38. CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE DAY AFTER THE WEDDING.
“On the 23d instant, Alfred Dinks, Esq., of Boston, to Fanny,
oldest daughter of Boniface Newt, Esq., of this city.”
Fanny wrote the notice with her own hands, and made Alfred
take it to the papers. In this manner she was before her
mother-in-law in spreading the news. In this manner, also, as
Boniface Newt, Esq., sat at breakfast, he learned of his daughter's
marriage. His face grew purple. He looked apoplectic
as he said to his wife,
“Nancy, what in God's name does this mean?”
His frightened wife asked what, and he read the announcement
aloud.
He rose from table, and walked up and down the room.
“Did you know any thing of this?” inquired he. “What
does it mean?”
“Dear me! I thought he was engaged to Hope Wayne,”
replied Mrs. Newt, crying.
There was a moment's silence. Then Mr. Newt said, with
a sneer,
“It seems to me that a mother whose daughter gets married
without her knowledge is a very curious kind of mother
—an extremely competent kind of mother.”
He resumed his walking. Mrs. Newt went on with her
weeping. But Boniface Newt was aware of the possibilities
in the case of Alfred, and therefore tried to recover himself
and consider the chances.
“What do you know about this fellow?” said he, petulantly,
to his wife.
“I don't know any thing in particular,” she sobbed.
“Do you know whether he has money, or whether his father
has?”
[ILLUSTRATION]
"She Shall Lie in the Bed She Has Made."
[Description: 538EAF. Page 228. In-line Illustration. Image of man and woman at a breakfast table. The man has a napkin over one knee and a newspaper in his hand. There is a toast rack and an egg cup on the table along with other items.]
“No; but old Mr. Burt is his grandfather.”
“What! his mother's father?”
“I believe so. I know Fanny always said he was Hope
Wayne's cousin.”
Mr. Newt pondered for a little while. His brow contracted.
“Why on earth have they run away? Did Mr. Burt's
grandson suppose he would be unwelcome to me? Has he
been in the habit of coming here, Nancy?”
“No, not much.”
“Have you seen them since this thing?”
“No, indeed,” replied the mother, bursting into tears
afresh.
Her husband looked at her darkly.
“Don't blubber. What good does crying do? G—! if
any thing happens in this world, a woman falls to crying her
eyes out, as if that would help it.”
Boniface Newt was not usually affectionate. But there was
almost a ferocity in his address at this moment which startled
his wife into silence. His daughter May turned pale as she
saw and heard her father.
“I thought Abel was trial enough!” said he, bitterly; “and
now the girl must fall to cutting up shines. I tell you plainly,
Nancy, if Fanny has married a beggar, a beggar she shall be.
There is some reason for a private marriage that we don't understand.
It can't be any good reason; and, daughter or no
daughter, she shall lie in the bed she has made.”
He scowled and set his teeth as he said it. His wife did
not dare to cry any more. May went to her mother and took
her hand, while the father of the family walked rapidly up and
down.
“Every thing comes at once,” said he. “Just as I am most
bothered and driven down town, this infernal business of Fanny's
must needs happen. One thing I'm sure of—if it was all
right it would not be a private wedding. What fools women
are! And Fanny, whom I always thought so entirely able to
take care of herself, turns out to be the greatest fool of all!
This fellow's a booby, I believe, Mrs. Newt. I think I have
heard even you make fun of him. But to be poor, too! To
run away with a pauper-booby, by Heavens, it's too absurd!”
Mr. Newt laughed mockingly, while the tears flowed fast
from the eyes of his wife, who said at intervals, “I vow,”
and “I declare,” with such utter weakness of tone and movement
that her husband suddenly exclaimed, in an exasperated
tone,
“Nancy, if you don't stop rocking your body in that inane
way, and shaking your hand and your handkerchief, and saying
those imbecile things, I shall go mad. I suppose this is
the kind of sympathy a man gets from a woman in his misfortunes!”
May Newt looked shocked and indignant. “Mother, I am
sorry for poor Fanny,” said she.
She said it quietly and tenderly, and without the remotest
reference in look, or tone, or gesture to her father.
He turned toward her suddenly.
“Hold your tongue, Miss!”
“Mamma, I shall go and see Fanny to-day,” May continued,
as if her father had not spoken. Her mother looked frightened,
and turned to her deprecatingly with a look that said, “For
Heaven's sake, don't!” Her father regarded her for a moment
in amazement.
“What do you mean, you little vixen? Let me catch you
disobeying me and going to see that ungrateful wicked girl,
if you think fit!”
There was a moment in which May Newt turned pale, but
she said, in a very low voice,
“I must go.”
“May, I forbid your going,” said Mr. Newt, severely and
loudly.
“Father, you have no right to forbid me.”
“I forbid your going,” roared her father, planting himself
in front of her, and quite white with wrath.
May said no more.
“A pretty family you have brought up, Mrs. Nancy Newt,”
said he, at length, looking at his wife with all the contempt
which his voice expressed. “A son who ruins me by his extravagance,
a daughter who runs away with—with”—he hesitated
to remember the exact expression—“with a pauper-booby,
and another daughter who defies and disobeys her father.
I congratulate you upon your charming family, upon your distinguished
success, Mrs. Newt. Is there no younger brother
of your son-in-law whom you might introduce to Miss May
Newt? I beg your pardon, she is Miss Newt, now that her
sister is so happily married,” said Boniface Newt, bowing ceremoniously
to his daughter.
Mrs. Newt clasped her hands in an utterly helpless despair,
and unconsciously raised them in a beseeching attitude before
her.
“The husband's duty takes him away from home,” continued
Mr. Newt. “While he is struggling for the maintenance
of his family he supposes that his wife is caring for his children,
and that she has, at least, the smallest speck of an idea
of what is necessary to be done to make them tolerably well
behaved. Some husbands are doomed to be mistaken.”
Boniface Newt bowed, and smiled sarcastically.
“Yes, and as if it were not enough to have my wife such a
model trainer—and my son so careful—and my daughter so
obedient—and my younger daughter so affectionate—I must
also have trials in my business. I expected a great loan from
Van Boozenberg's bank, and I haven't got it. He's an old
driveling fool. Mrs. Newt, you must curtail expenses. There's
one mouth less, and one Stewart's bill less, at any rate.”
“Father,” said May, as if she could not bear the cool cutting
adrift of her sister from the family, “Fanny is not dead.”
“No,” replied her father, sullenly. “No, the more's the—”
He stopped, for he caught May's eye, and he could not finish
the sentence.
“Mr. Newt,” said his wife, at length, “perhaps Alfred
Dinks is not poor.”
That was the chance, but Mr. Newt was skeptical. He had
an instinctive suspicion that no rich young man, however
much a booby, would have married Fanny clandestinely. Men
are forced to know something of their reputations, and Boniface
Newt was perfectly aware that it was generally understood
he had no aversion to money. He knew also that he
was reputed rich, that his family were known to live expensively,
and he was quite shrewd enough to believe that any
youth in her own set who ran off with his daughter did so because
he depended upon her father's money. He was satisfied
that the Newt family was not to be a gainer by the new
alliance. The more he thought of it the more he was convinced,
and the more angry he became. He was still storming,
when the door was thrown open and Mrs. Dagon rushed in.
“What does it all mean?” asked she.
Mr. Newt stopped in his walk, smiled contemptuously, and
pointed to his wife, who sat with her handkerchief over her
eyes.
“Pooh!” said Mrs. Dagon, “I knew 'twould come to this.
I've seen her hugging him the whole winter, and so has every
body else who has eyes.”
And she shook her plumage as she settled into a seat.
“Mrs. Boniface Newt is unfortunately blind; that is to say,
she sees every body's affairs but her own,” said Mr. Newt,
tauntingly.
Mrs. Dagon, without heeding him, talked on.
“But why did they run away to be married? What does
it mean? Fanny's not romantic, and Dinks is a fool. He's
rich, and a proper match enough, for a woman can't expect
to have every thing. I can't see why he didn't propose regularly,
and behave like other people. Do you suppose he was
actually engaged to his cousin Hope Wayne, and that our darling
Fanny has outwitted the Boston beauty, and the Boston
beau too, for that matter? It looks like it, really. I think
that must be it. It's a pity a Newt should marry a fool—”
“It is not the first time,” interrupted her nephew, making
a low bow to his wife.
Mrs. Dagon looked a little surprised. She had seen little
jars and rubs before in the family, but this morning she
seemed to have happened in upon an earthquake. She continued:
“But we must make the best of it. Are they in the house?”
“No, Aunt Dagon,” said Mr. Newt. “I knew nothing of
it until, half an hour ago, I read it in the paper with all the
rest of the world. It seems it was a family secret.” And he
bowed again to his wife.
“Don't, don't,” sobbed she. “You know I didn't know
any thing about it. Oh! Aunt Dagon, I never knew him so
unjust and wicked as he is to-day. He treats me cruelly.”
And the poor woman covered her red eyes again with her
handkerchief, and rocked herself feebly. Mr. Newt went out,
and slammed the door behind him.
