The Hoyden | Page 4

such a home!" says she.
"Not a word, not a word," entreats Lady Rylton graciously. "But to
return to Maurice. I shall expect you to help me in this matter, Marian."
"Naturally."
"I have quite understood your relations with Maurice during the past
year. One, as a matter of course," with a shrug of her dainty shoulders,
"lets the nearest man make love to one---- But Maurice must marry for
money, and so must you."
"You are all wisdom," says Marian, showing her lovely teeth. "And this
girl? She has been here a week now, but as yet you have told me
nothing about her."
"I picked her up!" says Lady Rylton. She lays down her fan--looks
round her in a little mysterious fashion, as though to make doubly sure
of the apparent fact that there is no one in the room but her niece and
herself. "It was the most providential thing," she says; "I was staying at
the Warburtons' last month, and one day when driving their abominable
ponies along the road, suddenly the little beasts took fright and bolted.
You know the Warburtons, don't you? They haven't an ounce of
manners between them--themselves, or their ponies, or anything else
belonging to them. Well! They tore along as if possessed----"
"The Warburtons?"
"No, the ponies; don't be silly?"
"Such a relief!"

"And I really think they would have taken me over a precipice. You can
see"--holding out her exquisite little hands--"how inadequate these
would be to deal with the Warburton ponies. But for the timely help of
an elderly gentleman and a young girl--she looked a mere child----"
"This Miss Bolton?"
"Yes. The old gentleman caught the ponies' heads--so did the girl. You
know my slender wrists--they were almost powerless from the strain,
but that _girl!_ her wrists seemed made of iron. She held and held, until
the little wretches gave way and returned to a sense of decency."
"Perhaps they are made of iron. Her people are in trade, you say? It is
iron, or buttons, or what?"
"I don't know, I'm sure, but at all events she is an heiress to quite a
tremendous extent. Two hundred thousand pounds, the Warburtons told
me afterwards; even allowing for exaggeration, still, she must be worth
a good deal, and poor dear Maurice, what is he worth?"
"Is it another riddle?" asks Mrs. Bethune.
"No, no, indeed! The answer is plain to all the world. The Warburtons
didn't know these people, these Boltons (so silly of them, with a third
son still unmarried), but when I heard of her money I made inquiries. It
appeared that she lived with her uncle. Her father had died early, when
she was quite young. Her mother was dead too; this last was a great
comfort. And the uncle had kept her in seclusion all her life. They are
nobodies, dear Marian! Nobodies at all, but that girl has two hundred
thousand pounds, and can redeem the property of all its mortgages--if
only Maurice will let her do it."
"But how did you ask her here?"
"How? What is simpler? The moment the Warburtons told me of the
wealth that would be that girl's on her marriage (I was careful to make
sure of the marriage point), I felt that an overpowering sense of
gratitude compelled me to go and call on her. She and her uncle were
new-comers in that county, and--it is very exclusive--so that when I did
arrive, I was received with open arms. I was charming to the old uncle,
a frosty sort of person, but not objectionable in any way, and I at once
asked the niece to pay me a visit. They were flattered, the uncle
especially so; I expect he had been wanting to get into Society--and as
for the girl, she seemed overcome with delight! A very second-class
little creature I thought her. No style! No suppression of her real

feelings! She said at once how glad she would be to come to me; she
gave me the impression that she would be glad to get away from her
uncle! No idea of hiding anything! So strange!"
"Strange enough to be almost a fresh fashion. Fancy her saying she
would be glad to come to _you!_ No wonder you were startled!"
"Well, she's here," says Lady Rylton, furling her fan. Mrs. Bethune's
little sarcasm has been lost upon her. "And now, how to use her?
Maurice, though I have thrust the idea upon him, seems averse to it."
"The idea?"
"Of marrying her, of course, and so redeeming himself. She is not what
I would have chosen for him, I admit that; but all things must give way
before the ruin that threatens us."
"Yes; true--all things," says Mrs. Bethune in a low tone.
"You see that.