I put all the points to him carefully -- I set the matter before him in every conceivable light. He lay back in the chair the whole time I was speaking with his eyes closed. When I had done he opened them indolently, took his silver smelling-bottle from the table, and sniffed at it with an air of gentle relish.
‘Good Gilmore I' he said between the sniffs, ‘how very nice this is of you I How you reconcile one to human nature!'
‘Give me a plain answer to a plain question, Mr Fairlie. I tell you again, Sir Percival Glyde has no shadow of a claim to expect more than the income of the money. The money itself, if your niece has no children, ought to be under her control, and to return to her family. If you stand firm, Sir Percival must give way -- he must give way, I tell you, or he exposes himself to the base imputation of marrying Miss Fairlie entirely from mercenary motives.'
Mr Fairlie shook the silver smelling-bottle at me playfully.
‘You dear old Gilmore, how you do hate rank and family, don't you? How you detest Glyde because he happens to be a baronet. What a Radical you are -- oh, dear me, what a Radical you are!'
A Radical!!! I could put up with a good deal of provocation, but, after holding the soundest Conservative principles all my life, I could not put up with being called a Radical. My blood boiled at it -- I started out of my chair -- I was speechless with indignation.
‘Don't shake the room!' cried Mr Fairlie -- ‘for Heaven's sake don't shake the room I Worthiest of all possible Gilmores, I meant no offence.
My own views are so extremely liberal that I think I am a Radical myself.
Yes. We are a pair of Radicals. Please don't be angry. I can't quarrel -- I haven't stamina enough. Shall we drop the subject? Yes. Come and look at these sweet etchings. Do let me teach you to understand the heavenly pearliness of these lines. Do now, there's a good Gilmore!'
While he was maundering on in this way I was, fortunately for my own self-respect, returning to my senses. When I spoke again I was composed enough to treat his impertinence with the silent contempt that it deserved.
‘You are entirely wrong, sir,' I said, ‘in supposing that I speak from any prejudice against Sir Percival Glyde. I may regret that he has so unreservedly resigned himself in this matter to his lawyer's direction as to make any appeal to himself impossible, but I am not prejudiced against him. What I have said would equally apply to any other man in his situation, high or low. The principle I maintain is a recognised principle. If you were to apply to the nearest town here, to the first respectable solicitor you could find, he would tell you as a stranger what I tell you as a friend.
He would inform you that it is against all rule to abandon the lady's money entirely to the man she marries. He would decline, on grounds of common legal caution, to give the husband, under any circumstances whatever, an interest of twenty thousand pounds in his wife's death.'
‘Would he really, Gilmore?' said Mr Fairlie. ‘If he said anything half so horrid, I do assure you I should tinkle my bell for Louis, and have him sent out of the house immediately.'
‘You shall not irritate me, Mr Fairlie -- for your niece's sake and for her father's sake, you shall not irritate me. You shall take the whole responsibility of this discreditable settlement on your own shoulders before I leave the room.'
‘Don't! -- now please don't!' said Mr Fairlie. ‘Think how precious your time is, Gilmore, and don't throw it away. I would dispute with you if I could, but I can't -- I haven't stamina enough. You want to upset me, to upset yourself, to upset Glyde, and to upset Laura; and -- oh, dear me! -- all for the sake of the very last thing in the world that is likely to happen. No, dear friend, in the interests of peace and quietness, positively No!'
‘I am to understand, then, that you hold by the determination expressed in your letter?'
‘Yes, please. So glad we understand each other at last. Sit down again -- do!'
I walked at once to the door, and Mr Fairlie resignedly ‘tinkled' his hand-bell. Before I left the room I turned round and addressed him for the last time.
‘Whatever happens in the future, sir,' I said, ‘remember that my plain duty of warning you has been performed. As the faithful friend and servant of your family, I tell you, at parting, that no daughter of mine should be married to any man alive under such a settlement as you are forcing me to make for Miss Fairlie.'
The door opened behind me, and the valet stood waiting on the threshold.
‘Louis,' said Mr Fairlie, ‘show Mr Gilmore out, and then come back and hold up my etchings for me again. Make them give you a good lunch downstairs.
Do, Gilmore, make my idle beasts of servants give you a good lunch!'
I was too much disgusted to reply -- I turned on my heel, and left him in silence. There was an up train at two o'clock in the afternoon, and by that train I returned to London.
On the Tuesday I sent in the altered settlement, which practically disinherited the very persons whom Miss Fairlie's own lips had informed me she was most anxious to benefit. I had no choice. Another lawyer would have drawn up the deed if I had refused to undertake it.
My task is done. My personal share in the events of the family story extends no farther than the point which I have just reached. Other pens than mine will describe the strange circumstances which are now shortly to follow. Seriously and sorrowfully I close this brief record. Seriously and sorrowfully I repeat here the parting words that I spoke at Limmeridge House: -- No daughter of mine should have been married to any man alive under such a settlement as I was compelled to make for Laura Fairlie.
