was supposed to be one of mutual afiection. She was a fresh-looking, high-spirited girl in the days when he fell in love with her, and believed she had the power to re-create a vanished happiness for him. For as General Fuller sits there dreaming of the past, another face rises on the background of his memory — a fair, pale face, with sad, haunting eyes, and cold lips, that tremblingly pronounce " farewell."

No one knows that secret of his past life except himself. No one guesses at the insurmountable obstacle that rose between him and the fruition of his first love. But General Fuller has not forgotten it, though five-and-twenty years lie between.

That sad farewell proved the key-note of his life. It was followed by months of despair and years of tender regret. And then he met his wife, and the pale past faded out of sight for awhile, beneath the influence of her youth and buoyant health and spirits. She had brought colour and warmth into his life again, and Gerald Fuller had believed his passion for her to be the reality and the other the dream, and had gladly commenced the battle of life with her. But the attainable once obtained,

""THE SISTERSr 27

the jog-trot of matrimony entered upon, and the novelty of female companionship over, he had found (like many others) that the ideal had become the real, and the poetry of the past triumphed over the prose of the present. But he had not complained, and he had not betrayed himself. Year by year Mrs. Fuller became more dominant, more overbearing, and more oppressive, and year by year her husband shrunk more into himself, and sought refuge in communion with his past.

It was a source of wonder on both sides of the family when he called his eldest daughter " Winifred." No one belonging to either of them bore that name, and his wife considered it both fantastical and ridiculouis. But her husband had his way. To have a right to pronounce that name, even though it echoed only on his heart, was a sort of comfort to him, and he never pronounced it without a reverential inflection, that made strangers think his eldest child was his especial favourite.

And now Gladys, whose happiness was trembling in the balance, his dearly-loved Gladys, had stirred the most sacred depths of her father's heart by asking him if his marriage with her mother had been one of love?

" If it were," thinks the general uneasily. " If it were so, then I must keep my mouth shut for ever more. And yet, there must be happy marriages. If I and — and — Winifred had come together "

But here he turns his face away, as though to shut out a too painful memory. Even to himself, after a lapse of five-and-twenty years, he cannot think what that marriage would have been like, without a bitter sigh of regret. The conversation with his daughter has shocked and pained him. It has startled him also. If these are the opinions his children have imbibed from their mother's teaching, he shall never blame himself sufficiently for having left them at her side so Ion;?. To io^nore the necessity of love, to look on it as a positive

•* THE sisters:* 29

evil, and marriage as a commercial speculation, in which the less sentiment is infused the better, breaks all the theories that Gerald Fuller has cherished for a lifetime.

His poetical, dreamy nature has lived in romance of the past, and to hear his own child — ^his little girl, who was but yesterday, as it were, running about with short petticoats and cropped hair — laugh at his old-fashioned sentiments, and assure him that the less of such folly one infused in life the better, has greatly upset him.

It is as though Gladys had told him he had been a fool to waste his time lamenting an impossibility, and which, had he gained it, would probably have turned out the greater disappointment of the two. The general feels as if he had received a moral douche^ and he sits there shivering under the appUcation, and wondering if he has really understood what his child meant. Meanwhile, Miss Gladys, driving in the brougham with her mother to the Ansteys'

30 THE HEIR PRESUMP21VE,

afternoon tea, is giving Mrs. Fuller her version of the story.

" Well, dear, I suppose it's all settled ? " says the elder lady.

"I don't know, mother. I suppose it will come right in the end, but I'm afraid dad is going to make a fuss about it."

" A fuss, my dear ! On what account ? Are not the settlements liberal enough? Lord Mountcarron bears the character of being a most generous man."

"Oh, no! it's not that. I fancy the money business is entirely satisfactory. But dad has taken it into his head that I don't love Mountcarron enough, and that I shall be miserable."

Mrs. Fuller lifts her hands.

"What utter folly! Just like one of your poor father's old-fashioned ideas! My dear child, he has the most extraordinary notions. He has not the slightest knowledge of how these matters are conducted in high life. India ruins a man for society. But what did you say ? "

''IHE sisters:* 31

" I told him I cared as much for Mountcarron as I should ever do for any man. You know, mother, I'm not a sentimental fool ! I should be ashamed to be/'

" And I should be ashamed to see you so, my dear. What can your father be thinking of? But you must make allowances for him, Gladys. Men from India positively know nothing. He was brought up in the country, and I suppose he expects to see all lovers walking about with their arms round each other's waists."

Gladys is infinitely amused.

" Fancy Mountcarron and I, strolling under the trees in Hyde Park encircUng each other's waists ! I don't believe I could get my arm round his. Was that the way father made love to you, mother ? "

" Oh, my dear, don't talk of it. Yes ! I suppose it was. We were out in India, you know, and there wa3 no one to see what we did. But such things are conducted differently in society. And I think it is quite indecent of your father talking to a young girl like you about displaying your love for a man. He should be the first to admire your reticence. No one thinks the better of a woman for making an open display of her affection.

" And he is so pertinacious, mother. I told him that I care for Mountcarron and wish to marry him. I can't say more, can I ? But dad declares he will not send him an answer till I have consulted you and Winifred. As if that could make me alter my mind on the subject."

" Ah, well, never mind, my dear, Winnie will be with us this evening, and she will make papa write to Lord Mountcarron before she leaves. The idea of his giving us so much trouble ! One would think the earl was some penniless subaltern. It is very awkward'too. Mrs. Anstey never sees me without asking if the proposal has come ofi yet, and I shall hardly know what to say to her."

" Tell her I am engaged to him," says Gladys decidedly, *' because I shall

''THE SlSTEUSr 33

be to-morrow. You don't suppose I am going to let dad cheat me out of being a countess, mother ? "

" I should hope not/' laughs Mrs. Fuller, as the carriage draws up at Mrs. Anstey's door.

The rooms are crowded, but the lovely- Miss Fuller, whom rumour says is so soon to be transformed into the Countess of Mountcarron, becomes at once the object of universal attraction Gladys is looking uncommonly pretty. Her little discussion with her mother has tinged her usually pale cheek with a most becoming colour, and her cream-coloured costume and large hat with its drooping feathers, set off lier graceful figure to the utmost advantage.

Miss Cleveland's brother, a good-looking young officer, is soon by her side engaged in an animated conversation, and looking all the admiration he dares not express, whilst she, as fancy-free as any girl in the room, enjoys her vicarious flirtation with VOL. I. 3

34 THE HEIR PRESUMPIl VE.

him without a thought of the absent earl, or the coming marria<?e

"What is this rumour I hear going round the room, Gladys ? '' whispers Miss Cleveland to her presently. " Is it un fait accompli between you and the earl ? Are you ready for my congratulations ? "

Gladys smiles, and nods her head.

" If you consider marriage a subject for congratulation, Nelly — yes ! "

" But such a marriage, my dear ! A coronet and twenty thousand a year ! Why you are the luckiest girl of the season."

'* Is it twenty thousand ? " demands Miss Fuller carelessly. " I fancied it was thirty. But any way, Nelly, of course 1 know that I'm lucky. He's a very goodnatured fellow, and not bad looking, is he ? I prefer fair men myself, but one can't have everything."

"Oh, no, of course not ; besides which, what does it signify what a girl's husband

« THE sisters:' 36

is like. He is generally the man she sees least of." Gladys laughs.

" I wish my father could hear you. He preached me a sermon of about an hour long this afternoon on the duties of loving one's husband. He expects every one to go about the world squeezing each other's hands. He never thinks of the inconvenience of it."

Miss Cleveland looks incredulous.

"Does he really? You must be joking, Gladys ! Love is the last thing one thinks about in marriage, now-a-days. Not bnt what I consider you are very ' spooney ' on Lord Mountcarron. Mrs. Carmichael was saying yesterday you were quite goneJ'

Gladys knits her brows into a frown of displeasure.

" Did she ? How very annoying! Do contradict it, Nelly, if you hear it said again. There's nothing I would sooner resent than being supposed to be such a fool — like a great, awkward schoolgirl !

3*

' Of course, I like and admire Mountcarron excessively. There is no one I like better. And he is absurdly in love with me. But there it ends. One person is quite enough enough to do that sort of thing in married life. We owe something to the world."

" And you'll pay whatever you owe it, like a brick, I'm sure of that," whispers Nelly Cleveland, " and there won't be a prettier nor more dignified countess from one end of Britain to the other."

" Thank you, dear," says Miss Fuller, with a gratified air. " I hope I shall know how to fulfil the duties of my position, but your assurance pleases me none the less for that."

When she returns home, however, and finds her sister already arrived and waiting for them, she does not put ofi* her confidence until they can have the " good long talk " together, but rushes into the subject at once.

" Winnie, dear, I'm so annoyed! Have you seen dad ? "

''THE SISTERSr 37

" No, he is out. What has annoyed

you ? "

" Mountcarron proposed to me at the Campbells', yesterday."

" ! I am glad ! I knew it must come, but now your mind will be at rest. Gladys, my darling, I cannot tell you how pleased I am ! Let me congratulate j'ou a thousand times ! If it were any woman but yourself I could almost find it in my heart to be jealous."

She comes up to her sister as she speaks, and puts her hands on her shoulders, and kisses her warmly. Mrs. Prendergast is not nearly so pretty as Miss Fuller. She takes more after her mother. She is cast altogether, in a bigger and coarser mould, but she has the same sweet, dark blue eyes, and winning expression, and she is very much attached to her younger sister.

" I am so ver3% very glad," she reiterates. " but after such good news, what can you have to vex you ? "

"It's dad, dear! You see how pleased you are, and so is mother, and so am I, naturally. But father isn't. Lord Mountcarron was with him for more than an hour, this afternoon, but he wouldn't give him a decided answer, and he says he won't do it, either, until I have thoroughly searched my heart on the subject."

"What have you to search your heart about ? "

" To see if I love him."

" But you do love him, don't you ? " "Of course I do, and I tell dad so, but he won't believe me. I suppose he expected me to simper, and blush, and cry. I told him I hated that sort of thing, and that whatever I feel he will never see me evince it. Fancy, Winnie, going about — in the nineteenth century — glaring at one another in public, and squeezing hands under the table. It's like a dairymaid."

" Does papa want you to do that ? " " He seems to think I ought to. He thinks it is awful of me to call it folly. And he is quite capable of telling Mount-

*• TJJE sisters:' 39

carron I don't care for him, and spoiling the whole thing."

*'Papa doesn't understand," remarks Mrs. Prendergast, reflectively. People don't confess to such things in public. He cannot expect you to do more than say you love him."

" I told him I had made up my mind months ago, and wanted him to send the poor man his answer at once. But he said I must talk with you first — that you loved your husband, and would give me the best advice."

" That's all rubbish ! " says Winnie decisively. " One woman cannot advise another in the matter of marriage. We must each decide for ourselves. What suited me, might not suit you. I must talk to papa as soon as dinner is over."

" Do, dear ! and just tell him the truth. I wish to marry Lord Mountcarron. I can't say more. And I don't see that even a father has any right to interfere with my private feelings."

" Of course poor old dad means it for the best. He's awfully fond of you, Gladys. But he's to old to judge of such things. He has probably forgotten all about them by now. Besides the times are altered, and w^omen are altered too. We are not the sweet, confiding, clinging creatures we used to be. We are able to stand alone. Ahd what we require in marriage is, a congenial companion and a suitable settlement. Isn't it ? "

" Yes, only don't tell dad so ! Tell him I'm awfully in love with Mountcarron, but I don't know how to show it properly. I'm too young."

Here the two girls laugh heartily — Gladys indeed until the tears come into her eyes.

" It is too funny to hear dad talk," she says presently. " Life wouldn't be worth living if we went about throwing one's w'hole soul into that of another person, as he would have us do."

"He's a darling," asserts her sister.

" THE sisters:' 41

" and if there were more men like him, there would be more women in love in the world."

" I agree with you there," says Gladys, as she links her arm in Winnie's and goes downstairs.

CHAPTEE in.

"the acceptance."

WHEN Mrs. Prendergast meets her husband at her father's dinnertable it is for the first time since breakfast. He is a good-looking, clever young fellow, who has been able to surround her with all the comforts- of life, and their union (which took place about two years previously) was supposed to be, and indeed was, entered into from no motives but those of mutual attachment. He greets her now as she enters the room, with a curt nod and the lover-like question, "How are

you ? "

" All right," replies Winnie indifierehtly.

" Anything happened ? '^

"No, dear ! baby was very feverish this afternoon with his teeth, and so I sent "

" Have you been out to-day, General ? " asks Mr. Prendergast, turning his back on his wife, and the troubles of his baby's teeth, without the slightest ceremony.

The dinner passes, rather dully, as a meal is apt to do when the conversation is constrained.

The women of the party are engrossed with thoughts of the coming marriage, but dare not mention it, whilst General Fuller finds great difficulty in giving his attention to his son-in-law's description of an interesting law suit. Mr, Prendergast is the only person at table whose mind is not wandering, and he thinks, as he generally does, that these family dinners are the stupidest things in the world. At last he devotes himself entirely to the menu and the General turns to his daughter.

"And what have you been doing, Winnie, since we saw you last ? "

"Nothing, father, in particular. There is nothing to do."

" Nothing to do, my dear ? "

" It's the same old thing day after day. It seems to me we only live to get up, and dress, and eat, and go to bed again."

" Diversified by a drive to Hampstead, or an hour spent in the intellectual amusement of chuckling to the baby," interposes Mr. Prendergast.

"You're quite right, Maurice," replies Winnie good-temperedly, " that is about the sum total of my enjoyment. I do think that life without money is not worth living."

"I don't think it — ^I know it," responds her husband.

" But, my dear child, you have a very handsome income for a young couple," remonstrates the general, "far more than your mother and I had when we commenced life together."

" Ah I now general, don't allude to that.

please^'' puts in Mrs. Fuller. " What we had is not the slightest criterion for our children. I am sure I never wish to see them suffer as /did."

Suffer, my dear ? "

Yes — suffer! What else do you call it when a woman has to make all her own dresses and her children's, and wash them sometimes too into the bargain ? I'd rather see my girls dead than brought so low. There ! don't mention it again, or youll spoil my dinner."

"I shouldn't envy little Arthur if he depended on you for his dresses, Winnie," laughs Gladys.

" No, indeed, my dear. I should tar and feather him and let him go. Children are quite enough nuisance in themselves, without one having to stitch away for them all day long like mantua makers."

" The effect of woman's rights, sir ! the morals of the nineteenth century," remarks Prendergast to General Fuller.

"Not a bit of it," responds Winnie, " we have not got anything like our rights yet. We are only beginning to shake oflf our wrongs."

The general is completely shut up, and scarcely ventures to speak during the remainder of dinner. As he enters the library to enjoy his post-prandial pipe, he is followed by his daughter Winnie, who draws a chair beside him.

" Well, father, dear, this is grand news about Gladys and Mountcarron, isn't it? Aren't you pleased ? "

"Your sister has told you then, Winnie ? "

" Naturally ! The poor child is nearly beside herself with joy."

"She did not seem so this morning. Indeed, she made me feel quite uneasy by her indifference. I am so afraid she does not love him, Winnie."

" My dear dad ! What a notion ? What ever makes you think so ? "

" She is so cool, so calculating about it. She says openly that she doesn't believe

** TUB acceptance:' 47

in love, nor wish to entertain it. They are shocking sentiments in so young a girl, Winnie.'*'

" Oh, father dear ! you have utterly mistaken Gladys. She's just as much in love with Lord Mountcarron as she can be."

" In love with his money and his rank you mean, my dear."

" No, no, no ! in love with himself. What did you expect her to do — go into raptures over his appearance, or repeat any of his soft speeches ? You don't understand girls, father. The more they feel, the less they say."

The general sighs.

" Well, my dear, perhaps I don't understand them. I have been separated from you both so long, and your mother's sentiments are so very different from mine."

" Mama views things in a practical light. She sees all the advantages of such a marriage for Gladys. And I suppose you do, too, father ? "

48 THE HEIR PRESUMPTl VE.

" Certainly, my dear. The match i^ most desirable from a worldly point of view, and if I could only be sure that> Gladys loved him "

" How you do harp on that string, father. You never worried in this way about Maurice and me."

" Because your letters spoke so warmly of your affection for him 1 could entertain no doubt of it, Winnie. And you are evry happy, my child, are you not ? "

" Oh, yes, dad, as happy as most woni3n. No one can expect unalloyed pleasure in this world, you know. But Gladys is very different from me. She is more reserved and less gushing. She cannot speak in the same open way about her feelings. But ^he feeU quite as much as I do — sometimes I think she feels more. I remember when that little affair with young Harrington was broken off "

" What little affair ? " demands the general hastily.

" Didn't mother tell you ? I suppose slie thought it was no use worrying you at that distance. But last year, Gladys rather compromised herself with respect to an engagement with Alfred Harrington of the War Office, and when mama interfered to break it off, she was quite ill — she fretted so."

" If he was a good fellow and she loved him, I would have managed she should be happy somehow, even if I had given up half my fortune," interposed her father with some agitation.

" Oh, dad, it would never have done. He was only a clerk in the War Office. Besides, girls have scores of such affairs before they settle down. We get used to them. But this is a very different matter. I don't think my sister could ever get over the disappointment of losing this marriage."

" Don't you, really ? And both you and your mother consider it advisable ? "

" Father, I think we should be mad to try and prevent it. Fancy our Gladys a countess — Countess of Mountcarron — and VOL. I. 4

I

50 THE HEIR PHESUMPXn E,

mistress of all those lovely places ! Why if anything happened to break it off, I don't think I should ever get over it myself."

" Well, if thai is the general opinion, I suppose I had better write and tell the earl his offer is accepted," says the general dubiously.

" Haven't you written yet ? What a shame ! The poor fellow will be in such dreadful suspense. Write at once, father, and let me post the letter. Gladys will not be able to sleep until she knows it is on its way."

General Fuller sits down at his writingtable and scratches off* a hasty note to Lord Mountcarron, appointing a meeting for the following morning, and thnn throws himself back in his chair despondently.

" There, Winnie, there's the letter. Post it if you will. I only wish I felt as jubilant about the issue of it as you seem to do."

"Sleep in peace. Lady Mountcarron/'

''THE ACCEPTANCEr 61

whispers Mrs. Prendergast gaily to her sister, as they exchange their good-night kiss. " I have the letter of acceptance in my pocket, and it will be in his hands to-morrow morning."

" That's a comfort," responds Miss Fuller in the same strain, " and now I can go to bed and dream of what my wedding-dress shall be."

She is perfectly calm and collected the next morning, whilst her father nervously paces up and down the library carpet, awaiting the advent of his future son-inlaw."

Lord Mountcarron is true to his time. He is perfectly sincere, as far as his present feelings are concerned. He is very much enamoured of Gladys Fuller's beauty and charm of manner, and he knows of no woman whom he would sooner make Countess of Mountcarron.

She is portionless, and he is wealthy. She comes of commoners, and he of aristocrats. Yet he has chosen her from the world. No

4*

62 TUE HEIR PRESUMPTIVE.

one can question his motives, nor bis sincerity.

General Fuller, as he reviews the immense advantages of the match, feels almost ashamed of his own misgivings.

" I need not tell you of the pleasure with which I received your letter this morning,'' commences the earl courteously, " although I can hardly say it was unexpected."

" I had a long talk with my daughter yesterday on the subject of her marriage with you," replies the general, ignoring compliment, " and since I find that her heart is set upon it, I had no alternative but to make you acquainted with the result."

" I felt certain I was not mistaken in Miss Fuller's sentiments respecting me," murmurs his companion.

"But I, you see, had yet to learn them. Lord Mountcarron, in giving you my daughter, Gladys, I give you my favourite and best-loved child. You

''THE ACCEPTAXCEr 63

must forgive me if I appear too anxious to secure her future happiness. There is a considerable difference in your ages, and still more in your experience. She is an unformed girl, and you are a man of the world. May I, in relinquishing her to your care, rely on j^ou to help her to live upon a higher and more elevated plane than she has hitherto done.*'

Lord Mountcarron does not in the least understand what the general is talking about.

"I should never dream of interferinjj with my wife's religious principles," he stammers.

"I am not alluding to religion. Her mind is still crude and unformed."

" Oh, you mean books, and all that sort of thing. Well, you know what I intend to settle on her, General Fuller. You are aware that she will never lack money to carry out her ideas, and . any lectures or classes she may wish to attend. I know

64 TUE HEIR PRESUMPTIVE.

ladies love to dabble in science and theolog^^ now a-days."

" Lord Mountcarron, you quite mistake me. Wliat I mean is, that though we all live in a material world, it is not necessary^ we should be material ourselves. There is a higher life than the mere round of dancing, dressing and eating, though iew consider it. I should have liked to have kept my Gladys at my side for a few years longer, to have directed her thoughts to the advantages of learning this better and higher life. But I suppose it was not to be. It is fated I am to hand her over to your care. Let it be a judicious and a tender one. Don't make her into an entirely worldly woman. Keep the best qualities of her mind for yourself, to enable her to be a faithful wife and companion to you, and an able mother to your children. Don't let her senses run riot. Don't leave her too much to herself. Guide her with a firm hand for her faults, and an indulgent eye for her weaknesses, and I

" THE A CCEPTASCEr 65

believe she will ripen into a good and noble woman."

He might just as well have spoken to the table. Lord Mountcarron understands nothing of this speech, except that the general has asked him to be kind and gentle with his daughter. And, naturally, lie has no intention of being otherwise.

*' You may depend upon me," he answers seriously. " Gladys shall never feel a pain, nor shed a tear, that it is in my power to ward off from her. And now, you must not think me impatient if I ask to see her. We have not met since she honoured me with her acceptance at the Campbells*."