University of Virginia Library

39. CHAPTER XXXIX.
A FIELD-DAY.

“Now, Nancy, tell me about this thing,” said Mrs. Dagon,
when the husband was gone.

But Nancy had nothing to tell.

“I don't like his running away with her—that looks bad,”
continued Mrs. Dagon. She pondered a few moments, and
then said:

“I can tell you one thing, Nancy, which it wasn't worth
while to mention to Boniface, who seems to be nervous this
morning — but I am sure Fanny proposed the running off.
Alfred Dinks is too great a fool. He never would have
thought of it, and he would never have dared to do it if he
had.”

“Oh dear me!” responded Mrs. Newt.

“Pooh! it isn't such a dreadful thing, if he is only rich
enough,” said Aunt Dagon, in a consoling voice. “Every
thing depends on that; and I haven't much doubt of it. Alfred
Dinks is a fool, my dear, but Fanny Newt is not; and
Fanny Newt is not the girl to marry a fool, except for reasons.
You may trust Fanny, Nancy. You may depend there was
some foolish something with Hope Wayne, on the part of Alfred,

and Fanny has cut the knot she was not sure of untying.
Pooh! pooh! When you are as old as I am you won't be
distressed over these things. Fanny Newt is fully weaned.
She wants an establishment, and she has got it. There are
plenty of people who would have been glad to marry their
daughters to Alfred Dinks. I can tell you there are some
great advantages in having a fool for your husband. Don't
you see Fanny never would have been happy with a man she
couldn't manage. It's quite right, my dear.”

At this moment the bell rang, and Mrs. Newt, not wishing
to be caught with red eyes, called May, who had looked on at
this debate, and left the room.

While Mrs. Dagon had been so volubly talking she had also
been busily thinking. She knew that if Alfred were a fool
his mother was not—at least, not in the way she meant.
There had been no love lost between the ladies, so that Mrs.
Dagon was disposed to criticise the other's conduct very closely.
She saw, therefore, that if Alfred Dinks were not rich—
and it certainly was a question whether he were so really, or
only in expectation from Mr. Burt—then also he might not
be engaged to Hope Wayne. But the story of his wealth and
his engagement might very easily have been the ruse by which
the skillful Mrs. Dinks meant to conduct her campaign in New
York. In that case, what was more likely than that she
should have improved Fanny's evident delusion in regard to
her son, and, by suggesting to him an elopement, have secured
for him the daughter of a merchant so universally reputed
wealthy as Boniface Newt?

Mrs. Dagon was clever—so was Mrs. Dinks; and it is the
homage that one clever person always pays to another to believe
the other capable of every thing that occurs to himself.

In the matter of the marriage Mrs. Budlong Dinks had been
defeated, but she was not dismayed. She had lost Hope
Wayne, indeed, and she could no longer hope, by the marriage
of Alfred with his cousin, to consolidate the Burt property
in her family. She had been very indignant—very deeply

disappointed. But she still loved her son, and the meditation
of a night refreshed her.

Upon a survey of the field, Mrs. Dinks felt that under no
circumstances would Hope have married Alfred; and he had
now actually married Fanny. So much was done. It was
useless to wish impossible wishes. She did not desire her son
to starve or come to social shame, although he had married
Fanny; and Fanny, after all, was rather a belle, and the daughter
of a rich merchant, who would have to support them. She
knew, of course, that Fanny supposed her husband would
share in the great Burt property. But as Mrs. Dinks herself
believed the same thing, that did not surprise her. In fact,
they would all be gainers by it; and nothing now remained
but to devote herself to securing that result.

The first step under the circumstances was clearly a visit to
the Newts, and the ring which had sent Mrs. Newt from the
room was Mrs. Dinks's.

Mrs. Dagon was alone when Mrs. Dinks entered, and Mrs.
Dagon was by no means sure, whatever she said to Nancy, that
Mrs. Dinks had not outwitted them all. As she entered Mrs.
Dagon put up her glasses and gazed at her; and when Mrs.
Dinks saluted her, Mrs. Dagon bowed behind the glasses, as if
she were bowing through a telescope at the planet Jupiter.

“Good-morning, Mrs. Dagon!”

“Good-morning, Mrs. Dinks!” replied that lady, still contemplating
the other as if she were a surprising and incomprehensible
phenomenon.

Profound silence followed. Mrs. Dinks was annoyed by
the insult which Mrs. Dagon was tacitly putting upon her,
and resolving upon revenge. Meanwhile she turned over
some illustrated books upon the table, as if engravings were
of all things those that afforded her the profoundest satisfaction.

But she was conscious that she could not deceive Mrs. Dagon
by an appearance of interest; so, after a few moments,
Mrs. Dinks seated herself in a large easy-chair opposite that

[ILLUSTRATION]

Aunt Dagon and Mrs. Dinks.

[Description: 538EAF. Page 236. In-line Illustration. Image of two women in hats sitting in stuffed chairs.] lady, who was still looking at her, shook her dress, glanced
into the mirror with the utmost nonchalance, and finally, slowly
drawing out her own glasses, raised them to her eyes, and
with perfect indifference surveyed the enemy.

The ladies gazed at each other for a few moments in silence.

“How's your daughter, Mrs. Alfred Dinks?” asked Mrs.
Dagon, abruptly.

Mrs. Dinks continued to gaze without answering. She was
resolved to put down this dragon that laid waste society.
The dragon was instantly conscious that she had made a mistake
in speaking, and was angry accordingly. She said nothing
more; she only glared.

“Good-morning, my dear Mrs. Dinks,” said Mrs. Newt, in
a troubled voice, as she entered the room. “Oh my! isn't it
—isn't it—singular?”

For Mrs. Newt was bewildered. Between her husband
and Mrs. Dagon she had been so depressed and comforted
that she did not know what to think. She was sure it was
Fanny who had married Alfred, and she supposed, with all
the world, that he had, or was to have, a pretty fortune. Yet
she felt, with her husband, that the private marriage was suspicious.
It seemed, at least, to prove the indisposition of
Mrs. Dinks to the match. But, as they were married, she did
not wish to alienate the mother of the rich bridegroom.

“Singular, indeed, Mrs. Newt!” rejoined Mrs. Dinks; “I
call it extraordinary!”

“I call it outrageous,” interpolated Mrs. Dagon. “Poor
girl! to be run away with and married! What a blow for our
family!”

Mrs. Dinks resumed her glasses, and looked unutterably at
Mrs. Dagon. But Mrs. Dinks, on her side, knowing the limitations
of Alfred's income, and believing in the Newt resources,
did not wish to divert from him any kindness of the Newts.
So she outgeneraled Mrs. Dagon again.

“Yes, indeed, it is an outrage upon all our feelings. We
must, of course, be mutually shocked at the indiscretion of
these members of both our families.”

“Yes, oh yes!” answered Mrs. Newt. “I do declare!
what do people do so for?”

Neither cared to take the next step, and make the obvious
and necessary inquiries as to the future, for neither wished to
betray the thought that was uppermost. At length Mrs.
Dinks ventured to say.

“One thing, at least, is fortunate.”

“Indeed!” ejaculated Mrs. Dagon behind the glasses, as if
she scoffed at the bare suggestion of any thing but utter misfortune
being associated with such an affair.

“I say one thing is fortunate,” continued Mrs. Dinks, in a
more decided tone, and without the slightest attention to Mrs.
Dagon's remark.

“Dear me! I declare I don't see just what you mean, Mrs.
Dinks,” said Mrs. Newt.

“I mean that they are neither of them children,” answered
the other.

“They may not be children,” commenced Mrs. Dagon,
in the most implacable tone, “but they are both fools. I
shouldn't wonder, Nancy, if they'd both outwitted each other,
after all; for whenever two people, without the slightest apparent
reason, run away to be married, it is because one of
them is poor.”

This was a truth of which the two mothers were both vaguely
conscious, and which by no means increased the comfort of
the situation. It led to a long pause in the conversation.
Mrs. Dinks wished Aunt Dagon on the top of Mont Blane,
and while she was meditating the best thing to say, Mrs. Dagon,
who had rallied, returned to the charge.

“Of course,” said she, “that is something that would hardly
be said of the daughter of Boniface Newt.”

And Mrs. Dagon resumed the study of Mrs. Dinks.

“Or of the grand-nephew of Christopher Burt,” said the latter,
putting up her own glasses and returning the stare.

“Grand-nephew! Is Alfred Dinks not the grandson of Mr.
Burt?” asked Mrs. Newt, earnestly.

“No, he is his grand-nephew. I am the niece of Mr. Burt
—daughter of his brother Jonathan, deceased,” replied Mrs.
Dinks.

“Oh!” said Mrs. Newt, dolefully.

“Not a very near relation,” added Mrs. Dagon. “Grandnephews
don't count.”

That might be true, but it was thin consolation for Mrs.
Newt, who began to take fire.

“But, Mrs. Dinks, how did this affair come about?” asked
she.

“Exactly,” chimed in Aunt Dagon; “how did it come
about?”

“My dear Mrs. Newt,” replied Mrs. Dinks, entirely over-looking
the existence of Mrs. Dagon, “you know my son Alfred
and your daughter Fanny. So do I. Do you believe
that Alfred ran away with Fanny, or Fanny with Alfred.
Theoretically, of course, the man does it. Do you believe Alfred
did it?”

Mrs. Dinks's tone was resolute. Mrs. Newt was on the
verge of hysterics.

“Do you mean to insult my daughter to her mother's face?”
exclaimed she. “Do you mean to insinuate that—”

“I mean to insinuate nothing, my dear Mrs. Newt. I say
plainly what I mean to say, so let us keep as cool as we can
for the sake of all parties. They are married—that's settled.
How are they going to live?”

Mrs. Newt opened her mouth with amazement.

“I believe the husband usually supports the wife,” ejaculated
the dragon behind the glasses.

“I understand you to say, then, my dear Mrs. Newt,” continued
Mrs. Dinks, with a superb disregard of the older lady,
who had made the remark, “that the husband usually supports
the family. Now in this matter, you know, we are going to
be perfectly cool and sensible. You know as well as I that
Alfred has no profession, but that he will by and by inherit a
fortune from his grand-uncle—”

At this point Mrs. Dagon coughed in an incredulous and
contemptuous manner. Mrs. Dinks put her handkerchief to
her nose, which she patted gently, and waited for Mrs. Dagon
to stop.

“As I was saying—a fortune from his grand-uncle. Now
until then provision must be made—”

“Really,” said Mrs. Dagon, for Mrs. Newt was bewildered
into silence by the rapid conversation of Mrs. Dinks—“really,
these are matters of business which, I believe, are usually left
to gentlemen.”

“I know, of course, Mrs. Newt,” continued the interpid
Mrs. Dinks, utterly regardless of Mrs. Dagon, for she had fully
considered her part, and knew her own intentions, “that such
things are generally arranged by the gentlemen. But I think
sensible women like you and I, mothers, too, are quite as
much interested in the matter as fathers can be. Our honor
is as much involved in the happiness of our children as their
fathers' is. So I have come to ask you, in a purely friendly
and private manner, what the chances for our dear children
are?”

“I am sure I know nothing,” answered Mrs. Newt; “I only
know that Mr. Newt is furious.”

“Perfectly lunatic,” added Aunt Dagon, in full view of Mrs.
Dinks.

“Pity, pity!” returned Mrs. Dinks, with an air of compassionate
unconcern; “because these things can always be so
easily settled. I hope Mr. Newt won't suffer himself to be
disturbed. Every thing will come right.”

“What does Mr. Dinks say?” feebly inquired Mrs. Newt.

“I really don't know,” replied Mrs. Dinks, with a cool air
of surprise that any body should care what he thought—which
made Mrs. Dagon almost envious of her enemy, and which so
impressed Mrs. Newt, who considered the opinion of her husband
as the only point of importance in the whole affair, that
she turned pale.

“I mean that his mind is so engrossed with other matters
that he rarely attends to the domestic details,” added Mrs.
Dinks, who had no desire of frightening any of her new relatives.
“Have you been to see Fanny yet?”

“No,” returned Mrs. Newt, half-sobbing again, “I have only
just heard of it; and—and—I don't think Mr. Newt would
wish me to go.”

Mrs. Dinks raised her eyebrows, and again touched her face
gently with the handkerchief. Mrs. Dagon rubbed her glasses
and waited, for she knew very well that Mrs. Dinks had
not yet discovered what she had come to learn. The old
General was not deceived by the light skirmishing.

“I am sorry not to have seen Mr. Newt before he went
down town,” began Mrs. Dinks, after a pause. “But since
we must all know these matters sooner or later—that is to
say, those of us whose business it is”—here she glanced at
Mrs. Dagon—“you and I, my dear Mrs. Newt, may talk confidentially.
How much will your husband probably allow Fanny
until Alfred comes into his property?”

Mrs. Dinks leaned back and folded her shawl closely around
her, and Mrs. Dagon hemmed and smiled a smile of perfect
incredulity.

“Gracious, gracious! Mrs. Dinks, Mr. Newt won't give her
a cent!” answered Mrs. Newt. As she uttered the words
Mrs. Dagon held the enemy in full survey.

Mrs. Dinks was confounded. That there would be some
trouble in arranging the matter she had expected. But the
extreme dolefulness of Mrs. Newt had already perplexed her;
and the prompt, simple way in which she answered this question
precluded the suspicion of artifice. Something was clearly,
radically wrong. She knew that Alfred had six hundred a
year from his father. She had no profound respect for that
gentleman; but men are willful. Suppose he should take a
whim to stop it? On the other side, she knew that Boniface
Newt was an obstinate man, and that fathers were sometimes
implacable. Sometimes, even, they did not relent in
making their wills. She knew all about Miss Van Boozenberg's
marriage with Tom Witchet, for it was no secret in society.
Was it possible her darling Alfred might be in actual
danger of such penury—at least until he came into his property?
And what property was it, and what were the chances
that old Burt would leave him a cent?

These considerations instantly occupied her mind as Mrs.

Newt spoke; and she saw more clearly than ever the necessity
of propitiating old Burt.

At length she asked, with an undismayed countenance, and
with even a show of smiling:

“But, Mrs. Newt why do you take so cheerless a view of
your husband's intentions in this matter?”

The words that her husband had spoken in his wrath had
rung in Mrs. Newt's mind ever since, and they now fell, echo-like,
from her tongue.

“Because he said that, daughter or no daughter, she shall
lie in the bed she has made.”

Mrs. Dinks could not help showing a little chagrin. It
was the sign for Mrs. Newt to burst into fresh sorrow. Mrs.
Dagon was as rigid as a bronze statue.

“Very well, then, Mrs. Newt,” said her visitor, rising, “Mr.
Newt will have the satisfaction of seeing his daughter starve.”

“Oh, her husband will take care of that,” said the bronze
statue, blandly.

“My son Alfred,” continued Mrs. Dinks, “has an allowance
of six hundred dollars a year, no profession, and expectations
from his grand-uncle. These are his resources. If his father
chooses, he can cut off his allowance. Perhaps he will. You
can mention these facts to Mr. Newt.”

“Oh! mercy! mercy!” exclaimed Mrs. Newt. “What shall
we do? What will people say?”

“Good-morning, ladies!” said Mrs. Dinks, with a comprehensive
bow. She was troubled, but not overwhelmed; for
she believed that the rich Mr. Newt would not, of course, allow
his daughter to suffer. Mrs. Dagon was more profoundly
persuaded than ever that Mrs. Dinks had managed the whole
matter.

“Nancy,” said she, as the door closed upon Mrs. Dinks,
“it is a scheming, artful woman. Her son has no money, and
I doubt if he ever will have any. Boniface will be implacable.
I know him. He is capable of seeing his daughter suffer.
Fanny has made a frightful mistake. Poor Fanny! she was

not so clever as she thought herself. There is only one hope
—that is in old Burt. I think we had better present that
view chiefly to Boniface. We must concede the poverty, but
insist and enlarge upon the prospect. No Newt ought to be
allowed to suffer if we can help it. Poor Fanny! She was
always pert, but not quite so smart as she thought herself!”

Mrs. Dagon indulged in a low chuckle of triumph, while
Mrs. Newt was overwhelmed with a vague apprehension that
all her husband's wrath at his daughter's marriage would be
visited upon her.