GEORGE SHAW - The Complete Works

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Next morning Mr. Lind rose before his daughter was astir, and went to his club, where he breakfasted. He then went to the offices in Queen Victoria Street. Finding the board-room unoccupied, he sat down there, and said to one of the clerks:

“Go and tell Mr. Conolly that I desire to speak to him, if he is disengaged. And if anyone wants to come in, say that I am busy here. I do not wish to be disturbed for half an hour or so.”

“Yes, sir,” said the clerk, departing. A minute later, he returned, and said: “Mr. Conly is disengaged; and he says will you be so good as to come to his room, sir.”

“I told you to ask him to come here,” said Mr. Lind.

“Well, thats what he said, sir,” said the clerk, speaking in official

Board School English. “Shloy gow to him and tell him again?”

“No, no: it does not matter,” said Mr. Lind, and walked out through the office. The clerk held the door open for him, and carefully closed it when he had passed through.

“Ow, oy sy!” cried the clerk. “This is fawn, this is.”

“Wots the row?” said another clerk.

“Woy, owld Lind sends me in to Conly to cam in to him into the board-room. ‘Aw right,’ says Conly, ‘awsk him to cam in eah to me.’ You should ‘a seen the owld josser’s feaches wnoy towld im. ‘Oyd zoyred jou to sy e was to cam in eah to me.’ ‘Shloy gow and tell him again?’ I says, as cool as ennything. ‘Now,’ says he, ‘Oil gow myself.’ Thets wot Aw loike in Conly. He tikes tham fellers dahn wen they troy it on owver im.”

Meanwhile, Mr. Lind went to Conolly’s room; returned his greeting by a dignified inclination of the head; and accepted, with a cold “Thank you,” the chair offered him. Conolly, who had received him cordially, checked himself. There was a pause, during which Mr. Lind lost countenance a little. Then Conolly sat down, and waited.

“Ahem!” said Mr. Lind. “I have to speak to you with — with reference to — to a — a matter which has accidentally come to my knowledge. It would be painful and unnecessary — quite unnecessary, to go into particulars.”

Conolly remained politely attentive, but said nothing. Mr. Lind began to feel very angry, but this helped him to the point.

“I merely wish — that is, I quite wish you to understand that any intimacy that may have arisen between you and — and a member of my family must — must, in short, be considered to be at an end. My daughter is — I may tell you — engaged to Mr. Sholto Douglas, whom you know; and therefore — you understand.”

“Mr. Lind,” said Conolly, decisively: “your daughter is engaged to me.”

Mr. Lind lost his temper, and rose, exclaiming, “I beg you will not repeat that, either here or elsewhere.”

“Pray be seated,” said Conolly courteously.

“I have nothing more to say, sir.”

Conolly rose, as though the interview were at an end, and seemed to wait for his visitor to go.

“We understand one another, I presume,” said Mr. Lind, dubiously.

“Not quite, I think,” said Conolly, relenting. “I should suggest our discussing the matter in full, now that we have a favorable opportunity — if you will be so good.”

Mr. Lind sat down, and said with condescension, “I am quite willing to listen to you.”

“Thank you,” said Conolly. “Will you tell me what your objections are to my engagement with your daughter?”

“I had hoped, sir, that your common sense and knowledge of the world would have rendered an explanation superfluous.”

“They havnt,” said Conolly.

Mr. Lind rose to boiling point again. “Oh, Mr. Conolly, I assure you I have no objection to explain myself: none whatever. I merely wished to spare you as far as possible. Since you insist on my mentioning what I think you must be perfectly well aware of, I can only say that from the point of view of English society our positions are different; and therefore an engagement between you and any member of my family is unsuitable, and — in short — out of the question, however advantageous it might be to you. That is all.”

Mr. Lind considered he had had the better of that, and leaned back in his chair more confidently. Conolly smiled and shook his head, appreciative of the clearness with which Mr. Lind had put his case, but utterly unmoved by it. He considered for a moment, and then said, weighing his words carefully:

“Your daughter, with her natural refinement and delicate habits, is certainly not fit to be married to a foul-mouthed fellow, ignorant, dirty, besotted, and out of place in any company except at the bar in a public house. That is probably your idea of a workman. But the fact of her having consented to marry me is a proof that I do not answer to any such description. As you have hinted, it will be an advantage to me in some ways to have a lady for my wife; but I should have no difficulty in purchasing that advantage, even with my present means, which I expect to increase largely in the course of some years. Do you not underrate your daughter’s personal qualities when you assume that it was her position that induced me to seek her hand?”

“I am quite aware of my daughter’s personal advantages. They are additional reasons against her contracting an imprudent marriage.”

“Precisely. But in what respect would her marriage with me be imprudent? I possess actual competence, and a prospect of wealth. I come of a long lived and healthy family. My name is, beyond comparison, more widely known than yours. [Mr. Lind recoiled]. I now find myself everywhere treated with a certain degree of consideration, which an alliance with your daughter will not diminish.”

“In fact, you are conferring a great honor on my family by condescending to marry into it?”

“I dont understand that way of looking at things, Mr. Lind; and so I leave you to settle the question of honor as you please. But you must not condemn me for putting my position in the best possible light in order to reconcile you to an inevitable fact.”

“What do you mean by an inevitable fact, sir?”

“My marriage, of course. I assure you that it will take place.”

“But I shall not permit it to take place. Do you think to ignore me in the matter?”

“Practically so. If you give your consent, I shall be glad for the sake of Marian, who will be gratified by it. But if you withhold it, we must dispense with it. By opposing us, you will simply — by making Marian’s home unbearable to her — precipitate the wedding.” Conolly, under the influence of having put the case neatly, here relaxed his manner so far as to rest his elbows on the table and look pleasantly at his visitor.

“Do you know to whom you are speaking?” said Mr. Lind, driven by rage and a growing fear of defeat into desperate self-assertion.

“I am speaking,” said Conolly with a smile, “to my future father-in-law.”

“I am a director of this company, of which you are the servant, as you shall find to your cost if you persist in holding insulting language to me.”

“If I found any director of this company allowing other than strictly business considerations to influence him at the Board, I should insist on his resigning.”

Mr. Lind looked at him severely, then indignantly, then unsteadily, without moving him in the least. At last he said, more humbly: “I hope you will not abuse your position, Mr. Conolly. I do not know whether you have sufficient influence over Marian to induce her to defy me; but however that may be, I appeal to your better feelings. Put yourself in my place. If you had an only daughter — —”

“Excuse my interrupting you,” said Conolly, gently; “but that will not advance the argument unless you put yourself in mine. Besides, I am pledged to Marian. If she asks me to break off the match, I shall release her instantly.”