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Java Foundations: Introduction to Program Design & Data Structures, 4/e
John Lewis, Peter DePasquale, Joseph Chase
Test Bank: Chapter 6
1) The default layout manager used by the JPanel class is the _______________________ layout.
a) flow
b) border
c) box
d) grid
e) gridBag
Answer: a
Explanation: The flow layout is the default layout manager used by JPanel objects.
2) A(n) ___________________ is an object that defines a screen element used to display information or allow the user to
interact with a program in a certain way.
a) GUI
b) component
c) event
d) listener
e) AWT
Answer: b
Explanation: A component is an object that defines a screen element used to display information or allow the user to
interact with a program in a certain way. A GUI is a graphical user interface. An event is an object that represents some
occurrence in which we may be interested. A listener is an object that waits for an event to occur and responds in some way
when it does. AWT stands for the Abstract Windowing Toolkit, which is a package that contains classes related to Java GUIs.
3) A(n) ____________________ is an object that waits for an event to occur and responds in some way when it does.
a) GUI
b) component
c) listener
d) frame
e) panel
Answer: c
Explanation: A listener is an object that waits for an event to occur and responds in some way when it does. A
component is an object that defines a screen element used to display information or allow the user to interact with a program in a
certain way. A GUI is a graphical user interface. A frame is a container that is used to display GUI-based Java applications. A
panel is also a container, but unlike a frame it cannot be displayed on its own.
1
Pearson © 2017
Java Foundations: Introduction to Program Design & Data Structures, 4/e
John Lewis, Peter DePasquale, Joseph Chase
Test Bank: Chapter 6
4) A GUI is being designed that will detect and respond to a mouse event. How many methods must appear in the listener
object for the event?
a) 1
b) 2
c) 3
d) 4
e) 5
Answer: e
Explanation: A listener for a mouse event implements the MouseListener interface. The MouseListener
interface contains specifications for five methods to respond to different types of mouse events that can be detected. Each of
these methods must appear in the listener and have a body. If a method is not needed, its body can be an empty set of { }.
5) A container is governed by a(n) __________________, which determines exactly how the components added to the panel
will be displayed.
a) event
b) content pane
c) JFrame object
d) JPanel object
e) layout manager
Answer: e
Explanation: The layout manager determines exactly how the components added to the panel will be displayed. A
content pane's frame is where all visible elements of a Java interface are displayed. The JFrame and JPanel objects are part of
the AWT package. An event is an object that represents some occurrence in which we may be interested.
6) Which of the following components allows the user to enter typed input from the keyboard.
a) check boxes
b) radio buttons
c) sliders
d) combo boxes
e) none of the above
Answer: e
Explanation: None of the listed components allow typed input. A text field allows typed input from the user.
7) Which of the following components allows the user to select one of several options from a "drop down" menu?
a) check boxes
b) radio buttons
c) sliders
d) combo boxes
e) none of the above
Answer: d
Explanation: Combo boxes allow the user to select one of several options from a "drop down" menu.
2
Pearson © 2017
Java Foundations: Introduction to Program Design & Data Structures, 4/e
John Lewis, Peter DePasquale, Joseph Chase
Test Bank: Chapter 6
8) Which of the following layout managers organize the components from left to right, starting new rows as necessary?
a) Border Layout
b) Box Layout
c) Card Layout
d) Flow Layout
e) Grid Layout
Answer: d
Explanation: The flow layout organizes components from left to right, starting new rows as necessary. A border
layout organizes components into five areas: north, south, east, west, and center. The box layout organizes components into a
single row or column. The card layout organizes components into one area such that only one is visible at any time. A grid
layout organizes components into a grid of rows and columns.
9) Which of the following event descriptions best describes the mouse entered event?
Answer: c
Explanation: The mouse entered event is triggered when the mouse pointer is moved onto a component. Choice a best
describes a mouse pressed event. Choice b best describes a mouse clicked event. Choice d best describes a mouse released event.
Choice e best describes a mouse dragged event.
10) A(n) _______________________ is a graphical window that pops up on top of any currently active window so that the
user can interact with it.
a) component
b) dialog box
c) event
d) listener
e) none of the above
Answer: b
Explanation: The sentence describes a dialog box. Events and listeners are not windows. Components are graphical
elements that appear in windows, but they are not windows.
Answer: e
Explanation: All of the choices are fundamental ideas of good GUI design.
3
Pearson © 2017
Java Foundations: Introduction to Program Design & Data Structures, 4/e
John Lewis, Peter DePasquale, Joseph Chase
Test Bank: Chapter 6
a) it starts when a GUI component is first initialized, and ends when it is destroyed
b) it generates action events at regular intervals
c) every object has a timer, and it is implicitly activated in the constructor of the object
d) it determines the amount of time it takes to execute a method
e) a timer cannot be considered a GUI component
Answer: b
Explanation: Choice b is the best description of a timer component. None of the other choices are true statements.
13) Which of the following border styles can make a component appear raised or lowered from the rest of the components?
a) line border
b) etched border
c) bevel border
d) titled border
e) matte border
Answer: c
Explanation: A bevel border can be used to add depth to a component and give it a 3-D appearance.
14) Which of the following represents a dialog box that allows the user to select a file from a disk or other storage medium?
a) color chooser
b) disk chooser
c) tool tip chooser
d) file chooser
e) none of the above
Answer: d
Explanation: A file chooser is a dialog box that allows the user to select a file. A color chooser allows the user to select
a color. There are no dialog boxes in the AWT that represent a tool tip chooser or a disk chooser.
15) Which of the following classes play a role in altering a visual aspect of a component?
a) ColorChooser
b) ToolTip
c) BorderFactory
d) ColorCreator
e) none of the above
Answer: c
Explanation: The BorderFactory class can be used to create borders, and when used with the setBorder()
method, the borders of components can be changed. The other options are not classes that are included with the AWT.
4
Pearson © 2017
Java Foundations: Introduction to Program Design & Data Structures, 4/e
John Lewis, Peter DePasquale, Joseph Chase
Test Bank: Chapter 6
True/False Questions:
1) A panel is displayed as a separate window, but a frame can only be displayed as part of another container.
Answer: False
Explanation: A frame is displayed as a separate window, but a panel can only be displayed as part of another container.
4) A dialog box allows the user to select one of several options from a "drop down" menu.
Answer: False
Explanation: A combo box allows the user to select one of several options from a "drop down" menu. A dialog box is
a pop-up window that allows for user interaction.
5) The grid layout organizes components into a grid of rows and columns, and also allows components to span more than one
cell.
Answer: False
Explanation: Both the grid and the GridBag layouts organized components into a grid of rows and columns. Only a
GridBag layout allows components to span more than one cell.
9) When designing a GUI, the ability of the user is not an important consideration. A GUI should be designed with the lowest
common denominator in mind.
Answer: False
Explanation: It is important to design GUIs that are flexible and that support both skilled and unskilled users.
10) A mnemonic is a short line of text that will appear when the cursor is rested momentarily on top of the component.
Answer: False
Explanation: A mnemonic is a character that allows the user to push a button or make a menu choice using the
keyboard in addition to the mouse. A tool-top is a short line of text that will appear when the cursor is rested momentarily on
top of the component.
5
Pearson © 2017
Java Foundations: Introduction to Program Design & Data Structures, 4/e
John Lewis, Peter DePasquale, Joseph Chase
Test Bank: Chapter 6
Answer: A check box sets a boolean condition to true or false. Therefore if there are multiple items listed with check
boxes by each, any or all of them can be checked at the same time. A radio button represents a set of mutually exclusive
options. This means that at any given time, only one option can be selected.
Answer: A combo box is a component that allows the user to select one of several options from a "drop down" menu.
A dialog box is a graphical window that pops up on top of any currently active windows so that the user can interact with it.
Answer: A confirm dialog box presents the user with a simple yes-or-no question. A file chooser is a dialog box that
presents the user with a file navigator that can be used to select a file. A color chooser is a dialog box that allows the user to
select an RGB color.
4) What method in what interface is used in a GUI application to detect that a user typed the letter 'Y'?
Answer: The keyPressed() method in the KeyListener interface can be used to determine which key was
typed.
5) Write a keyPressed method that behaves as follows. If the user presses the up arrow, the method should output "You
pressed up" using the System.out.println method. If the user presses the down arrow, the method should output "You
pressed down" using the System.out.println method.
Answer:
Answer: A component should be disabled whenever it is inappropriate for the user to interact with it. This minimizes
error handling and special cases.
6
Pearson © 2017
Java Foundations: Introduction to Program Design & Data Structures, 4/e
John Lewis, Peter DePasquale, Joseph Chase
Test Bank: Chapter 6
7) Write a segment of code that will use a dialog box to ask a user to enter their age. Their age will then be stored in an int
variable named userAge. Assume that the necessary import statements to support the dialog box are already in place.
Answer:
int userAge;
String ageStr; // used for user's response
ageStr = JOptionPane.showInputDialog("How old are you"?);
userAge = Integer.parseInt(ageStr);
8) Write a short class that represents a panel with a single radio button that has the option "Yes" and the option "No." By
default, the Yes button should be checked.
Answer:
import javax.swing.*;
import java.awt.*;
public RadioPanel() {
yes = new JRadioButton("Yes", true);
no = new JradioButton("No");
add(yes);
add(no);
} // end constructor
9) Suppose we have created a class called MyGUI, which represents a GUI. Write a program that creates a JFrame object,
adds a MyGUI object to the frame and makes it visible.
Answer:
import javax.swing.*;
frame.getContentPane().add(new MyGUI());
frame.pack();
frame.setVisible(true);
} // end main
} // end class MyGUIDisplayer
7
Pearson © 2017
Java Foundations: Introduction to Program Design & Data Structures, 4/e
John Lewis, Peter DePasquale, Joseph Chase
Test Bank: Chapter 6
10) Write a short class that represents a panel with a single slider that has values from 0 to 250, with large tick marks in
increments of 50 and small tick marks in increments of 10.
Answer:
import javax.swing.*;
import java.awt.*;
public SlidePanel() {
slide = new Jslider(JSlider.HORIZONTAL, 0, 255, 0);
slide.setMajorTickSpacing(50);
slide.setMinorTickSpacing(10);
slide.setPaintTicks(true);
slide.setPaintLabels(true);
add(slide);
} // end constructor
} // end class SlidePanel
Answer: Border layout is divided into five areas: North, South, East, West and Center. The North and South areas are
at the top and bottom of the container, respectively, and span the entire width of the container. Sandwiched between them,
from left to right, are the West, Center, and East areas. Any unused area takes up no space, and the others fill in as needed.
12) One of the fundamental ideas of good GUI design is to "know the user". How does "know the user" influence a GUI
design?
Answer: The software has to meet the user's needs. This means not only that it has to do what it is designed to do, but
it also must be software that the user understands how to use. It needs to have an interface that the user is comfortable with in
order to be usable and useful to the user. A person who designs a GUI without an awareness of the user's preferences or skills
is less likely to please the user than someone who takes these into consideration.
Answer: A mnemonic is a character that allows the user to push a button or make a menu choice using the keyboard in
addition to the mouse. A tool-top is a short line of text that will appear when the cursor is rested momentarily on top of the
component. The difference is that the mnemonic allows for more flexibility on the users end (it allows for multiple methods of
achieving the same task), which a tool-tip is simply a helpful reminder of the role of a particular component and offers no
flexibility on the users end.
8
Pearson © 2017
Java Foundations: Introduction to Program Design & Data Structures, 4/e
John Lewis, Peter DePasquale, Joseph Chase
Test Bank: Chapter 6
14) Describe the difference between a heavyweight container and a lightweight container. Give an example of each.
Answer: A heavyweight container is a container that is managed by the underlying operating system on which the
program is run, whereas a lightweight container is managed by the Java program itself. A frame is an example of a heavyweight
container and a panel is a lightweight container.
15) When using a box layout, how is the orientation – horizontal or vertical box – specified?
9
Pearson © 2017
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“Not silly at all; just what you would naturally be with your refined
taste. I can’t tell you how I felt it,” said Fred, giving himself credit for the
perception that was wanting in his sisters. “But you will forgive them, Miss
Ogilvie? they will be so unhappy.”
“Oh no,” cried Effie, with once more a sense of the ludicrous in this
assertion. But Fred was as grave as an owl, and meant every word he said.
“Yes, indeed, and they deserve to be so; but if I may tell them that you
forgive them——”
“It is not worth speaking about, Mr. Dirom; I was foolish too. And are
you really going to have Americans here? I never saw any Americans. What
interest would they take in our old churchyard, and Adam Fleming’s broken
old gravestone?”
“They take more interest in that sort of thing than we do whom it
belongs to; that is to say, it doesn’t belong to us. I am as much a new man as
any Yankee, and have as little right. We are mere interlopers, you know.”
Fred said this with a charming smile he had, a smile full of frank
candour and openness, which forestalled criticism. Effie had heard the same
sentiment expressed by others with a very different effect. When Fred said
it, it seemed a delightful absurdity. He laughed a little, and so, carried away
by sympathetic feeling, did she, shame-faced and feeling guilty in her heart
at the remembrance of the many times in which, without any sense of
absurdity, she had heard the same words said.
“We are a queer family,” he continued in his pleasant explanatory way.
“My father is the money-maker, and he thinks a great deal of it; but we
make no money, and I think we are really as indifferent about it as if we had
been born in the backwoods. If anything happened at the office I should
take to my studio, and I hope I should not enjoy myself too much, but there
would be the danger. ‘Ah, freedom is a noble thing,’ as old Barbour says.”
Effie did not know who old Barbour was, and she was uncertain how to
reply. She said at last timidly, “But you could not do without a great deal of
money, Mr. Dirom. You have everything you want, and you don’t know
how it comes. It is like a fairy tale.”
Fred smiled again with an acquiescence which had pleasure in it. Though
he made so little of his advantages, he liked to hear them recognized.
“You are right,” he said, “as you always are, Miss Ogilvie. You seem to
know things by instinct. But all the same we don’t stand on these things; we
are a little Bohemian, all of us young ones. I suppose you would think it
something dreadful if you had to turn out of Gilston. But we should rather
like any such twist of the whirligig of fortune. The girls would think it fun.”
To this Effie did not make any reply. To be turned out of Gilston was an
impossibility, for the family at least, whatever it might be for individuals.
And she did not understand about Bohemians. She made no answer at all.
When one is in doubt it is the safest way. But Fred walked with her all the
way home, and his conversation was certainly more amusing than that with
which she was generally entertained. There ran through it a little vein of
flattery. There was in his eyes a light of admiration, a gleam from time to
time of something which dazzled her, which she could not meet, yet
furtively caught under her drooping eyelashes, and which roused a curious
pleasure mixed with amusement, and a comical sense of guilt and
wickedness on her own part.
She was flattered and dazzled, and yet something of the same laughter
with which she listened to Phyllis and Doris was in her eyes. Did he mean it
all? or what did he mean? Was he making conversation like his sisters,
saying things that he meant to be pretty? Effie, though she was so simple, so
inexperienced, in comparison with those clever young people, wondered,
yet kept her balance, steadied by that native instinct of humour, and not
carried away by any of these fine things.
CHAPTER VIII.
“We were seeing young Mr. Dirom a little bit on his way. He is so kind
walking home with Effie that it was the least we could do. I never met with
a more civil young man.”
“It appears to me that young Dirom is never out of your house. You’ll
have to be thinking what will come of it.”
“What should come of it,” said Mrs. Ogilvie with a laugh, and a look of
too conscious innocence, “but civility, as I say? though they are new people,
they have kind, neighbour-like ways.”
“I’ve no confidence,” said Miss Dempster, “in that kind of neighbours. If
he were to walk home with Beenie or me, that are about the oldest friends
they have in the district—Oh yes, their oldest friends: for I sent my card and
a request to know if a call would be agreeable as soon as they came: it may
be old-fashioned, but it’s my way; and I find it to answer. And as I’m
saying, if he had made an offer to walk home with me or my sister, that
would have been neighbour-like; but Effie is just quite a different question.
I hope if you let it go on, that you’re facing the position, and not letting
yourself be taken unawares.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “that’s a thing that seldom happens, though I
say it myself. I can generally see as far as most folk. But whatever you do,
say nothing of this to Effie. We must just respect her innocence.
Experienced people see a great deal that should never be spoken of before
the young. I will leave her in your charge and Miss Beenie’s, for I am going
to Summerlaw, and she has had a long walk.”
“Your stepmother is a very grand general, Effie,” said Miss Dempster, as
they watched Mrs. Ogilvie’s figure disappearing between the high laurel
hedges.
It was a warm afternoon, though September had begun. Miss Beenie was
seated on the garden seat in front of the drawing-room window, which
afforded so commanding a prospect of the doctor’s sitting-room, with her
work-basket beside her, and her spectacles upon her nose. But Miss
Dempster, who thought it was never safe, except perhaps for a day or two in
July, to sit out, kept walking about, now nipping off a withered leaf, now
gathering a sprig of heliotrope, or the scented verbena, promenading up and
down with a shawl upon her shoulders. She had taken Effie’s arm with an
instant perception of the advantages of an animated walking-staff.
The little platform of fine gravel before the door was edged by the green
of the sloping lawn in front, but on either side ended in deep borders filled
with every kind of old-fashioned and sweet-smelling flower. The sloping
drive had well-clipped hedges of shining laurel which surrounded the
entrance; but nothing interrupted the view from this little height, which
commanded not only the doctor’s mansion but all the village. No scene
could have been more peaceful in the sunny afternoon. There were few
people stirring below, there was nobody to be seen at the doctor’s windows.
The manse, which was visible at a distance, stood in the broad sunshine
with all its doors and windows open, taking in the warmth to its very
bosom. Mrs. Ogilvie disappeared for a short time between the hedges, and
then came out again, moving along the white road till she was lost in the
distance, Glen slowly following, divided in his mind between the
advantages of a walk which was good for his health, and the pleasure of
lying in the sun and waiting for Effie, which he preferred as a matter of
taste. But the large mat at the door, which Glen was aware was the
comfortable spot at Rosebank, was already occupied by the nasty little
terrier to which the Miss Dempsters, much to Glen’s contempt, were
devoted, and the gravel was unpleasant. So he walked, but rather by way of
deference to the necessities of the situation than from any lively personal
impulse, and went along meditatively with only an occasional slow switch
of his tail, keeping well behind the trim and active figure of his mistress. In
the absence of other incidents these two moving specks upon the road kept
the attention of the small party of spectators on the soft heights of
Rosebank.
“Your stepmother’s a grand general,” said Miss Dempster again; “but
she must not think that she deceives everybody, Effie. It’s a very legitimate
effort; but perhaps if she let things take their own course she would just do
as well at the end.”
“What is she trying to do?” said Effie with indifference. “It is a pity Mrs.
Ogilvie has only Rory; for she is so active and so busy, she could manage a
dozen, Uncle John always says.”
“She has you, my dear—and a great deal more interesting than Rory:
who is a nice enough bairn, if he were not spoilt, just beyond conception—
as, poor thing, some day, she’ll find out.”
Effie did not pay any attention to the latter part of this speech. She cried
“Me!” in the midst of it, with little regard to Miss Dempster, and less (had
she been an English girl) to propriety in her pronouns. But she was Scotch,
and above reproof.
“No,” she cried, “she has not me, Miss Dempster; you are making a
mistake. She says I am old enough to guide myself.”
“A bonnie guide you would be for yourself. But, no doubt, ye think that
too; there is no end to the confidence of young folk in this generation. And
you are nineteen, which is a wise age.”
“No,” said Effie, “don’t think it is a wise age. And then I have Uncle
John; and then, what is perhaps the best of all, I have nothing to do that
calls for any guiding, so I am quite safe.”
“Oh, yes, that’s a grand thing,” said the old lady; “to be just peaceable
and quiet, like Beenie and me, and no cross roads to perplex ye, nor the
need of choosing one way or another. But that’s a blessing that generally
comes on later in life: and we’re seldom thankful for it when it does come.”
“No,” said Effie, “I have nothing to choose. What should I have to
choose? unless it was whether I would have a tweed or a velveteen for my
winter frock; or, perhaps——” here she stopped, with a soft little smile
dimpling about her mouth.
“Ay,” said the old lady; “or perhaps——? The perhaps is just what I
would like to know.”
“Sarah,” said Miss Beenie from behind, “what are you doing putting
things in the girlie’s head?”
“Just darn your stockings and hold your tongue,” said the elder sister.
She leaned her weight more heavily on Effie’s arm by way of securing her
attention.
“Now and then,” she said, “the road takes a crook before it divides.
There’s that marshy bit where the Laggan burn runs before you come to
Windyha’. If you are not thinking, it just depends on which side of the road
you take whether you go straight on the good highway to Dumfries, or
down the lane that’s always deep in dust, or else a very slough of despond.
You’re there before you know.”
“But what has that to do with me?” said Effie; “and then,” she added,
with a little elevation of her head, “if I’m in any difficulty, there is Uncle
John.”
“Oh, ay: he’s often very fine in the pulpit. I would not ask for a better
guide in the Gospel, which is his vocation. But in the ways of this world,
Effie Ogilvie, your Uncle John is just an innocent like yourself.”
“That is all you know!” said Effie, indignantly. “Me an innocent!” She
was accustomed to hear the word applied to the idiot of the parish, the
piteous figure which scarcely any parish is without. Then she laughed, and
added, with a sudden change of tone, “They think me very sensible at
Allonby. They think I am the one that is always serious. They say I am fact:
and they are poetry, I suppose,” she said, after a second pause, with another
laugh.
“Poetry!” said Miss Dempster, “you’re meaning silly nonsense. They are
just two haverels these two daft-like girls with their dark rooms, and all
their affected ways; and as for the brother——”
“What about the brother?” said Effie, with an almost imperceptible
change of tone.
“Aha!” said the old lady, “now we see where the interest lies.”
“It is nothing of the kind,” cried the girl, “it is just your imagination. You
take a pleasure in twisting every word, and making me think shame. It is
just to hear what you have got to say.”
“I have not very much to say,” said Miss Dempster; “we’re great
students of human nature, both Beenie and me; but I cannot just give my
opinion off-hand. There’s one thing I will tell you, and that is just that he is
not our Ronald, which makes all the difference to me.”
“Ronald!” cried the girl, wondering. “Well, no! but did anybody ever say
he was like Ronald?”
She paused a little, and a soft suffusion of colour once more came over
her face. “What has Ronald to do with it? He is no more like Ronald than he
is like—me.”
“And I don’t think him like you at all,” cried Miss Dempster quickly,
“which is just the whole question. He is not of your kind, Effie. We’re all
human creatures, no doubt, but there’s different species. Beenie, what do
you think? Would you say that young Fred Dirom—that is the son of a
merchant prince, and so grand and so rich—would you say he was of our
own kind? would you say he was like Effie, or like Ronald? Ronald’s a
young man about the same age; would you say he was of Ronald’s kind.”
“Bless me, what a very strange question!” Miss Beenie looked up with
every evidence of alarm. Her spectacles fell from her nose; the stocking in
which her hand and arm were enveloped fell limp upon her lap.
“I’ve no time to answer conundrums; they’re just things for winter
evenings, not for daylight. And when you know how I’ve been against it
from the very first,” she added, after a pause, with some warmth. “It might
be a grand thing from a worldly point of view; but what do we know about
him or his connections? And as for business, it is just a delusion; it’s up to-
day and down to-morrow. I’ve lived in Glasgow, and I know what it means.
Ye may be very grand, and who but you for a while; and then the next
moment nothing. No; if there was not another man in the world, not the like
of that man,” cried Miss Beenie, warming more and more, gesticulating
unconsciously with the muffled hand which was all wrapped up in stocking;
“and to compare him with our poor Ronald——” She dropped suddenly
from her excitement, as if this name had brought her to herself. “You are
making me say what I ought not to say—and before Effie! I will never be
able to look one of them in the face again.”
Effie stood upon the gravel opposite to the speaker, notwithstanding the
impulse of Miss Dempster’s arm to lead her away. “I wish you would tell
me what you mean. I wish I knew what Ronald had to do with me,” she
said.
“He’s just an old friend, poor laddie—just an old friend. Never you mind
what Beenie says. She’s a little touched in that direction, we all know.
Never you mind. It’s my own conviction that young Dirom, having no
connections, would be but a very precarious—— But no doubt your parents
know best. Ronald is just the contrary—plenty of connections, but no
money. The one is perhaps as bad as the other. And it’s not for us to
interfere. Your own people must know best.”
“What is there to interfere about? and what has Ronald to do with it?
and, oh, what are you all talking about?” cried Effie, bewildered. What with
the conversation which meant nothing, and that which meant too much, her
little brain was all in a ferment. She withdrew herself suddenly from Miss
Dempster’s arm.
“I will get you your stick out of the hall which will do just as well as me:
for I’m going away.”
“Why should you go away? Your father is in Dumfries, your mother will
be getting her tea at Summerlaw. There is nobody wanting you at home; and
Beenie has ordered our honey scones that you are so fond of.”
“I want no honey scones!” cried Effie. “You mean something, and you
will not tell me what you mean. I am going to Uncle John.”
“She is a hot-headed little thing. She must just take her own gait and
guide herself. Poor innocent! as if it were not all settled and planned
beforehand what she was to do.”
“Oh, Sarah, stop woman, for goodness’ sake! You are putting things in
the girlie’s head, and that is just what we promised not to do.”
“What things are you putting in my head? You are just driving me wild!”
cried Effie, stamping her foot on the gravel.
It was not the first time by a great many that she had departed from
Rosebank in this way. The criticisms of old ladies are sadly apt to irritate
young ones, and this pretence of knowing so much more about her than she
knew about herself, has always the most exasperating effect.
She turned her back upon them, and went away between the laurel
hedges with a conviction that they were saying, “What a little fury!” and
“What an ill brought-up girl!”—which did not mend matters. These were
the sort of things the Miss Dempsters said—not without a cackle of laughter
—of the rage and impatience of the young creature they had been baiting.
Her mind was in high commotion, instinctive rebellion flaming up amid the
curiosity and anxiety with which she asked herself what was it that was
settled and planned?
Whatever it was, Effie would not do it, that was one thing of which she
felt sure. If it had been her own mother, indeed! but who was Mrs. Ogilvie,
to settle for her what she ought to do? She would be her own guide,
whatever any one might settle. If she took counsel with any one, it should
be Uncle John, who was her nearest friend—when there was anything to
take counsel about.
But at present there was nothing, not a question of any sort that she
knew, except whether the new tennis court that was making at Gilston could
possibly be ready for this season, which, of course, it could not;—no
question whatever; and what had Ronald to do with it? Ronald had been
gone for three years. There had been no news of him lately. If there were a
hundred questions, what could Ronald have to do with them?
She went down very quickly between the laurel hedges and paused at the
gate, where she could not be seen from the terrace, to smooth down her
ruffled plumes a little and take breath. But as she turned into the road her
heart began to thump again, with no more reason for it than the sudden
appearance of Uncle John coming quietly along at his usual leisurely pace.
She had said she was going to him; but she did not really wish to meet
Uncle John, whose kind eyes had a way of seeing through and through you,
at this present excited moment, for she knew that he would find her out.
Whether he did so or not, he came up in his sober way, smiling that
smile which he kept for Effie. He was prone to smile at the world in
general, being very friendly and kind, and generally thinking well of his
neighbours. But he had a smile which was for Effie alone. He caught in a
moment the gleam in her eyes, the moisture, and the blaze of angry feeling.
“What, Effie,” he said, “you have been in the wars. What have the old
ladies been saying now?”
“Oh, Uncle John,” she began eagerly; but then stopped all at once: for
the vague talk in which a young man’s name is involved, which does not
tell for very much among women, becomes uncomfortable and suspect
when a man is admitted within hearing. She changed her mind and her tone,
but could not change her colour, which rose high under her troubled eyes.
“Oh, I suppose it was nothing,” she said, “it was not about me; it was
about Ronald—something about Ronald and Mr. Fred Dirom: though they
could not even know each other—could they know each other?”
“I can’t tell you, Effie: most likely not; they certainly have not been
together here; but they may have met as young men meet—somewhere
else.”
“Perhaps that was what it was. But yet I don’t see what Ronald could
have to do with it.”
Here Effie stopped again, and grew redder than ever, expecting that Mr.
Moubray would ask her, “To do with—what?” and bring back all the
confusion again.
But the minister was more wise. He began to perceive vaguely what the
character of the suggestion, which had made Effie angry, must have been. It
was much clearer to him indeed than it was to her, through these two
names, which as yet to Effie suggested no connection.
“Unless it is that Fred Dirom is here and Ronald away,” he said, “I know
no link. And what sort of a fellow is Fred Dirom, Effie? for I scarcely know
him at all.”
“What sort of a fellow?” Mr. Moubray was so easy, and banished so
carefully all meaning from his looks, that Effie was relieved. She began to
laugh.
“I don’t know what to say. He is like the girls, but not quite like the
girls.”
“That does not give me much information, my dear.”
“Oh, Uncle John, they are all so funny! What can I say? They talk and
they talk, and it is all made up. It is about nothing, about fancies they take
in their heads, about what they think—but not real thinking, only fancies,
thinking what to say.”
“That’s the art of conversation, Effie,” the minister said.
“Conversation? Oh no, oh, surely not!—conversation would mean
something. At Allonby it is all very pretty, but it means nothing at all. They
just make stories out of nothing, and talk for the sake of talking. I laugh—I
cannot help it, though I could not quite tell you why.”
“And the brother, does he do the same?”
“Oh, the brother! No, he is not so funny, he does not talk so much. He
says little, really, on the whole, except”—here Effie stopped and coloured
and laughed softly, but in a different tone.
“Except?” repeated Uncle John.
“Well, when he is walking home with me. Then he is obliged to speak,
because there is no one else to say anything. When we are all together it is
they who speak. But how can he help it? He has to talk when there is only
me.”
“And is his talk about fancies too? or does he say things that are more to
the purpose, Effie?”
Effie paused a little before she replied, “I have to think,” she said; “I
don’t remember anything he said—except—Oh yes!—but—it was not to
the purpose. It was only—nothing in particular,” she continued with a little
wavering colour, and a small sudden laugh in which there was some
confusing recollection.
“Ah!” said Uncle John, nodding his head. “I think I see what you mean.”
CHAPTER IX.
The young ladies at Allonby, though Effie thought they meant nothing
except to make conversation, had really more purpose in their
extravagances than that severe little critic thought. To young ladies who
have nothing to do a new idea in the way of entertainment is a fine thing.
And though a garden party, or any kind of a party, is not an affair of
much importance, yet it holds really a large place in unoccupied lives. Even
going to it may mean much to the unconcerned and uninterested: the most
philosophical of men, the most passive of women, may thus find their fate.
They may drift up against a partner at tennis, or hand a cup of tea to the
predestined individual who is to make or mar their happiness for life.
So that no human assembly is without its importance to some one,
notwithstanding that to the majority they may be collectively and separately
“a bore.” But to those who get them up they are still more important, and
furnish a much needed occupation and excitement, with the most beneficial
effect both upon health and temper.
The Miss Diroms were beginning to feel a little low; the country was
more humdrum than they had expected. They had not been quite sure when
they came to Scotland that there were not deer-forests on the Border. They
had a lingering belief that the peasants wore the tartan. They had hoped for
something feudal, some remnant of the Middle Ages.
But they found nothing of this sort they found a population which was
not at all feudal, people who were friendly but not over respectful,
unaccustomed to curtsy and disinclined to be patronized. They were thrown
back upon themselves. As for the aspect of the great people, the Diroms
were acquainted with much greater people, and thought little of the county
magnates.
It was a providential suggestion which put that idea about the music
under the cliff into the head of Doris. And as a garden party in September,
in Scotland, even in the south, is a ticklish performance, and wants every
kind of organization, the sisters were immediately plunged into business.
There was this in its favour, that they had the power of tempering the calm
of the Dumfriesshire aristocracy by visitors from the greater world at that
time scattered over all Scotland, and open to variety wherever they could
find it. Even of the Americans, for whom the young ladies had sighed, there
were three or four easily attainable. And what with the story of Fair Helen
and the little churchyard and the ballad, these visitors would be fully
entertained.
Everything was in train, the invitations sent out and accepted, the house
in full bustle of preparation, every one occupied and amused, when, to the
astonishment of his family, Mr. Dirom arrived upon a visit.
“I thought I’d come and look you up,” he said. He was, as he himself
described it, “in great force,” his white waistcoat ampler, his watch-chain
heavier, himself more beaming than ever.
His arrival always made a difference in the house, and it was not perhaps
an enjoyable difference. It introduced a certain anxiety—a new element.
The kind and docile mother who on ordinary occasions was at everybody’s
command, and with little resistance did what was told her, became all at
once, in the shadow of her husband, a sort of silent authority. She was
housekeeper no longer; she had to be consulted, and to give, or pretend to
give, orders, which was a trouble to her, as well as to the usual rulers of the
house. Nobody disliked it more than Mrs. Dirom herself, who had to
pretend that the party was her own idea, and that she had superintended the
invitations, in a way which was very painful to the poor lady’s rectitude and
love of truth.
“You should have confined yourself to giving dinners,” her husband said
—“as many dinners as you like. You’ve got a good cellar, or I’m mistaken,
and plenty of handsome plate, and all that sort of thing. The dinners are the
thing; men like ’em, and take my word for it, it’s the men’s opinions that
tell. Females may think they have it their own way in society, but it’s the
men’s opinion that tells.”
“You mean the males, I suppose,” said Doris. “Keep to one kind of word,
papa.”
“Yes, Miss D., I mean the males—your superiors,” said Mr. Dirom, with
first a stare at his critic and then a laugh. “I thought you might consider the
word offensive; but if you don’t mind, neither do I.”
“Oh, what is the use of quarrelling about a word?” said the mother
hastily. “We have had dinners. We have returned all that have been given us.
That is all any one can expect us to do, George. Then the girls thought—for
a little variety, to fill the house and amuse everybody——”
“With tea and toast—and hot-water bottles, I hope to put under their feet.
I’ll tell you, Phyllis, what you ought to do. Get out all the keepers and
gardeners with warm towels to wipe off the rain off the trees; and have the
laundresses out to iron the grass—by Jove, that’s the thing to do; reduce
rheumatic fevers to a minimum, and save as many bad colds as possible. I
shall say you did it when I get back to my club.”
Phyllis and Doris looked at each other.
“It might be really a good thing to do. And it would be Fun. Don’t you
think the electric light put on night and day for forty-eight hours would do
some good? What an excellent thing it is to have papa here! He is so
practical. He sees in a moment the right thing.”
This applause had the effect rarely attained, of confusing for a moment
the man of money.
“It appears I am having a success,” he said. “Or perhaps instead of
taking all this trouble you would like me to send a consignment of fur
cloaks from town for the use of your guests. The Scotch ladies would like
that best, for it would be something,” he said with his big laugh, “to carry
away.”
“And I believe,” said Mrs. Dirom, very anxious to be conciliatory, “you
could afford it, George.”
“Oh, afford it!” he said with again that laugh, in which there was such a
sound of money, of plenty, of a confidence inexhaustible, that nobody could
have heard it, and remained unimpressed. But all the same it was an
offensive laugh, which the more finely strung nerves of his children could
scarcely bear.
“After all,” said Fred, “we don’t want to insult our neighbours with our
money. If they are willing to run the risk, we may let them; and there will
always be the house to retire into, if it should be wet.”
“Oh, of course there would always be the house. It is a very fine thing to
have a good house to retire into, whatever happens. I should like you to
realize that, all of you, and make your hay while the sun shines.”
The room in which the family were sitting was not dark, as when they
were alone. The blinds were all drawn up, the sunshades, so often drawn
when there was no sun, elevated, though a ruddy westerly sky, in all the
force of approaching sunset, blazed down upon the front of the house. The
young people exchanged looks, in which there was a question.
What did he mean? He meant nothing, it appeared, since he followed up
his remarks by opening a parcel which he had brought down stairs in his
hand, and from which he took several little morocco boxes, of shape and
appearance calculated to make the hearts of women—or at least such hearts
of women as Mr. Dirom understood—beat high. They were some “little
presents” which he had brought to his family. He had a way of doing it—
and “for choice,” as he said, he preferred diamonds.
“They always fetch their price, and they are very portable. Even in a
woman’s useless pocket, or in her bag or reticule, or whatever you call it,
she might carry a little fortune, and no one ever be the wiser,” Mr. Dirom
said.
“When one has diamonds,” said Phyllis, “one wishes everybody to be
the wiser, papa; we don’t get them to conceal them, do we, Dor? Do you
think it will be too much to wear that pendant to-morrow—in daylight?
Well, it is a little ostentatious.”
“And you are rather too young for diamonds, Phyll—if your papa was
not so good to you,” said Mrs. Dirom in her uncertain voice.
“She’s jealous, girls,” said her husband, “though hers are the best.
Young! nobody is ever too young; take the good of everything while you
have it, and as long as you have it, that’s my philosophy. And look here,
there’s the sun shining—I shouldn’t be surprised if, after all, to-morrow you
were to have a fine day.”
They had a fine day, and the party was very successful. Doris had carried
out her idea about the music on the opposite bank, and it was very effective.
The guests took up this phrase from the sisters, who asked, “Was it not very
effective?” with ingenuous delight in their own success.
It was no common band from the neighbourhood, nor even a party of
wandering Germans, but a carefully selected company of minstrels brought
from London at an enormous cost: and while half the county walked about
upon the tolerably dry lawn, or inspected the house and all the new and
elegant articles of art-furniture which the Diroms had brought, the
trembling melody of the violins quivered through the air, and the wind
instruments sighed and shouted through all the echoes of the Dene. The
whole scene was highly effective, and all the actors in it looking and
smiling their best.
The Marquis kindly paid Mr. Dirom a compliment on his “splendid
hospitality,” and the eloquent Americans who made pilgrimages to Adam
Fleming’s grave, and repeated tenderly his adjuration to “Helen fair, beyond
compare,” regarded everything, except Mr. Dirom in his white waistcoat,
with that mixture of veneration and condescension which inspires the
transatlantic bosom amid the immemorial scenery of old England.
“Don’t you feel the spell coming over you, don’t you feel the mosses
growing?” they cried. “See, this is English dust and damp—the ethereal
mould which comes over your very hands, as dear John Burroughs says.
Presently, if you don’t wash ’em, little plants will begin to grow all along
your line of life. Wonderful English country—mother of the ages!”
This was what the American guests said to each other. It was the Miss
Dempsters, to whom Americans were as the South Sea Islanders, and who
were anxious to observe the customs and manners of the unknown race,
before whom these poetical exclamations were made.
“The English country may be wonderful, though I know very little about
it; but you are forgetting it is not here,” Miss Dempster said. “This is
Scotland; maybe you may never have heard the name before.”
It is needless to say that the ladies and gentlemen from across the
Atlantic smiled at the old native woman’s mistake.
“Oh yes, we know Scotland very well,—almost best of all,—for has not
everybody read the Waverleys?—at least all our fathers and mothers read
them, though they may be a little out of date in our day.”
“You must be clever indeed if Walter Scott is not clever enough for you,”
said the old lady grimly. “But here’s just one thing that a foolish person like
me, it seems, can correct you in, and that’s that this countryside is not
England. No, nor ever was; and Adam Fleeming in his grave yonder could
have told you that.”
“Was he a Border chief? was he one of the knights in Branksome Hall?
We know all about that. And to think you should be of the same race, and
have lived here always, and known the story, and sung the song all your
life!”
“I never was much addicted to singing songs, for my part. He must have
been a feckless kind of creature to let her get between him and the man that
wanted his blood. But he was very natural after that I will say. ‘I hackit him
in pieces sma’.’ ” said Miss Dempster; “that is the real Border spirit: and I
make little doubt he was English—the man with the gun.”
The pretty young ladies in their pretty toilettes gathered about the old
lady.
“It is most interesting,” they said; “just what one wished to find in the
old country—the real accent—the true hereditary feeling.”
“You are just behaving like an old haverel,” said Miss Beenie to her
sister in an undertone. It seldom occurred to her to take the command of
affairs, but she saw her opportunity and seized it.
“For our part,” she said, “it is just as interesting to us to see real people
from America. I have heard a great deal about them, but I never saw them
before. It will be a great change to find yourselves in the midst of
ceevilization? And what was that about mosses growing on your poor bit
little hands? Bless me! I have heard of hair and fur, but never of green
growth. Will that be common on your side of the water?”
She spoke with the air of one who was seeking information. Mr. John
Burroughs himself, that charming naturalist, might have been disconcerted
by so serious a question. And the two old ladies remained in possession of
the field.
“I just answered a fool according to his folly,” Miss Beenie remarked,
with modest enjoyment of a triumph that seldom fell to her share, “for you
were carried away, Sarah, and let them go on with their impidence. A set of
young idiots out of a sauvage country that were too grand for Walter Scott!”
It was on the whole a great day for the Miss Dempsters. They saw
everybody, they explored the whole house, and identified every piece of
furniture that was not Lady Allonby’s. They made a private inspection of
the dining-room, where there was a buffet—erected not only for light
refreshments, but covered with luxuries and delicacies of a more serious
description.
“Bless me, I knew there was tea and ices,” they said; “it’s like a ball
supper, and a grand one. Oh, those millionaires! they just cannot spend
money enough. But I like our own candlesticks,” said Miss Dempster, “far
better than these branchy things, like the dulse on the shore, the
candelawbra, or whatever they call it, on yon table.”
“They’re bigger,” said Miss Beenie; “but my opinion is that the branches
are all hollow, not solid like ours.”
“There’s not many like ours,” said Miss Dempster; “indeed I am
disposed to think they are just unique. Lord bless us, is that the doctor at the
side-table? He is eating up everything. The capacity that man has is just
extraordinary—both for dribblets of drink and for solid food.”
“Is that you, ladies?” said the doctor. “I looked for you among the first,
and now you’re here, let me offer you some of this raised pie. It’s just
particularly good, with truffles as big as my thumb. I take credit for
suggesting a game pie. I said they would send the whole parish into my
hands with their cauld ices that are not adapted to our climate.”
“We were just saying ices are but a wersh provision, and make you
shiver to think of them at this time of the year; but many thanks to you,
doctor. We are not in the habit either of eating or drinking between meals.
Perhaps a gentleman may want it, and you have science to help you down
with it. But two women like us, we are just very well content with a cup of
tea.”
“Which is a far greater debauch,” said the doctor hotly, “for you are
always at it.” But he put down his plate. “The auld cats,” he said to himself;
“there’s not a drop passes my lips but they see it, and it will be over all the
parish that I was standing guzzlin’ here at this hour of the day.”
But there were others beside the doctor who took advantage of the raised
pie and appreciated the truffles. People who have been whetted by music
and vague conversation and nothing to do or think of for a weary afternoon,
eat with enthusiasm when the chance occurs; they eat even cake and bread
and butter, how much more the luxurious mayonnaise and lobsters and foie
gras. After the shiver of an ice it was grateful to turn to better fare. And Mr.
Dirom was in his glory in the dining-room, which was soon filled by a
crowd more animated and genial than that which had strolled about the
lawn.
“You will spoil your dinner,” the ladies said to their husbands, but with
small effect.
“Never mind the dinner,” said the master of the house. “Have a little of
this Château Yquem. It is not a wine you can get every day. I call it melted
gold; but I never ask the price of a wine so long as it’s good; and there’s
plenty more where that came from.”
His wealth was rampant, and sounded in his voice and in his laugh, till
you seemed to hear the money tinkle. Phyllis and Doris and Fred cast
piteous glances at each other when they met.
“Oh, will nobody take him away!” they cried under their breath. “Fred,
can’t you pretend there is a telegram and dreadful news? Can’t you say the
Bank of England is broke, and the Chancellor of the Exchequer has run
away?”
He wounded his children’s nerves and their delicacy beyond description,
but still it had to be allowed that he was the master of the house. And so the
party came to an end, and the guests, many of them with indigestions, but
with the most cordial smiles and applause and hand-shakings, were
gradually cleared away.
CHAPTER X.
Mr. Ogilvie was one of those who carried away an incipient indigestion.
He was not accustomed to truffles nor to Château Yquem. But he did not
spoil his dinner—for as they were in the habit of dining rather early, and it
was now nearly seven o’clock, his wife promptly decided that a cup of tea
when he got home would be much the best thing for him, and that no dinner
need be served in Gilston House that day. She said, “You must just look a
little lively, Robert, till we get away. Don’t let strangers think that you’ve
been taking more than is good for you, either of meat or drink.”
“Drink!” said the good man. “Yon’s nectar: but I might have done
without the salad. Salad is a cold thing upon the stomach. I’m lively enough
if you would let me alone. And he’s a grand fellow the father of them. He
grudges nothing. I have not seen such a supper since my dancing days.”
“It was no supper; it was just a tea party. I wish you would wake up, and
understand. Here is Mr. Dirom with Effie coming to put me into the
carriage. Rouse up, man, and say a civil word.”
“I’ll do that,” said Mr. Ogilvie. “We’ve had a most enjoyable evening,
Mr. Dirom, a good supper and a capital band, and—— But I cannot get it
out of my head that it’s been a ball—which is impossible now I see all these
young ladies with hats and bonnets upon their heads.”
“I wish it had been a ball,” said the overwhelming host. “We ought to
have kept it up half through the night, and enjoyed another supper, eh? at
midnight, and a little more of that Clicquot. I hope there’s enough for half-
a-dozen balls. Why hadn’t you the sense to keep the young people for the
evening, Fred? Perhaps you thought the provisions wouldn’t last, or that I
would object to pay the band for a few hours longer. My children make me
look stingy, Mrs. Ogilvie. They have got a number of small economical
ways.”
“And that’s an excellent thing,” said the lady, “for perhaps they may not
have husbands that will be so liberal as their father—or so well able to
afford it—and then what would they do?”
“I hope to put them beyond the risk of all that,” said the man of money,
jingling his coins. He did not offer to put Mrs. Ogilvie into the carriage as
she had supposed, but looked on with his hands in his pockets, and saw her
get in. The Ogilvies were almost the last to leave, and the last object that
impressed itself upon them as they turned round the corner of the house was
Mr. Dirom’s white waistcoat, which looked half as big as Allonby itself.
When every one had disappeared, he took Fred, who was not very willing,
by the arm, and led him along the river bank.
“Is that the family,” he said, “my fine fellow, that they tell me you want
to marry into, Fred?”
“I have never thought of the family. Since you bring it in so suddenly—
though I was scarcely prepared to speak on the subject—yes: that’s the
young lady whom in all the world, sir, I should choose for my wife.”
“Much you know about the world,” said Mr. Dirom. “I can’t imagine
what you are thinking of; a bit of a bread-and-butter girl, red and white, not
a fortune, no style about her, or anything out of the common. Why, at your
age, without a tithe of your advantages, I shouldn’t have looked at her, Mr.
Fred.”
If there was in Fred’s mind the involuntary instinctive flash of a
comparison between his good homely mother and pretty Effie, may it be
forgiven him! He could do nothing more than mutter a half sulky word
upon difference of taste.
“That’s true,” said his father; “one man’s meat is another man’s poison.
My Lady Alicia’s not much to look at, but she is Lady Alicia; that’s always
a point in her favour. But this little girl has nothing to show. Bread and
butter, that’s all that can be said.”
To this Fred, with gathering curves upon his forehead, made no reply at
all.
“And her people are barely presentable,” said the father. “I say this with
no personal feeling, only for your good; very Scotch, but nothing else about
them to remember them by. A sodden stagnant old Scotch squire, and a
flippant middle-class mother, and I suppose a few pounds of her own that
will make her think herself somebody. My dear fellow, there you have
everything that is most objectionable. A milkmaid would not be half so bad,
for she would ask no questions and understand that she got everything from
you——”
“There is no question of any milkmaid,” said Fred in high offence.
“Middle class is social destruction,” said Mr. Dirom. “Annihilation,
that’s what it is. High or low has some chance, but there’s no good in your
milieu. Whatever happens, you’ll never be able to make anything out of her.
They have no go in that position; they’re too respectable to go out of the
beaten way. That little thing, sir, will think it’s unbecoming to do this or
that. She’ll never put out a step beyond what she knows. She’ll be no help
to you if anything happens. She’ll set up her principles; she’ll preach your
duty to you. A pretty kind of wife for the son of a man who has made his
way to the top of the tree, by Jove! and that may tumble down again some
fine day.”
“I don’t know what you mean, sir,” said Fred. “You might add she will
most likely neither look nor listen to me, and all this sermon of yours will
go for nought.”
“I didn’t mean it for a sermon. I give it you in friendship to warn you
what’s before you. You think perhaps after this I’m going to forbid the
banns: though there’s no banns wanted in this free country, I believe. No,
Fred, that’s not it; I’m not going to interfere. If you like insipidity, it’s your
own concern: if you choose a wife in order to carry her on your shoulders—
and be well kicked while you do it: mind that.”
“I think, sir,” said Fred, who had grown very red, “that we had better
drop the subject. If you mean to oppose, why, of course, you can oppose—
but if not, this sort of thing does little good. It can never alter my mind, and
I don’t see even how it can relieve yours.”
“Oh yes, it relieves mine,” said his father. “It shows you my opinion.
After that, if you choose to take your own way, why, you must do it. I
should have advised you to look out for a nice little fortune which might
have been a stand-by in case of anything happening. No, nothing’s going to
happen. Still you know—— Or I’d have married rank (you might if you had
liked), and secured a little family interest. Things might change in a day, at
any moment. Jack might tire of his blue china and come and offer himself
for the office. If he did, you have married against my advice, and Jack being
the eldest son—— Well, I don’t need to say any more.”
“I quite understand, sir,” Fred said.
“Well, that’s a good thing; but you need not go too far on the other side,
and think I’m going to disinherit you, or any of that rubbish. Did I disinherit
Jack? I bring you up in the best way, spend no end of money on you, teach
you to think yourselves twice the man I am, and then you take your own
way.”
“Indeed, sir,” cried Fred anxiously, “you are mistaken. I——” But
though he did not think he was twice the man his father was, yet he did
think he was a very different man from his father, and this consciousness
made him stammer and fall into confusion, not knowing what to say.
“Don’t trouble yourself to contradict me,” said Mr. Dirom. “I don’t think
so. I think your father’s twice the man you are. Let each of us keep his
opinion. We shan’t convince each other. And if you insist on marrying your
insipidity, do. Tell the stupid old father to communicate with my lawyers
about the settlements, and get it over as soon as you please.”
“You are going a great deal too fast, sir,” said Fred. He was pale with the
hurry and rapid discussion. “I can’t calculate like this upon what is going to
happen. Nothing has happened as yet.”
“You mean she mayn’t have you? Never fear; young fellows with a
father behind them ain’t so common. Most men in my position would put a
stop to it altogether. I don’t; what does it matter to me? Dirom and Co.
don’t depend upon daughters-in-law. A woman’s fortune is as nothing to
what’s going through my hands every day. I say, let every man please
himself. And you’ve got quiet tastes and all that sort of thing, Fred.
Thinking of coming up to town to look after business a little? Well, don’t;
there’s no need of you just now. I’ve got some ticklish operations on, but
they’re things I keep in my own hands.”
“I don’t pretend to be the business man you are,” said Fred with a
fervour which was a little forced, “but if I could be of use——”
“No, I don’t think you could be of use. Go on with your love-making. By
the way, I’m going back to-night. When is the train? I’ll just go in and
mention it to your mother. I wanted to see what sort of a set you had about.
Poor lot!” said Mr. Dirom, shaking his heavy chain as he looked at his
watch. “Not a shilling to spare among ’em—and thinking all the world of
themselves. So do I? Yes: but then I’ve got something to stand upon.
Money, my boy, that’s the only real power.”
Phyllis and Doris met their brother anxiously on his way back. “What is
he going to do?” they both said; “what has he been talking to you about?
Have you got to give her up, you poor old Fred?”
“I shouldn’t have given her up for a dozen governors; but he’s very good
about it. Really to hear him you would think—— He’s perhaps better about
it than I deserve. He’s going back to town by the fast train to-night.”
“To-night!” There was both relief and grievance in the tone of the girls.
“He might just as well have gone this morning, and much more
comfortable for him,” said Phyllis.
“For us too,” said her sister, and the three stood together and indulged in
a little guilty laugh which expressed the relief of their souls. “It is horrid of
us, when he’s always so kind: but papa does not really enjoy the country,
nor perhaps our society. He is always much happier when he’s in town and
within reach of the club.”
“And in the meantime we have got our diamonds.”
“And I my freedom,” said Fred; then he added with a look of
compunction, “I say, though, look here. He’s as good to us as he knows
how, and we’re not just what you would call——”
“Grateful,” said both the sisters in a breath. Then they began to make
excuses, each in her own way.
“We did not bring up ourselves. We ought to have got the sort of
education that would have kept us in papa’s sphere. He should have seen to
that; but he didn’t, Fred, as you know, and how can we help it? I am always
as civil to him as it’s possible to be. If he were ill, or anything happened—
By-the-bye, we are always saying now, ‘If anything happened:’ as if there
was some trouble in the air.”
“It’s all right; you needn’t be superstitious. He is in the best of spirits,
and says I am not wanted, and that he’s got some tremendous operation in
hand.”
“I do not suppose you would make much difference, dear Fred, even if
you were wanted,” said Miss Phyllis sweetly. “Of course if he were ill we
should go to him wherever he was. If he should have an accident now, I
could bind up his arteries, or foment his foot if he strained it. I have not got
my ambulance certificate for nothing. But keeping very well and quite
rampant, and richer than anybody, what could we do for him?”
“It’s the sentiment of the thing,” said Fred.
“As if he ever thought of the sentiment; or minded anything about us.”
They returned to the house in the course of this conversation—where
already the servants had cleared the dining-room and replaced it in its
ordinary condition. Here Doris paused to tell the butler that dinner must be
served early on account of her father’s departure: but her interference was
received by that functionary with a bland smile, which rebuked the
intrusion.
“We have known it, miss, since master came,” a little speech which
brought back the young people to their original state of exasperated
satisfaction.
“You see!” the girls said, while even Fred while he laughed felt a prick
of irritation. Williams the butler had a great respect for his master, a respect
by no means general in such cases. He had served a duke in his day, but he
had never met with any one who was so indifferent to every one else, so
masterful and easy in his egotism, as his present gentleman. And that he
himself should have known what Mr. Dirom’s arrangements were, while the
children did not know, was a thing that pleased this regent of the household.
It was putting things in their proper place.
All the arrangements were made in the same unalterable imperious way.
There was no hurry with Mr. Dirom. He dined and indulged in a great many
remarks upon county people, whom he thought very small beer, he who was
used to the best society. He would not in London have condescended to
notice such people.
But in the country, if the girls liked, and as there was nothing better to be
had—“From time to time give them a good spread,” he said; “don’t mind
what’s the occasion—a good spread, all the delicacies of the season; that’s
the sort of thing to do. Hang economy, that’s the virtue of the poor-proud.
You’re not poor, thanks to me, and you have no call to be humble, chicks.
Give it ’em grand, regardless of expense. As long as I’m there to pay, I like
you to cut a figure. I like to feed ’em up and laugh in their faces. They’ll
call me vulgar, you bet. Never mind; what I like is to let them say it, and
then make them knuckle under. Let ’em see you’re rich,—that’s what the
beggars feel,—and you’ll have every one of them, the best of them, on their
knees. Pity is,” he added after a while, “that there’s nobody here that is any
good. Nothing marriageable, eh, Phyll? Ah, well, for that fellow there, who
might have picked up something better any day of his life; but nothing for
you girls. Not so much as a bit of a young baronet, or even a Scotch squire.
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