Sketches in Lavender, Blue and Green | Page 4

press his forehead to the window-pane. Accustomed to bid for
what he wanted, he offered his price. The Eppington family was poor
and numerous. The girl, bred up to the false notions of duty inculcated
by a narrow conventionality, and, feminine like, half in love with
martyrdom for its own sake, let her father bargain for a higher price,
and then sold herself.
To a drama of this description, a lover is necessary, if the complications
are to be of interest to the outside world. Harry Sennett, a
pleasant-looking enough young fellow, in spite of his receding chin,
was possessed, perhaps, of more good intention than sense. Under the
influence of Edith's stronger character he was soon persuaded to
acquiesce meekly in the proposed arrangement. Both succeeded in
convincing themselves that they were acting nobly. The tone of the
farewell interview, arranged for the eve of the wedding, would have
been fit and proper to the occasion had Edith been a modern Joan of
Arc about to sacrifice her own happiness on the altar of a great cause;
as the girl was merely selling herself into ease and luxury, for no higher
motive than the desire to enable a certain number of more or less
worthy relatives to continue living beyond their legitimate means, the
sentiment was perhaps exaggerated. Many tears were shed, and many

everlasting good-byes spoken, though, seeing that Edith's new home
would be only a few streets off, and that of necessity their social set
would continue to be the same, more experienced persons might have
counselled hope. Three months after the marriage they found
themselves side by side at the same dinner-table; and after a little
melodramatic fencing with what they were pleased to regard as fate,
they accommodated themselves to the customary positions.
Blake was quite aware that Sennett had been Edith's lover. So had half
a dozen other men, some younger, some older than himself. He felt no
more embarrassment at meeting them than, standing on the pavement
outside the Stock Exchange, he would have experienced greeting his
brother jobbers after a settling day that had transferred a fortune from
their hands into his. Sennett, in particular, he liked and encouraged.
Our whole social system, always a mystery to the philosopher, owes its
existence to the fact that few men and women possess sufficient
intelligence to be interesting to themselves. Blake liked company, but
not much company liked Blake. Young Sennett, however, could always
be relied upon to break the tediousness of the domestic dialogue. A
common love of sport drew the two men together. Most of us improve
upon closer knowledge, and so they came to find good in one another.
"That is the man you ought to have married," said Blake one night to
his wife, half laughingly, half seriously, as they sat alone, listening to
Sennett's departing footsteps echoing upon the deserted pavement.
"He's a good fellow--not a mere money-grubbing machine like me."
And a week later Sennett, sitting alone with Edith, suddenly broke out
with:
"He's a better man than I am, with all my high-falutin' talk, and, upon
my soul, he loves you. Shall I go abroad?"
"If you like," was the answer.
"What would you do?"
"Kill myself," replied the other, with a laugh, "or run away with the
first man that asked me."
So Sennett stayed on.
Blake himself had made the path easy to them. There was little need for
either fear or caution. Indeed, their safest course lay in recklessness,
and they took it. To Sennett the house was always open. It was Blake
himself who, when unable to accompany his wife, would suggest

Sennett as a substitute. Club friends shrugged their shoulders. Was the
man completely under his wife's thumb; or, tired of her, was he playing
some devil's game of his own? To most of his acquaintances the latter
explanation seemed the more plausible.
The gossip, in due course, reached the parental home. Mrs. Eppington
shook the vials of her wrath over the head of her son-in- law. The father,
always a cautious man, felt inclined to blame his child for her want of
prudence.
"She'll ruin everything," he said. "Why the devil can't she be careful?"
"I believe the man is deliberately plotting to get rid of her," said Mrs.
Eppington. "I shall tell him plainly what I think."
"You're a fool, Hannah," replied her husband, allowing himself the
licence of the domestic hearth. "If you are right, you will only
precipitate matters; if you are wrong, you will tell him what there is no
need for him to know. Leave the matter to me. I can sound him without
giving anything away, and meanwhile you talk to Edith."
So matters were arranged, but the interview between mother and
daughter hardly improved the position.