THE DOUBLE-BLOSSOM WILD CHERRY-TREE
Sir Willoughby chose a moment when Clara was with him and he had a good
retreat through folding-windows to the lawn, in case of cogency on the
enemy's part, to attack his cousin regarding the preposterous plot to
upset the family by a scamper to London: "By the way, Vernon, what is
this you've been mumbling to everybody save me, about leaving us to
pitch yourself into the stew-pot and be made broth of? London is no
better, and you are fit for considerably better. Don't, I beg you, continue to annoy me. Take a run abroad, if you are restless. Take two or three months, and join us as we are travelling home; and then think of settling, pray. Follow my example, if you like. You can have one of my cottages, or a place built for you. Anything to keep a man from destroying the sense of stability about one. In London, my dear old fellow, you lose your identity. What are you there? I ask you, what? One has the feeling of the house crumbling when a man is perpetually for shifting and cannot fix himself. Here you are known, you can study at your ease; up in London you are nobody; I tell you honestly, I feel it myself, a week of London literally drives me home to discover the individual where I left him. Be advised. You don't mean to go."
"I have the intention," said Vernon.
"Why?"
"I've mentioned it to you."
"To my face?"
"Over your shoulder is generally the only chance you give me."
"You have not mentioned it to me, to my knowledge. As to the reason, I
might hear a dozen of your reasons, and I should not understand one. It's against your interests and against my wishes. Come, friend, I am not the only one you distress. Why, Vernon, you yourself have said that the English would be very perfect Jews if they could manage to live on the patriarchal system. You said it, yes, you said it!—but I recollect it clearly. Oh, as for your double-meanings, you said the thing, and you jeered at the incapacity of English families to live together, on account of bad temper; and now you are the first to break up our union! I decidedly do not profess to be a perfect Jew, but I do . . ."
Sir Willoughby caught signs of a probably smiling commerce between his
bride and his cousin. He raised his face, appeared to be consulting his
eyelids, and resolved to laugh: "Well, I own it. I do like the idea of
living patriarchally." He turned to Clara. "The Rev. Doctor one of
us!"
"My father?" she said.
"Why not?"
"Papa's habits are those of a scholar."
"That you might not be separated from him, my dear!"
Clara thanked Sir Willoughby for the kindness of thinking of her
father, mentally analysing the kindness, in which at least she found no
unkindness, scarcely egoism, though she knew it to be there.
"We might propose it," said he.
"As a compliment?"
"If he would condescend to accept it as a compliment. These great
scholars! . . . And if Vernon goes, our inducement for Dr. Middleton to
stay . . . But it is too absurd for discussion . . . Oh, Vernon, about
Master Crossjay; I will see to it."
He was about to give Vernon his shoulder and step into the garden, when
Clara said, "You will have Crossjay trained for the navy, Willoughby? There is not a day to lose."
"Yes, yes; I will see to it. Depend on me for holding the young rascal
in view."
He presented his hand to her to lead her over the step to the gravel, surprised to behold how flushed she was.
She responded to the invitation by putting her hand forth from a bent
elbow, with hesitating fingers. "It should not be postponed, Willoughby."
Her attitude suggested a stipulation before she touched him.
"It's an affair of money, as you know, Willoughby," said Vernon. "If
I'm in London, I can't well provide for the boy for some time to come, or it's not certain that I can."
"Why on earth should you go?"
"That's another matter. I want you to take my place with him."
"In which case the circumstances are changed. I am responsible for him, and I have a right to bring him up according to my own prescription."
"We are likely to have one idle lout the more."
"I guarantee to make a gentleman of him."
"We have too many of your gentlemen already."
"You can't have enough, my good Vernon."
"They're the national apology for indolence. Training a penniless boy
to be one of them is nearly as bad as an education in a thieves' den; he will be just as much at war with society, if not game for the police."