We have been obliged to anticipate in some degree the course of our story by the necessity which weighed upon us of completing the history of Polly Neefit. In regard to her we will only further express an opinion,—in which we believe that we shall have the concurrence of our readers,—that Mr. Moggs junior had chosen well. Her story could not be adequately told without a revelation of that correspondence, which, while it has explained the friendly manner in which the Neefit-Newton embarrassments were at last brought to an end, has, at the same time, disclosed the future lot in life of our hero,—as far as a hero\'s lot in life may be said to depend on his marriage.
Mr. Neefit had been almost heart-broken, because he was not satisfied that his victim was really punished by any of those tortures which his imagination invented, and his energy executed. Even when the "pretty little man" was smashed, and was, in truth, smashed of malice prepense by a swinging blow from Neefit\'s umbrella, Neefit did not feel satisfied that he would thereby reach his victim\'s heart. He could project his own mind with sufficient force into the bosom of his enemy to understand that the onions and tobacco consumed in that luxurious chamber would cause annoyance;—but he desired more than annoyance;—he wanted to tear the very heart-strings of the young man who had, as he thought, so signally outwitted him. He did not believe that he was successful; but, in truth, he did make poor Ralph very unhappy. The heir felt himself to be wounded, and could not eat and drink, or walk and talk, or ride in the park, or play billiards at his club, in a manner befitting the owner of Newton Priory. He was so injured by Neefit that he became pervious to attacks which would otherwise have altogether failed in reaching him. Lady Eardham would never have prevailed against him as she did,—conquering by a quick repetition of small blows,—had not all his strength been annihilated for the time by the persecutions of the breeches-maker.
Lady Eardham whispered to him as he was taking his departure on the evening of the dinner in Cavendish Square. "Dear Mr. Newton,—just one word," she said, confidentially,—"that must be a very horrid man,"—alluding to Mr. Neefit.
"It\'s a horrid bore, you know, Lady Eardham."
"Just so;—and it makes me feel,—as though I didn\'t quite know whether something ought not to be done. Would you mind calling at eleven to-morrow? Of course I shan\'t tell Sir George,—unless you think he ought to be told." Ralph promised that he would call, though he felt at the moment that Lady Eardham was an interfering old fool. Why should she want to do anything; and why should she give even a hint as to telling Sir George? As he walked across Hanover Square and down Bond Street to his rooms he did assert to himself plainly that the "old harridan," as he called her, was at work for her second girl, and he shook his head and winked his eye as he thought of it. But, even in his solitude, he did not feel strong against Lady Eardham, and he moved along the pavement oppressed by a half-formed conviction that her ladyship would prevail against him. He did not, however, think that he had any particular objection to Gus Eardham. There was a deal of style about the girl, a merit in which either Clarissa or Mary would have been sadly deficient. And there could be no doubt in this,—that a man in his position ought to marry in his own class. The proper thing for him to do was to make the daughter of some country gentleman,—or of some nobleman, just as it might happen,—mistress of the Priory. Dear little Clary would hardly have known how to take her place properly down in Hampshire. And then he thought for a moment of Polly! Perhaps, after all, fate, fashion, and fortune managed marriage for young men better than they could manage it for themselves. What a life would his have been had he really married Polly Neefit! Though he did call Lady Eardham a harridan, he resolved that he would keep his promise for the following morning.
Lady Eardham when he arrived was mysterious, eulogistic, and beneficent. She was clearly of opinion that something should be done. "You know it is so horrid having these kind of things said." And yet she was almost equally strong in opinion that nothing could be done. "You know I wouldn\'t have my girl\'s name brought up for all the world;—though why the horrid wretch should have named her I cannot even guess." The horrid wretch had not, in truth, named any special her, though it suited Lady Eardham to presume that allusion had been made to that hope of the flock, that crowning glory of the Eardham family, that most graceful of the Graces, that Venus certain to be chosen by any Paris, her second daughter, Gus. She went on to explain that were she to tell the story to her son Marmaduke, her son Marmaduke would probably kill the breeches-maker. As Marmaduke Eardham was, of all young men about town, perhaps the most careless, the most indifferent, and the least ferocious, his mother was probably mistaken in her estimate of his resentful feelings. "As for Sir George, he would be for taking the law of the wretch for libel, and then we should be—! I don\'t know where we should be then; but my dear girl would die."
Of course there was nothing done. During the whole interview Lady Eardham continued to press Neefit\'s letter under her hand upon the table, as though it was of all documents the most precious. She handled it as though to tear it would be as bad as to tear an original document bearing the king\'s signature. Before the interview was over she had locked it up in her desk, as though there were something in it by which the whole Eardham race might be blessed or banned. And, though she spoke no such word, she certainly gave Ralph to understand that by this letter he, Ralph Newton, was in some mysterious manner so connected with the secrets, and the interests, and the sanctity of the Eardham family, that, whether such connection might be for weal or woe, the Newtons and the Eardhams could never altogether free themselves from the link. "Perhaps you had better come and dine with us in a family way to-morrow," said Lady Eardham, giving her invitation as though it must necessarily be tendered, and almost necessarily accepted. Ralph, not thanking her, but taking it in the same spirit, said that he would be there at half past seven. "Just ourselves," said Lady Eardham, in a melancholy tone, as though they two were doomed to eat family dinners together for ever after.
"I suppose the property is really his own?" said Lady Eardham to her husband that afternoon.
Sir George was a stout, plethoric gentleman, with a short temper and many troubles. Marmaduke was expensive, and Sir George himself had spent money when he was young. The girls, who knew that they had no fortunes, expected that everything should be done for them, at least during the period of their natural harvest,—and they were successful in having their expectations realised. They demanded that there should be horses to ride, servants to attend them, and dresses to wear; and they had horses, servants, and dresses. There were also younger children; and Sir George was quite as anxious as Lady Eardham that his daughters should become wives. "His own?—of course it\'s his own. Who else should it belong to?"
"There was something about that other young man."
"The bastard! It was the greatest sin that ever was thought of to palm such a fellow as that off on the county;—but it didn\'t come to anything."
"I\'m told, too, he has been very extravagant. No doubt he did get money from the,—the tailor who wants to make him marry his daughter."
"A flea-bite," said Sir George. "Don\'t you bother about that." Thus authorised, Lady Eardham went to the work with a clear conscience and a good will.
On the next morning Ralph received by post an envelope from Sir Thomas Underwood containing a letter addressed to him from Mr. Neefit. "Sir,—Are you going to make your ward act honourable to me and my daughter?—Yours, respectful, Thomas Neefit." The reader will understand that this was prior to Polly\'s triumph over her father. Ralph uttered a deep curse, and made up his mind that he must either throw himself entirely among the Eardhams, or else start at once for the Rocky Mountains. He dined in Cavendish Square that day, and again took Gus down to dinner.
"I\'m very glad to see you here," said Sir George, when they two were alone together after the ladies had left them. Sir George, who had been pressed upon home service because of the necessity of the occasion, was anxious to get off to his club.
"You are very kind, Sir George," said Ralph.
"We shall be delighted to see you at Brayboro\', if you\'ll come for a week in September and look at the girls\' horses. They say you\'re quite a pundit about horseflesh."
"Oh, I don\'t know," said Ralph.
"You\'ll like to go up to the girls now, I dare say, and I\'ve got an engagement." Then Sir George rang the bell for a cab, and Ralph went up-stairs to the girls. Emily had taken herself away; Josephine was playing............