FullReads

“You have written four merry comedies and you were the first gentleman in England to wear a neckcloth of Flanders lace,” she answered, and her smile was sadder than weeping.

“And you were the first person of quality to eat cheese-cakes in Spring Garden. There you have our epitaphs, if we in truth have earned an epitaph who have not ever lived.”

“No, we have only laughed–Laugh now, for the last time, and hearten me, my handsome William! And yet could I but come to God,” the woman said, with a new voice, “and make it clear to Him just how it all fell out, and beg for one more chance! How heartily I would pray then!”

“And I would cry Amen to all that prayer must of necessity contain,” he answered. “Oh!” said Wycherley, “just for applause and bodily comfort and the envy of innumerable other fools we two have bartered a great heritage! I think our corner of the world will lament us for as much as a week; but I fear lest Heaven may not condescend to set apart the needful time wherein to frame a suitable chastisement for such poor imbeciles. Olivia, I have loved you all my life, and I have been faithful neither to you nor to myself! I love you so that I am not afraid even now, since you are here, and so entirely that I have forgotten how to plead my cause convincingly. And I have had practice, let me tell you. . . . !” Then he shook his head and smiled. “But candor is not a la mode. See, now, to what outmoded and bucolic frenzies nature brings even us at last.”

She answered only, as she motioned seaward, “Look!”

And what Mr. Wycherley saw was a substantial boat rowed by four of Mr. Minifie’s attendants; and in the bow of the vessel sat that wounded gentleman himself, regarding Wycherley and Lady Drogheda with some disfavor; and beside the younger man was Mistress Araminta Vining.

It was a perturbed Minifie who broke the silence. “This is very awkward,” he said, “because Araminta and I are eloping. We mean to be married this same night at Milanor. And deuce take it, Mr. Wycherley! I can’t leave you there to drown, any more than in the circumstances I can ask you to make one of the party.”

“Mr. Wycherley,” said his companion, with far more asperity, “the vanity and obduracy of a cruel father have forced me to the adoption of this desperate measure. Toward yourself I entertain no ill-feeling, nor indeed any sentiment at all except the most profound contempt. My aunt will, of course, accompany us; for yourself, you will do as you please; but in any event I solemnly protest that I spurn your odious pretensions, release myself hereby from an enforced and hideous obligation, and in a phrase would not marry you in order to be Queen of England.”

“Miss Vining, I had hitherto admired you,” the beau replied, with fervor, “but now esteem is changed to adoration.”

Then he turned to his Olivia. “Madam, you will pardon the awkward but unavoidable publicity of my proceeding. I am a ruined man. I owe your brother-in-law some L1500, and, oddly enough, I mean to pay him. I must sell Jephcot and Skene Minor, but while life lasts I shall keep Bessington and all its memories. Meanwhile there is a clergyman waiting at Milanor. So marry me to-night, Olivia; and we will go back to Bessington to-morrow.”

“To Bessington—-!” she said. It was as though she spoke of something very sacred. Then very musically Lady Drogheda laughed, and to the eye she was all flippancy. “La, William, I can’t bury myself in the country until the end of time,” she said, “and make interminable custards,” she added, “and superintend the poultry,” she said, “and for recreation play short whist with the vicar.”