Benjamin Farjeon - Toilers of Babylon - A Novel

"I mean that."

"In what respect is this Mr. Loveday a gentleman? Does he come of an old family?"

"I do not know."

"Do you know anything of his family?"

"Nothing."

"Is he a man of means?"

"No."

"A poor man, then?"

"Yes."

"Very poor?"

"Very poor."

"And travels about in a broken-down caravan, and you wish me to believe he is a gentleman. I would prefer to take your word, Kingsley, against that of my informant, but in this instance I cannot do so. It would be stretching the limits too far."

"We will not argue it out, father."

"Very well. But Mr. Loveday does not travel alone in this caravan; he has a person he calls his daughter with him."

"It is coming," thought Kingsley, and he set his teeth fast, and said': "His daughter, a lady, travels with him."

"So far, then, my facts are indisputable. This young woman is described to me as an artful, designing person who has used all her arts to entangle you-because you have a rich father."

"Who dares say that?" cried Kingsley, starting up with flashing eyes.

"My informant. I understand, also, that some months since she contracted secretly a disreputable marriage, and that her husband-do not interrupt me for a moment, Kingsley-has conveniently disappeared in order to give her time to bleed you, through your rich father. To go through the ceremony again would be a light matter with her."

"It is a horrible calumny," cried Kingsley, in great excitement.

"Although," pursued Mr. Manners, exhibiting no agitation in his voice or manner, "the circumstances of my own private life have not made me personally familiar with the tricks of adventuresses, I have in the course of my experiences learned sufficient of them to make me abhor them. How much deeper must be my abhorrence now when such a woman steps in between me and my son to destroy a cherished design which can only be carried out in his person! I will listen to no vindication, Kingsley. Before you arrived home to-night I had a strong hope that some mistake had been made in the information which has reached me concerning your proceedings. I was wrong; it is unhappily too true."

"You received the information from an enemy of mine."

"No, Kingsley, from a friend."

"Ah!" There was here, even in the utterance of the simple word, a singular resemblance between father and son. Kingsley's voice no longer betrayed excitement, and his manner became outwardly calm. "There is only one so-called friend who could have supplied you with the information-my cousin, Mark Inglefield."

Mr. Manners was silent.

"Was it he, sir?" asked Kingsley.

Still Mr. Manners was silent.

"I judge from your silence, sir, that Mark Inglefield is the man I have to thank."

During his silence Mr. Manners had been considering.

"I must say something here, Kingsley. I have no right to betray another man's confidence, and you no right to betray mine."

"It would be the last of my wishes, father."

"If I tell you who is my informant, will you hold it as a sacred confidence?"

It was Kingsley's turn now to consider. He was convinced that Mark Inglefield was his enemy, and by giving his father the desired promise of a sacred confidence, he would be shutting himself off from all chance of reprisal. On the other hand, he might be mistaken; and his father might also refuse to continue the interview, which Kingsley felt could not be broken at this point; and after all, how could he hope to help himself or Nansie by a personal encounter with his cousin or by further angering his father, who, he knew only too well, was now in a dangerous mood?

"Do you insist upon my holding it as a sacred confidence, father?"

"I insist upon it," said Mr. Manners, coldly.

"I will hold it so."

"On your honor as a man? Not as a gentleman, for our views differ there."

"On my honor as a man."

"You were right," said Mr. Manners. "I received the information from your cousin, Mark Inglefield."

"As I expected. I must now relate to you, father, the circumstances of my acquaintance with Mr. Loveday and his daughter, and the manner in which my cousin Mark comes into connection with it."

"I will listen to you, Kingsley," said Mr. Manners. "Our conversation has assumed a complexion which may be productive of the most serious results to you and myself. I do not hold this out as a threat; I state a fact. I am, in my convictions, inflexible. Once I am resolved, no power on earth can move me. And do not lose sight of another thing. Mark Inglefield is your mother's nephew, and therefore your cousin. That I have given him the advantage of a university education, and that I sent you both to college at the same time, is my affair. I should have done the same by you had you been my nephew and he my son. It was always my intention to advance him in life, and it is my intention still. He is worthy of it. He is your equal in birth and attainments. Therefore speak of him with becoming respect. I shall know the exact value to place upon intemperate language in a case like this, where the passions are involved."

"I will do my best to obey you, father," said Kingsley, "but a pure reputation is at stake, and I may fail in my endeavor. It was my cousin, Mark Inglefield, who first introduced me to Miss Loveday. He spoke to me of her, as he spoke to others, in a light tone, and I do not know what it was that induced me to give ear to his boastings, although I entertained a contempt for him and a doubt of his truth. One day, while we were walking together and he was indulging with greater freedom and boisterousness than usual-though his ordinary habit was bad enough-of his acquaintanceship with Miss Loveday, it happened that we met her. He could do no less than introduce me, and I had not been in her company five minutes before I suspected that his vaporings about her were those of a base man, of one who was dead to honor. A true man is respectful and modest when he makes reference to a lady for whom he entertains an affection, and the doubts I had previously entertained of my cousin when he indulged in the outpourings of his coarse vanity were now confirmed. I followed up the introduction by courting Miss Loveday's intimacy, and she grew to respect me, to rely upon me. The more I saw of her the more I esteemed her. Never had I met a lady so pure and gentle, and it was a proud moment in my life when she asked me to protect her from my cousin's insolent advances. I spoke to him, in a manner not too gentle, I own, for my indignation was aroused, and from that time he and I were enemies. I know it now; I did not know it then. He was far too subtle for me, and I, perhaps too much in the habit of wearing my heart upon my sleeve, was, as I now discover, sadly at a disadvantage with him. He showed no anger at my supplanting him, and this should have warned me; your cold-blooded man is a dangerous animal when he becomes your enemy; but I suppose I was too deeply in love and too happy to harbor suspicion against one who had no real cause for enmity against me. Nor did I consider the consequences-not to myself but to the lady I loved-of my frequent visits and meetings with her. There is no doubt that she was compromised by them, but she was as guileless and innocent as myself, and it was not till it was forced upon me that her reputation was in my hands that I prevailed upon her to take the step which gave the lie to malicious rumor."

"And that step, Kingsley?" asked Mr. Manners.

"I married her. She is my wife."

"You think so?"

"Think so, father! What do you mean? Am I a man with reason, gifted with some standard of intelligence, that I should think-which implies a doubt-where I am sure?"

"You are a man deluded, Kingsley, as other men have been by other women. This woman has deceived you."

"No, sir, truly as I live."