If Trevor had a fault it was obstinacy.
He stayed awake for a short time, but finally dropped
asleep, having made up his mind, of course, not to
injure Bertha Keys, whom he could not understand in
the least, but to have, as he expressed it, a sober
talk with Mrs. Aylmer. He saw that Bertha, for
reasons of her own, was very much against this course,
and he resolved to keep out of her way. He rose
early and went for a long ride before breakfast.
He did not return until he knew Bertha would be busy
over household matters, and Mrs. Aylmer would in all
probability be alone in her private sitting-room.
He tapped at her door between eleven
and twelve o’clock, and at her summons entered
and closed it behind him.
“Ah, Maurice, that is good,”
said the lady; “come and sit near me. I
am quite prepared to have a long chat with you.”
“And I want to have a long talk
with you, Mrs. Aylmer,” was his answer.
He drew a chair forward, and sat where he could see
right out over the landscape.
“It is a beautiful day,” said the lady.
“Yes,” he replied.
“Maurice,” she said, after
a pause, “you must know that I am very much
attached to you.”
“You have always been extremely good to me,”
he answered.
“I am attached to you; it is
easy to be good to those one loves. I have never
had a child of my own; you stand to me in the place
of a son.”
“But in reality I am not related to you,”
he answered.
She frowned slightly.
“There are relations of the
heart,” she said then. “You have touched
my heart. There is nothing I would not do for
you.”
Again he said: “You are very kind.”
She was silent for half a minute, then she proceeded:
“You are my heir.”
He fidgeted.
“Do not speak until I have finished.
I do not like to be interrupted. You are my heir,
and I mean to settle upon you immediately one thousand
pounds a year for your own expenses. You can do
what you please with that money.”
“It is a great deal too much,” he said.
“It is not; it is what you ought
to have. You can give some of it to your mother not
a great deal, but a little and the rest
you can spend on yourself, or you can hoard it, just
as you like.”
“I shall not hoard it,” he answered, and
his face flushed.
“It will be yours from next
month. I am expecting my lawyer, Mr. Wiltshire,
to call here this afternoon. Several matters have
to be arranged. Maurice, you will live with me
for the present; that is, until you marry.”
“I do not mean to marry,” he answered.
“All young men say that,”
she replied. “You will marry as others do.
You will fall in love and you will marry. I shall
be very glad indeed to welcome your wife. She
shall have the best and most affectionate welcome
from me, and I will treat her as though she were my
daughter: just as I treat you, Maurice, as though
you were my real son.”
“But I cannot forget that I
am not your son,” he answered. “Mrs.
Aylmer, there is something I must say.”
His words disturbed her for a moment;
she did not speak, but looked at him in a puzzled
manner; then she said: “If you have something
disagreeable to tell me (and I cannot imagine what
it is), at least hear my point of view first.
I am particularly anxious that you should marry.
As my heir, you are already comparatively rich, and
your expectations are excellent. You will have
at my death a very large income. You will also
be the owner of this fine property. Now, I should
like you to marry, and I should like you to marry
wealth.”
“Why so? How unfair!” said the young
man.
“It is a wish of mine.
Wealth attracts wealth. There is a girl whom I
have heard of whom I have, I believe, some
years ago seen a very sweet, very graceful,
very pretty girl. Her name is Miss Sharston.
She was poor, but I have lately heard that Sir John
Wallis, the owner of Cherry Court Park, in Buckinghamshire,
is going to make her his heiress. She is coming
on a visit here. I cannot, of course, force your
inclination, Maurice; but if by any chance you and
Catherine Sharston should take a fancy to each other,
it would be a union after my own heart.”
“Thank you,” he answered.
He rose immediately to his feet. “You are
treating me with your customary liberality. You
have always been most liberal, most generous.
I am the son of a widow with very small means.
My father was strictly a man of honour. He was
a soldier, and he fell in his country’s cause.
I hope that, although he could not leave me gold,
he could and did leave me honour. I cannot afford
to have my honour tarnished.”
“Maurice! I tarnish your
honour! You really make very extraordinary insinuations.
What does this mean?”
“You didn’t think about
it, dear friend; it has not occurred to you to look
at it in this light, but, believe me, such is the case.”
“Maurice!”
“I only knew of it lately,”
he continued, “and by an accident. You want
to give me a great deal of money now; you want to leave
me a large sum of money in the future. You propose
that I shall if possible marry a girl who is also
to be very rich. That is a subject which cannot
even be discussed. I do not think, whatever happens,
that I could marry any girl I did not love. If
this girl comes here, I shall of course be glad to
make her acquaintance, but I do not think it is right
or just to her to mention such a subject in connection
with her name. But to proceed to other matters.
If I were to accept your offer just as you have made
it, I should perhaps be able to spend my money, and
perhaps in a fashion to enjoy it, but I should no
longer feel happy when my brave father’s name
was mentioned, nor should I feel happy when I looked
into the eyes of my real mother.”
“Go on, Maurice; this is very
quixotic, very extraordinary, and, let me add, very
fatiguing,” said Mrs. Aylmer. “I make
you the best offer I have ever made to anybody, and
even you, my dear boy, must recognise limits in our
intercourse.”
“I ought not to be your heir,”
he said; “I will come to the point at once.
You ought not to leave your money to me; it is not
just nor right.”
“And pray may I not leave my money to whom I
please?”
“You ought not to leave it to me; you ought
to leave it to Miss Aylmer.”
“Miss Aylmer! What Miss Aylmer?”
“Her name is Florence.
I met her in London. I met her also at Dawlish.
She is very poor. She is a brave girl, independent,
with courage and ability. She is about to make
a striking success in the world of literature; but
she is poor poor almost to the point of
starvation. Why should she be so struggling,
and why should I, who am no relative of yours, inherit
all this wealth? It won’t do, Mrs. Aylmer;
and, what is more, I won’t have it.”
Mrs. Aylmer was so absolutely astonished
that she did not speak at all for a moment.
“You are mad,” she said then slowly.
“No, I am not mad: I am
sane. I shall be very glad to receive a little
help from you. I shall be your devoted son in
all but name, but I do not want your money: I
mean I don’t want any longer to be your heir.
Give your wealth to Florence Aylmer, and forget that
you have made this suggestion to me. Believe
me, you will be happy if you do so.”
“Are you in love with this girl?”
said Mrs. Aylmer slowly.
“You have no right to ask the
question; but I will answer it. I do not think
I am in love with her. I believe I am actuated
by a sense of justice. I want you to do justice
to this girl, and I want to give you in return my
undying gratitude and undying respect.”
“Indeed; what valuable possessions!
Now, my dear Maurice, you have just gone a step too
far. As you have spoken of Florence Aylmer, I
will tell you something about her. There was
a time when I intended to leave her my money.
I intended to adopt her, to educate her, to bring her
out as my niece and heiress. She herself by her
own unworthy conduct prevented my doing so. She
acted in a most dishonourable way. I will not
tell you what she did, but if you wish to know farther
go and see Sir John Wallis, of Cherry Court Park,
and ask him what he thinks of Florence Aylmer.”
“Then you refuse to do what I ask?”
“I utterly and absolutely refuse
to leave Florence Aylmer one halfpenny of my money;
and, what is more, the thousand a year which I intend
to settle on you will be only given on condition that
you do not help Florence Aylmer with one penny of
it. Do not answer me now. You are young
and impulsive; not a word more at present. I will
ask Mr. Wiltshire to postpone his visit for three
months. During that time you can consider matters.
During that time I expect everything to go on just
as usual. During part of that time Miss Sharston
and her father and also Sir John Wallis will be my
guests. At the end of that time I will again
have an interview with you. But unless you promise
to give up your present mad ideas, and to let Miss
Aylmer pursue her own career, unhelped by you, unmolested
by you, I shall find another heir or heiress for my
property.”
“I don’t want the time
to consider,” said Maurice, whose face now was
white with suppressed feeling. “Let your
lawyer come now, Mrs. Aylmer; my mind is made up.”
“I will not take your decision
now, you foolish boy. You are bound, because
of my kindness in the past, to take three months to
consider this matter. But leave me; I am tired.”