‘Worth? No,
my dear, upon my word it was not. He has not spoken to me of it at all.’
Miss Taverner resumed her book with an expression so forbidding that Mrs Scattergood judged it wisest to say no more.
She was at a loss to know what to think. A natural shrewdness had induced her to suppose from the outset that Judith stood in very little danger of falling in love with the Captain. A hint that people were beginning to couple their names should have been enough, if she did not mean to marry him, to make her behave with more circumspection; but it had no effect on her at all. She continued to flirt with the Captain, and her brother, in high good-humour, remarked to Mr Taverner that he believed the pair would make a match of it yet.
‘Audley and your sister!’ said his cousin, turning a little pale. ‘Surely it is not possible!’
‘Not possible! Why not?’ asked Peregrine. ‘He is a capital fellow, I can tell you; not at all like Worth. I thought the instant I clapped eyes on him that he would do very well for Judith. It’s my belief that they have some sort of an understanding. I taxed Ju with it, but she only coloured up and laughed, and would not give me an answer.’
Peregrine’s own affairs soon took a turn for the better. He had lately fallen into the habit of driving over to Worthing twice a week, and spending the night with the Fairfords; and he was able to inform Judith on his return from one of these expeditions that Sir Geoffrey, being dissatisfied with the uncertainty of his daughter’s engagement, was coming to Brighton to seek an interview with Lord Worth.
‘We shall see how that may answer,’ said Peregrine in a tone of strong satisfaction. ‘However little Worth may attend to my entreaties, he cannot fail to pay heed to a man of Sir Geoffrey’s age and consequence. I fancy the wedding-day will be soon fixed.’
‘I do not depend upon it, though I am sure I wish it may,’ Judith replied. ‘I shall own myself surprised if Sir Geoffrey finds his lordship any more persuadable than we have done.’
Peregrine, however, continued sanguine, and in a very few days events proved him to have been justified. They were sitting down to dinner in Marine Parade one evening when the butler brought in Sir Geoffrey’s card. Peregrine ran out to welcome him and learn his news, while Mrs Scattergood cast an anxious eye over the dish of buttered lobster, and sent down a message to the cook to serve up the raised giblet-pie as well as the fricando of veal. She was still wondering whether the cheese-cakes would go round and lamenting that a particularly good open tart syllabub should have been all ate up at luncheon when Peregrine brought their visitor into the dining-parlour. Peregrine’s countenance conveyed the intelligence of good news to his sister immediately; his eyes sparkled, and as Judith rose to shake hands with Sir Geoffrey, he burst out with: ‘You were wrong, Ju! It is all in a way to be done! I knew how it would be! I am to be married at the end of June. Now wish me joy!’
She turned her eyes towards him with a look of amazement in them. She had not thought it to be possible. ‘Indeed, indeed, I do wish you joy! But how is this? Lord Worth agrees?’
‘Ay, to be sure he does. Why should he not? But Sir Geoffrey will tell it all to us later. For my part I am satisfied with the mere fact.’
She was obliged to control her impatience to know how it had all come about, what arguments had been used to prevail with Worth, and to beg Sir Geoffrey to be seated. The impropriety of discussing his interview with Worth before the servants was generally felt, and it was not until they were all gathered in the drawing-room later that their curiosity could be satisfied.
It was not in Sir Geoffrey’s power to remain long with them; he had made no provision for spending the night in Brighton, and wished to be back in Worthing before it grew dark. There was very little to tell them, after all; he had guessed that Lord Worth’s refusal to consent to the marriage taking place arose from scruples natural in a man standing in his position. It had been so; his lordship had felt all the evils of a marriage entered into too young, but upon Sir Geoffrey’s representation to him of the proved durability of Peregrine’s affections (for six months, at the age of nineteen, was certainly a period) he had been induced to relent.
‘There was no difficulty, then?’ Judith inquired, fixing her eyes on his face. ‘Yet when I spoke of it to him he answered me in such a way that I believed nothing could win him over! This is wonderful indeed! There is no accounting for it.’
‘There was a little difficulty,’ acknowledged Sir Geoffrey. ‘His lordship felt a good deal of reluctance, which I was able, however, to overcome. I am not acquainted with him, do not think I have exchanged two words with him before to-day, so that I cannot conjecture what may have been in his mind. He is a reserved man; I do not pretend to read his thoughts. I own that it seemed to me that something more than a doubt of the young people being of an age to contemplate matrimony weighed with him.’
‘What made you think so?’ Miss Taverner asked quickly. ‘He can have had no other reason!’
Sir Geoffrey set the tips of his fingers together. ‘Well, well, I might be mistaken. His manners, which are inclined to be abrupt, may easily have misled me. But upon my making known to him the object of my call his first words were of refusal. That he had no objection to my daughter’s character or her situation in life he at once made clear to me, however.’
‘Objection!’ cried Peregrine, with strong indignation. ‘What objection could he have, sir?’
‘None, I trust,’ replied Sir Geoffrey placidly. ‘But his countenance led me to suppose that my application was very unwelcome. He said positively that you were too young. I ventured to remind him that a six-months’ engagement was his own suggestion, whereupon he exclaimed with a degree of annoyance that surprised me that he had been guilty of a piece of the most unconscionable folly in consenting to any engage ment at all.’
‘Well, and so I thought at the time,’ remarked Mrs Scattergood. ‘It seemed to me highly nonsensical, as I daresay it did to you, sir. For I quite depended on it being no more than a passing fancy with them both, you know.’
‘But why? Why?’ demanded Judith, striking the palms of her hands together. ‘A doubt of Peregrine’s not being old enough could not weigh so heavily with him. I am at a loss to understand him! What did he say then? How did you prevail?’
‘I must hope,’ said Sir Geoffrey, with a smile, ‘that the reasonableness of my arguments induced his lordship to relent, but I am more than a little persuaded of his not having heard above half of them. His own reflections seemed to absorb him.’
‘Ah, I daresay!’ nodded Mrs Scattergood. ‘His father was just the same. You might talk to him by the hour together, as I am sure I have done often, and find at the end that he had been thinking of something quite different.’
‘As to that, ma’am, I cannot accuse his lordship of letting his mind wander from the subject of my visit. All I meant to say was that his own thoughts operated on his judgment more than my arguments. He took several turns about the room, and upon Captain Audley coming in at that moment briefly informed him of the reason of my being there.’
‘Captain Audley! Ah, there you found an ally!’
‘Yes, Miss Taverner, it was as you say. Audley immediately advised his brother to consent. With the greatest good nature he declared himself to be in the fullest sympathy with Peregrine’s impatience. He said there could be no object in delay. Lord Worth looked at him as though he would have spoken, but said nothing. Captain Audley, after the shortest of pauses, remarked: “As well now as later.” Lord Worth continued looking at him for a moment, without, however, giving me the impression of attending very closely to him, and suddenly replied: “Very well. Let it be as you wish.”’
‘So much for prejudice!’ said Peregrine. ‘But I knew how it would be when he came face to face with you, sir. And now you see what a disagreeable fellow we have for a guardian! Ay, you do not like me to say it, Maria, but you know it is so.’
‘I confess I had been thinking his lordship very much what you had described to me,’ said Sir Geoffrey, ‘but I
am bound to say that from the moment of his giving his consent nothing could have exceeded his amiability. These fashionable men have their whims and oddities, you know. I found him perfectly ready to discuss the details with me; we talked over the settlements, and what income it would be proper for Peregrine to enjoy until he comes of age, and found ourselves in the most complete agreement. He pressed me with the utmost civility to dine with him – an invitation I should have been happy to have accepted had I not felt it incumbent on me to lose no time in coming to set your mind at rest, my dear Perry.’