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Updated: May 6, 2025
She knew that she at any rate was not to blame. She was struggling for the same end as Mrs Baggett, and did deserve better treatment. "You oughtn't to bother going up to London, sir, on any such errand, and so I tells you, Mr Whittlestaff," said Mrs Baggett. "I have told him the same thing myself," said Mary Lawrie, turning round.
But in spite of her asseverations, there must have been present to her mind some feeling that if Mr Whittlestaff would yield to the prayer of John Gordon, all the gulf would be bridged over which yawned between herself and perfect happiness. Kimberley? Yes, indeed; or anywhere else in the wide world.
But John Gordon could not postpone his moment. He could not go on residing indefinitely at the Claimant's Arms till he could find a proper opportunity for assuring Mr Whittlestaff that it could not be his duty to marry Mary Lawrie. He must rush at his subject, let the result be what it might. Indeed he had no hopes as to a favourable result.
Mr Whittlestaff did not go home that day, but on the next, remaining in town till he was driven out of it by twenty-four hours of absolute misery. He had said to himself that he would remain till he could think of some future plan of life that should have in it some better promise of success for him than his sudden scheme of going to the diamond-fields.
There's Timothy Baggett is down there among the hosses, and he says as I am to go with him. So I've come up here to say that if he's allowed to sleep it off to-day, I'll be ready to start to-morrow." "I tell you I am not going to make any change at all," said Mr Whittlestaff. "You was saying you was going away, for the honeymoon, I did suppose."
When he should have told her of his distant home, of the roughness of his life, of the changes and chances to which his career must be subject, she would have assured him, with her heart full of joy, that she would accept it all and think her lot so happy as to admit of no complaint. Mr Whittlestaff would then have known the condition of her heart, before he had himself spoken a word.
But it cannot be so." "Oh, Mr Whittlestaff!" "It cannot be so," he said, with a firm determined voice, as though asserting a fact which admitted no doubt. "Mr Whittlestaff, what am I to say to you?" "You! What are you to say? Nothing. What should you say? Why should you speak? It is not for love of you that I would do this thing; nor yet altogether from love of her.
For the first month or two after the young lady's arrival, she had almost made up her mind that Mary Lawrie would never consent to become Mrs Whittlestaff. An old gentleman will seldom fall in love without some encouragement; or at any rate, will not tell his love. Mary Lawrie was as cold to him as though he had been seventy-five instead of fifty.
"Don't be a fool," Mr Whittlestaff had said. "I'm always a fool, whether I go or stay, so that don't much matter." This had been her answer, and then she had gone in to scold the maids. As soon as she had heard of the intended dinner-party, she attacked Mary Lawrie. "So you're going to see this young man again?"
As he said this he endeavoured, no doubt, to assert his own dignity by the look which he assumed. Nor did he intend that Mr Gordon should know anything of the struggle which he had endured. But Mr Gordon knew as well what Mr Whittlestaff had to say as did Mr Whittlestaff himself.
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