Life — September 21, 1899 — page 7: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

“LIE us,” said this astounding old man, manceuvring to get at his strong box. The Asbfords and Vanes have always picked their wives regardless of dowry, unlike some of the musbroom families, who, having purchased their names in the seventeenth century, flaunt ’em about the market place in the nincteenth. And many a simple Ameri- can has gotten bally little for his money. “That's a detail,” said the old gentleman, tapping bis eye- glasses on the back of hischair. ‘* Of course an extra hundred thousand or so a year would come in handy, but there is something of greater importance to be considered.” “T have written to my father,” I explained hastily, and am expecting an answer by the next steamer,” “Thave come, Mr. Dent, to propose for the hand of your daughter.’ “* What has he got to do with it?” was the astonishing ques- tion that greeted me. “Everything,” I replied. ‘No Vane ever takes a step of the importance of this without consulting the head of the family.” His gray eyes were twinkling at me again. ‘And what does Mabel think of being a prospective coun- tess?” he asked, a bit crudely, I thought. “My dear sir,” ejaculated I, ‘tyou don’t for a moment think that I have addressed your daughter on this subject?” “You haven't asked her yet?” he cried, almost rising in his chair, - “ How could I,” questioned I, completely at sea, ‘‘ without your permission?” “My permission! do with it, Nor has your father. Good heavens! J haven't anything to You're not going to marry 227 “Goto Mabel. She's the party most concerned.” “You mean it?” sald I; grasping bis hand. “Absolutely. I have no objection to the English nobility if Mabel hasn't,” he replied. ‘That's awfully good of you,” said I, feeling that he had made some tremendous exception in my favor, And I dined contentedly that night for the first time in a month. IL. HE had left town for a fortnight, and after a day or so of mooning about the deserted strects and clubs—they seemed deserted—hoping at least for some word from the governor, I could stand it no longer and wrote her. Iam not much on letters, but 1 managed to tell her my income and position, that her father had given me permission to address her, and that I was expecting hourly from my father parental sanction of my choice, and, of course, that'I loved her. The letter once off, I had threeshivery days of suspense, and fairly dreaded. the sight of Trench in the mornings with letters in his hand, I was breakfasting one morning about a week after my curious interview with ‘i old Dent when he handed me the gover- R nor’s letter. The seal was broken with eager fingers, and the coffee cooled while Tread: “My Drag Son: The astonishing in- formation in your last letter has delayed the answer, the purport of which you could have had little doubt. Thank God, Gerald, the house of Asbford und Vane needs not a parvenue penny. It stands solidly on the foundations that your ancestors builded four centuries ago; and when Iam called to pass my trust on to you, it will be with the knowledge that an Ashford and a Vane yields to an Ashford and a Vane his talents well used, Give up any further thought of this preposterous mesalliance. 1 command it; and either return home or proceed on your journey. With affectionate esteem, “Your father, ** ASHFORD.” The paper fluttered from my hand, and I felt as if ice had. been poured into my veins, Blank dismay must have shone from my face, for Trench inquired uneasily: ‘* Nothing wrong at home I hope, my lord?” “Nothing, Trench, nothing,” I managed to say. Tl ring if I want you,” and he discreetly Jeft me. If Iread the letter once I read it fifty times during the next two hours, with always the same inexorable result. I felt like one jolted by a blow. I paced the room in vicious impo- tence. I knew my father’s indomitable will; I knew that, whether or no, I would inevitably yield. It is the tradition of the house. But the beginning and end of the impossible circle around which my thoughts hurled themselves was she, My abasement was nothing; it was the poor, unprotected girl “ Go,