THE EPISODE OF THE EARL

New Zealand Times, Volume LXXI, Issue 4307, 16 March 1901, Page 2 (Supplement)

THE EPISODE OF THE EARL

“My dear child, if you have any real objections to make I shall bo very glad to hear them, but don't be frivolous,” said Mrs Kennet, looking over to the pale, agitated girl in the comer, whose fluttering eyes lowered as they encountered the cold, steady glance of her mother, “Mamma " she faltered, “I don’t mean to he frivolous, really I don’t, but you can’t expect me to hear what you have Juab told me without "Without what?” queried Mrs Kennet, in an even, relentless tone which she fancied was touched by a sweet reasonableness, but which Sibyl Kennet knew, from nineteen year’s experience, was only an expression of mild contempt for the opinion that chanced to differ from hers. Nothing cowed tho child more than this pretence of easy tolerance on her mother’s part, for she knew it meant a mind sealed against every argument and a determination that her point, whatever it might he, should ho carried at whatever cost. Ordinarily Sibyl accepted this note of finality with a submissive grace that was simply the measure of her gentleness, of her .powerlessness against the coarser, firmer grain of her mother’s will;. hut ,in this instance, futile as she expected resistance to be. every atom of opposition, was roused in her. • , . , “Without warning,”, she answered, her throat heaving, and hot colour slowly painting her cheeks.

“You talk as if there had been an accident,” . „ ■, “I should say a calamity, answered the girl in a lor voice, frightened at what she thought seemed pertness. “Sibyl, I can’t understand you, said Mrs Kennet. studying the girl’s face closely. “You have an offer of marriage that not a girl in New York would refuse, and you act as if Lord Bidworth’s proposal were an insult rather than an honour” “I didn't mean that at all. mamma.” “Then what did you mean ?” “Only that—that it was all very sudden. I hardly know Lord Bidworth,” said Sibyl, desperately, trying hard to think how the horrible idea could ho driven from her mother’s mind.. “You’ve seen him about all winter. “Yes, but I don’t kno.w hhn.”

“Yon mean that you don’t like him ?” “I mean that I ‘dont love him,” answered the girl, feeling instinctively that what she said would sound absurdly foolish to her mother. “Oh!” wa s all Mrs Kennet vouchsafed in reply, although a cold little smile that flickered around her thin lips said more. “And, besides,” went on Sibyl hurriedly, flushing furiously, “there are things abotat Lord Bidworth that—” She floundered hopelessly under Mrs Kennet’s iev scrutiny. “Things ?” cmestioned the elder woman, raising her delieate eyebrows, as if the unspeakable had been spoken. “What dq nice girls know about things ?” “I ean’t help hearing what people say.”

“How can tha say of people affect one of the oldest and proudest people in England? What has the idle tattle, of a provincial city like this to do with a British nobleman ? Are you mad, child ? Do you not realise the opportunity that younave, that I have given you. Have you no ambition, none of my spirit, in you? ‘What people say,’ indeed! What 'will they say when you are Countess of Bidworth, pray." =■ + “Oh, mamma, I can’t, I can t, i can t! Don’t ask me! Til do anything in the world for you, but— —” “But the thing I don’t want you to do, said Mrs Sennet. ■ “It’s not that,” pleaded the girl. 'Tm not obstinate. I—l don’t want to go away, to leave you—and Jim. It's that.” . • ■ _ “Nonsense, Sibyl. You talk as it I wanted you to marry some foolish German Prince or French count, instead of an Englishman.” , “Oh, won’t, you understand, mamma?’' : : , .... , “I understand that you are wilful and unreasonable,. It is the very natural result of your always haying had your own way, , But this time, Sibyl, X cannot give in to your whim.” For one wild moment the thought of open defiance flashed through the girl’s head, but the idea faded from her as the full consciousness came to her of what open opposition to her mother Votdd mean. The dampening pressure of Mrs Kennet’s will had_ reduced the flame of Sibyl’s spirit until it flickered but fitfully or was wholly obscured,_ and the hopelessness of a struggle against her mother’s present designs was vividly real to the girl's mind as it beat hopelessly about in search of some possible egress from the horrible snare that seemed spread about her. “Does Jiin know?’? was all she could say, when once more her voice was at command. , _ “It will be time enough for James to know when everything is settled.” announced Mrs Rennet, “Settled ?” echoed Sibyl, vaguely. _ •'Yes. Lord Bidworth will dine with us to-morow-night en famille, and I shall expect you to give him the answer that a dutiful daughter should. - „ • ; “Oh, mamma I '-cried the child, “you can’t mean it—so soon!” “I see no reason for delay, replied Mrs Kennet. “Do stop that crying; it only hurts your voice and makes you look like a guy. And what it’s all about is beyond ™ What—what will Jim say?” quavered Sibyl. “I don't know that your brother has anything to say about it. I shall write him to-morrow night of the engagement, and tell him to write to both you and Lord Bidworth. I am going to dress for dinner now. : We. dine at the Cortneys’ to-night——don't be late.” And Mrs Kennet, feeling that st last her plans were well afoot, quietly left the miserable girl alone in the big, dim drawingroom. Dazed and broken, with life itself seeming to fall away on all’sides into blankness, she bent her whirling head forward on her arms and burst into a paroxysm of tears. It was the sense of her cowardice that filled her with bitterness. If she only dared to confront her mother with something of her mother’s courage, ihe felt she could save herself, hut the ■sickening,knowledge of her impotence left her pulsing wildly, like a frightened trapped animal, not knowing which way to tpm. V . , , . , _ Then in her extremity she clutched at what seemed to her to be nothing but Straw, the veriest folly. • She stepped over to a desk and wrote the following telegram : JAMES KENNET, Olaverley Hall. Cambridge, Mass. Come home at once. ’ Important. SIBYL. and rang for a servant. “Have this telegram sent immediately, Sydney,” she said to the man. ' “Yes. miss,’ Prepaid?” “Yes.” , '• # And as the door closed behind him the first gleam of hope that had shone through the whole ■ wretched business Came to her. . n. . She had not expected him tiUthe following afternoon—that is, if it could ho said she hoped for his coming at all. The vagaries of a Havard undergraduate, such a one as Jim, 'anyhow, were not part of her ignorjmoe, and Sibyl knew

that luck would havb to lean perceptibly the right way if her brother answered the summons. So she spent little time in speculation concerning his arrival or non-arrival. She was too busy striving to adjust her mental vision to a focus that would show her mother’s monstrous proposal in its proper semblance, and if she did not succeed in that, she did succeed, by the searching light of retrospection, in coming at many of Mrs Kennet s less obvious processes. She knew and always had known since such knowledge had been possible, that her mother*s life was dedicated to that very vague but still very definite organism for which no better nemo has been found than “society.” Not, the. unwieldly and uninteresting mass- to wnom our sociologists are devoted, hut that selected few whose existence depends upon complicated trivialities, and whosfi nonexistence would not he of much moment to tb e rest of tho world- Among Sibyl s earliest remembrances—small wonder she never forgot, for it was a constant maternal there—was Mrs Kennet’s insistence on the importance of knowing the right people and—the necessary corollary—of not knowing the wrong people. The basis of discrimination, however, was so intangible at times, and so uncertain, that Sibyl never really understood it; hut her mother’s calling list was a masterpiece of selection, and bore about the same relation, to tße Social Register that that compendious volume bears to the city directory. It was not the fact that her mother considered the Earl of Bidworth one of tho right sort of people to know which puzzled the girl; _ there was precedent enough for acquaintance with even so notorious a noble, as the young Englishman, in their intimacy with half a dozen men who were always to be found at the same country houses, at the same dinners in town, and in the same boxes at the opera; her cause for fearful wonderment was Mrs Konnet’s desire that she should marry the man. And even, the mystery of that faded away under Sibyl s eager speculation. Why the Earl of Bidworth should wish to make her his wife was a question that needed no consideration, even to a girl so little touched by +he sophistications of the life about her as was Sibyl Kennet. Her fortune and her mother’s fortune were explanation enough for that; and she saw mistily that her idea that the possession of money means marrying whom one pleases was entirely wrong, from her mother’s point of view; that, in fact, the obligation to marry whom someoneelso pleases was just as strong as when it is a duty to get a rich husband as a matter of selfpreservation.

All this and more horn of her timidity and fear of her mother passed and repassed through the girl’s mind during the long night hours that followed the declaration of Mrs Kennet’s intentions, and nothing came of it hut a hopeless feeling that those intentions would fall short of realisation only by the sheerest miracle—such a one as she knew was beyond her poor power. Could her brother Jim accomplish it ? Sibyl had seen him perform what she considered prodigies with their mother, but in own behalf and not on her account —a difference that was incalculable. It was about eleven the next morning, with her chocolate but'half finished, when Sibyl was interrupted by the entrance of her maid, who announced that Mr James was downstairs and wished to see heri “My brother, Felton P” she cried. “Yes, Miss.” “Let him come up here, Felton. I’ll he ready in a_ moment.” “Yes, miss.”

All in a tremor, and filled with a sort of terror at this idea of revolt against her mother, which her brother’s actual presence made; positive, she nervously put the brushes to her glistening hair and threw on a long, loose Japanese sacquo. A moment after, Felton’s discreet tap was heard .at the door, and Jim Kennet came in. “Oh, Jim!” she cried, breathlessly, “Hi® so glad you’ve come. How did you gethereso early?” *1 came over on the midnight,” answered Jim. “Fooled over my breakfast till I thought you. would be about—then came round. IWhat’s the jow?” be asked holding her off gently at arm’s length. “Have you seen mother?” she asked fearfully. “No.” “That’s lucky,” Sibyl said, with a long breath. “Tm in a horrible trouble, Jim.” “Trouble, Sib? Why, you are trembling all over. What is it?” he said. “Oh, Jim, mother is .going to make me marry,” cried Sibyl, tears in her voice and filling her eyes. She had sworn to herself that she wouldn’t break down, but she felt so weak, and small and insignificant beside this big, , bronzed brother Jim, that control was impossible, and she threw herself into a chair and began to sob. ' ' . “My dear old Sib, what is it?” said Jim, gently putting his arm about her. “Who is she going to make you marry?” ‘ “That horrid—that dreadful Lord Bidworth,” gasped the girl. “The devil she is!” ejaculated Jim. straightening himself. “You don’t mean that cad who was with the Cotters last summer at Newport?”' “Yes,” she answered, in a low voice. “She hasn’t written mo anything about it,” he said. “X asked her if she had told you, and she said it would he time enough when the engagement was announoed.” “Oh,” replied Jim, “indeed! And when is it to he announced?” There was something in his voice that brought Sibyl’s glanoo to his face, and she saw the same little quizzical look there that so often passed across her mother’s face when she was thinking things. “ , . “He’s to dine here to-night,” said Sibyl. “Mother is to tell him then.” Jim did not reply immediately. He walked up and down the little boudoir, opening and shutting the lid of his cigarette case in a preoccupied way. "May I smoke here,- Sih?” he asked, after a while, and before she could tell him “yea,” he had lighted a cigarette and inhaled a thick cloud, which a second after he sent whirling towards the ceiling. “See here, Sibyl, are you finite sure you don’t want to marry him ?” “It would kill me, Jim!” she said, in a low voice,, her eyes on the floor. “Me. too, almost,” he answered laconically, standing at’, the window and jingling the keys in his pocket. “Where’s mother ?” he asked, * after what seemed ah interminable time to her. “In her room.” , - “I’ll go down,” he! said, diving toward the door. As he opened it, and stood with one foot in the hallway, he turned to her, and was surprised to see her turned quite pale. “What is it?” “Don’t—don’t tell her I sent for ytfu, Jim,” said Sibyl, pleadingly. He caine over and kissed her. “My dear sis,” he said, wonderingly, “are you afraid of her ?”_ “Yes,” she answered in a little whis- . , ’K per • • - “Well,” said Jim, once more moving toward the door, and there was something in his voice that came hack to her over his big shoulders which brought courage to the wilting-child, “if you don’t want to marry him, you shan’t that’s all I” . ' HI. The relations of mother and son in the Kennet family were of the slenderest. For ten years they- had seen, little t of each other save durigg the vacation

[terms of school and university; and it must be confessed that to Airs Kennet these brief interregnums came with terrible frequency. Not that he bothered her to any great extent—Airs Kennet never permitted herself to be bothered—even when he was a lad, and since be had entered Havard, she recognised fully what had only been a suspicion before—that her son proposed to do what he liked and think what he liked.

This course was made particularly easy for him by the foolish provision—it was Airs Kennet who considered it foolish made by her late and nnlamented husband, that Jim should come into control of his very considerable property at the age of twenty-one. And that was not the only grudge that she bore her husband’s fatuity. In his very remarkable will he had decreed that on his son coming of age he should assume the duties of co-executor of the estate. Whether, in doing this, Air Kennet had any malicious ulterior thought of avenging, in an ironical way, the despotic, almost contemptuous, sway that his wife exercised over him, is not known, but the shoe pinched the good lady to tho galling point, particularly when it gradually came to her that Jim was not the same malleable creature as his father. Where he got his obstinacy and firmness she never knew, though the mystery would have been no mystery to any stranger who could have seen mother and son together that morning. Mrs Kennet was not in her room, and Jim, going on downstairs, found her busily engaged in the library with her secretary, who quietly departed on lis entrance. “Why, where did you come from, James?” said his mother. '‘Came over from Boston last night on a little business.” “Shall you stay long P” she asked, stiffly. Nothing annoyed her more than what Jim called his “business trips.” They wore a constant reminder that one of the family reins hung slack, and she knew she could never hope to tight m ’t. She carried off their meeting very well, usually, with particular stress laid on the impersonal note that she had resolved should dominate the harmony or discord of their discourse. “Two or three days,” he replied, seating himself and having recourse once more to his cigarette case. “Alay IP” he asked, rolling one of the fat and fragrant Egyptians between his fingers. “Of course,” said she- “I don’t know but that it is just as well,” she went on. “This cigarette?” asked Jim, smiling. “No; your staying. I have something very important to tell you.” “What ?” said he, knowing what was to come, and rather relishing the fact that his attack would, after all, not be a froutat one, but rather in the nature of a flank movement. “Your sister is engaged to he married.” "Sibyl?” said Jim, fearing that Mrs Kennet would pierce his disingenuousness. “That’s the only sister you have,” was all she said, though. "And yon approve?” asked Jim. Mrs Kennet, like so many clever women, lacked the sense of humour, and it was the thing she loathed most in other people, particularly in Jim, whom she strongly suspected of laughing at her at times. The subtle irony of his last question, however, passed quite over her head, and she replied, complacently: “Yes, most decidedly”—just as if there would have been any engagement to announce if she had not I “And to whom?” “To Lord Bidworth. I think you mat him last summer.” “What does Sibyl say ?” he asked, quietly. “Unlike any decent girl, she seems utterly unconscious of her luck,” answered Mrs Kennet“l confess I don’t see where the luck comes in myself, mother. To marry that impossible, fortune-hunting snob—do von call that lu#k?”

“Don’t be vulgar,” said his mother.” “I wouldn’t mind his being a nobleman,” went on Jim, “if he were only a gentleman. But you are not really serrious?” he added, moderating a little. “Perfectly serious,” answered his mother, decisively; “and I don’t propose to be moved by the whims of a foolish girl 01? the ill-breeding of an impertinent hoy.” “Oh,” said he, getting very cold suddenly and standing up in front of the fireplace. These two, in opposition more or less, as they always were, had never had a serious struggle. Their contentions, whatever they might bo—and they were frequent—always ended in compromises, and they were both conscious that there would he a struggle for the mastery some day. Jim felt that it had com© at last; Mrs Kennet, too, and she thanked her stars that she occupied an impregnable position. Impregnable positions have a way of becoming pregnable, however. “See here, mother,” he said, after a moment, and she became aware for the first time that he loomed up. physically, very large before her, “you may be perfectly satisfied to become the mother-in-law of this—this man, but you forget, it seems to mo, that in doing that you force a relationship upon me—a relationship that I would consider a disgrace.” “Fortunately for Lord Bidworth, he will not see much of his brother-in-law,” said Mrs Kennet, dryly. “Unfortunately for Lord Bidworth, he will have to see a good deal of me before ho manages to carry off Sibyl’s neat little fortune.” “What do you mean?” “I mean that the’ Earl of Bidworth is a notorious fortune-hunter, and an allround disreputable character. . If he' comes into the family I get out. But,” he added after a pause, “he’s not coming into the family. The Kennets are not going to add their names to the list of Americans who have made asses of themselves.” “You are assuming altogether too much responsibility on behalf of the Kennets, James,” Mrs Kennet said, with an irritating smile. “I think the Kennets" would bear up even if yoh, got out, as a moment ago you suggested you might.” “They might bear up, mother, but I’m afraid they might do very foolish things,” answered Jim. “Well,” said Mrs .Kennet .'turning away as if the interview bored her, and was to bo brought to an end, “the time, has hardly arrived yet, my son, when Sibyl’s and my actions are tp be passed upon by you.'” “I am perfectly willing to leave this whole thing to Sibyl.” “Sibyl still has some respect for her mother’s wishes,” Mrs Kennet remarked, severely, rising and moving toward the door. “Mother,” he said, and she turned with one hand on the door handle, “you shan’t sacrifice her.” “Don’t bo silly,” she replied, and passed out. Her composure was more of a mask than she would have had her son guess, however; and the rest of the day she carried in her mind’s eye_ the figure of a big, hard-faced, determined boy, who seemed to block her passage whichever way she turned. IV. The Earl of Bidworth was one of those peculiar flowers of the British aristocracy that thrive best in the democratic United States. His debts and his profligacies were too much for even any selfrespecting, shipbuilder or ironmonger at Home, and after helpless efforts to rehabilitate him with the fortune of some

aspiring, ambitious, middle-class tradesman, Jus people shipped him across the Atlantic in quest of some less fastidious American. He found on arrival that it was nob so much a matter of quest as of choice; and, like the discreet young nobleman that he was, he took his time and looked over the field rather carefully. Sibyl Kennet finally appeared to him to be the most available and eligible girl in every way, and he was not long in coming to an understanding with Mrs Kennet, who was what he called “very satisfactory.”

Sibyl herself he found rather difficult, and, taking his cue from the elder lady, he made no personal advance in the matter of his desires and intentions, leaving everything to her discretion. His gratification, therefore, was none tho less keen for his enforced patience when he received Airs Kennet’s summons to “a quiet at home dinner.” as her note exuressed it. The idea of such a function in itself made no very strong appeal to tho young man, but he assuaged his feelings with the thought that quiet family dinners would play but a small part in his future life.

It was a curious little group that greeted him on his entering the bright drawing room that evening. Jim Kenuet, big, cool, and unperturbed; Sibyl, fluttering and timid, and Airs Kennet, very gracious and self-possessed, but with inward anger, for she had come down stairs at half-past seven prepared for a crashing scene with Sibyl and Jim, but they had not appeared till the clock struck eight, and were then so amiable and apparently amenable that they had left a large amount of unexploded feeling on her hands, which she knew would make her uncomfortable the rest of the evening. She almost forgave Jim later, for he made himself so agreeable that what had promised to be a very uncomfortable meal passed off most pleasantly; and it was with less hesitancy than might otherwise have been the case that Airs Kennet, with a playful admonition for them not to linger too long over their coffee and cigars, withdrew with Sibyl and left Jim and the young Englishman together. When they resumed their seats, and the butler, after passing a lighted taper and refilling their liqueur glasses, had left them quite alone, _ Bidworth took two or three uneasy puffs at his Havanna and said: “You haven’t.. congratulated me yet.” “Congratulated you?” answered Jim. “On what?” “On my engagement.” “Your engagement ?” “Yes. Hasn’t your mother told you?” asked Bidworth, rather blankly. “Not to my mother?” said Jim. He couldn’t resist it. “No—no,” stammered Bidworth; “to your sister.” “Oh, you 1 are joking, Bidworth,” laughed Jim. “Joking? My dear chap, you don’t seem to understand.” “I don’t.' Have you spoken to her?” “No,” said Bidworth, “but your mother and I have arranged— : —” “Arranged what?” asked Jim sharply. “A marriage.” “With my sister ?” “Yes.” “Without her knowledge?” “Airs Kennet informed me that her daughter would not be adverse to such an arrangement.” “ W ell, as a matter of fact, she is extremely adverse to it, and so am I.”, “And does that really make so very much difference ?” asked Bidworth, smiling- • He had been rather taken off his guard at first by Jim’s blunthess, but he didn’t propose to let a prize slip through his fingers simply on account of a blustering schoolboy.

“All the wide difference between, success and failure,” answered Jim. “Perhaps your mother will have somer thing to say on that score.” “My mother has had all the say she is to have in this matter.” “I would prefer to hear that'from her rather than from you,” said Bidworth, leaning forward on the table and scrutinising Jim with an insolent smirk on his face. “Perhaps she has. neglected to tell you, Bidworth, that when I arrived at the interesting age of twenty-one, I became one of the trustees of my sister’s not inconsiderable fortune,” said Jim. “Meet me at my attorney’s offices to-morrow, and they will convince you, I think, that any marriage arranged without my ” “Shall we rejoin the ladies ?” interrupted the Englishman, coolly pushing back his chair and rising. He felt that the big youngster opposite him really held the winning cards against him; that the game was up, and that all that remained for him was to cover his retreat creditably. “I think we’d better not trouble them again this evening.’’ answered Jim, also rising and standing with his broad hack to the door. “I will make explanations for you that both my mother and my sister will understand.” A deep flush spread over the Englishman’s face. “If it wasn’t for your age, you impertinent puppy, I’d horsewhip you,” he said angrily. “Is it ,my age or your size that prevents?” said Jim, good-humouredly, as he touched an electric button. “Cali Lord Bidworth a hansom,” he said to the servant who entered a moment after. “Yes, sir.” “And fetch Lord Bidworth’s coat and hat.” “Yes. sir.” “This is young America’s idea of hospitality, I eupose,” said Bidworth, trying to carry the matter off lightly, though he was cursing within. “No, tliis is young America’s idea of protecting his family,” answered Jim. “I forgot to tell you that my attorneys are Messrs Clarkson and Clarkson, 48, Nassau street,” he added. “Your! hansom, my Lord,” announced the servant, returning. He assisted his Lordship with his coat and then passed out in front of him along the hall to open the door, Jim following behind. No other word was spoken between the two, but Jim stood in the entry till the hansom aprons banged to viciously in front of the Earl and the carriage swung eff down the street. Mrs Kennet and Sibyl were seated far apart in the drawing-room when he entered, and evidently little had passed between them, for Sibyl, pale and looking pinched; and frightened, was on a sofa in a far borner, while her mother placidly turned'the leaves of a hook under the light of the big lamp. They both looked up inquiringly as Jim came in/ and Mrs Kennet asked, “Where is Lord j Bidworth ?” “He’s gone,” said Jim, tersely. “Gone ?” she asked, not understanding for a moment; then, catching a look in Jim’s fifee, she sprang to her feet and came very close, searching his eyes and finding what she sought. “How dare you!” she cried, quivering. “Oh, Jim!” sobbed Sibyl, burying her head in the cushions. —L. E. Shipman, in the “N.Y. Smart Set.”