CHAPTER XV.

"_Festina lente_--celerity should be contempered with
cunctation."--SIR THOMAS BROWNE.


Gwendolen, we have seen, passed her time abroad in the new excitement of
gambling, and in imagining herself an empress of luck, having brought from
her late experience a vague impression that in this confused world it
signified nothing what any one did, so that they amused themselves. We
have seen, too, that certain persons, mysteriously symbolized as Grapnell
& Co., having also thought of reigning in the realm of luck, and being
also bent on amusing themselves, no matter how, had brought about a
painful change in her family circumstances; whence she had returned home--
carrying with her, against her inclination, a necklace which she had
pawned and some one else had redeemed.

While she was going back to England, Grandcourt was coming to find her;
coming, that is, after his own manner--not in haste by express straight
from Diplow to Leubronn, where she was understood to be; but so entirely
without hurry that he was induced by the presence of some Russian
acquaintances to linger at Baden-Baden and make various appointments with
them, which, however, his desire to be at Leubronn ultimately caused him
to break. Grandcourt's passions were of the intermittent, flickering kind:
never flaming out strongly. But a great deal of life goes on without
strong passion: myriads of cravats are carefully tied, dinners attended,
even speeches made proposing the health of august personages without the
zest arising from a strong desire. And a man may make a good appearance in
high social positions--may be supposed to know the classics, to have his
reserves on science, a strong though repressed opinion on politics, and
all the sentiments of the English gentleman, at a small expense of vital
energy. Also, he may be obstinate or persistent at the same low rate, and
may even show sudden impulses which have a false air of daemonic strength
because they seem inexplicable, though perhaps their secret lies merely in
the want of regulated channels for the soul to move in--good and
sufficient ducts of habit without which our nature easily turns to mere
ooze and mud, and at any pressure yields nothing but a spurt or a puddle.

Grandcourt had not been altogether displeased by Gwendolen's running away
from the splendid chance he was holding out to her. The act had some
piquancy for him. He liked to think that it was due to resentment of his
careless behavior in Cardell Chase, which, when he came to consider it,
did appear rather cool. To have brought her so near a tender admission,
and then to have walked headlong away from further opportunities of
winning the consent which he had made her understand him to be asking for,
was enough to provoke a girl of spirit; and to be worth his mastering it
was proper that she should have some spirit. Doubtless she meant him to
follow her, and it was what he meant too. But for a whole week he took no
measures toward starting, and did not even inquire where Miss Harleth was
gone. Mr. Lush felt a triumph that was mingled with much distrust; for
Grandcourt had said no word to him about her, and looked as neutral as an
alligator; there was no telling what might turn up in the slowly-churning
chances of his mind. Still, to have put off a decision was to have made
room for the waste of Grandcourt's energy.

The guests at Diplow felt more curiosity than their host. How was it that
nothing more was heard of Miss Harleth? Was it credible that she had
refused Mr. Grandcourt? Lady Flora Hollis, a lively middle-aged woman,
well endowed with curiosity, felt a sudden interest in making a round of
calls with Mrs. Torrington, including the rectory, Offendene, and
Quetcham, and thus not only got twice over, but also discussed with the
Arrowpoints, the information that Miss Harleth was gone to Leubronn, with
some old friends, the Baron and Baroness von Langen; for the immediate
agitation and disappointment of Mrs. Davilow and the Gascoignes had
resolved itself into a wish that Gwendolen's disappearance should not be
interpreted as anything eccentric or needful to be kept secret. The
rector's mind, indeed, entertained the possibility that the marriage was
only a little deferred, for Mrs. Davilow had not dared to tell him of the
bitter determination with which Gwendolen had spoken. And in spite of his
practical ability, some of his experience had petrified into maxims and
quotations. Amaryllis fleeing desired that her hiding-place should be
known; and that love will find out the way "over the mountain and over the
wave" may be said without hyperbole in this age of steam. Gwendolen, he
conceived, was an Amaryllis of excellent sense but coquettish daring; the
question was whether she had dared too much.

Lady Flora, coming back charged with news about Miss Harleth, saw no good
reason why she should not try whether she could electrify Mr. Grandcourt
by mentioning it to him at the table; and in doing so shot a few hints of
a notion having got abroad that he was a disappointed adorer. Grandcourt
heard with quietude, but with attention; and the next day he ordered Lush
to bring about a decent reason for breaking up the party at Diplow by the
end of another week, as he meant to go yachting to the Baltic or
somewhere--it being impossible to stay at Diplow as if he were a prisoner
on parole, with a set of people whom he had never wanted. Lush needed no
clearer announcement that Grandcourt was going to Leubronn; but he might
go after the manner of a creeping billiard-ball and stick on the way. What
Mr. Lush intended was to make himself indispensable so that he might go
too, and he succeeded; Gwendolen's repulsion for him being a fact that
only am used his patron, and made him none the less willing to have Lush
always at hand.

This was how it happened that Grandcourt arrived at the _Czarina_ on the
fifth day after Gwendolen had left Leubronn, and found there his uncle,
Sir Hugo Mallinger, with his family, including Deronda. It is not
necessarily a pleasure either to the reigning power or the heir
presumptive when their separate affairs--a--touch of gout, say, in the
one, and a touch of willfulness in the other--happen to bring them to the
same spot. Sir Hugo was an easy-tempered man, tolerant both of differences
and defects; but a point of view different from his own concerning the
settlement of the family estates fretted him rather more than if it had
concerned Church discipline or the ballot, and faults were the less venial
for belonging to a person whose existence was inconvenient to him. In no
case could Grandcourt have been a nephew after his own heart; but as the
presumptive heir to the Mallinger estates he was the sign and embodiment
of a chief grievance in the baronet's life--the want of a son to inherit
the lands, in no portion of which had he himself more than a life-
interest. For in the ill-advised settlement which his father, Sir Francis,
had chosen to make by will, even Diplow with its modicum of land had been
left under the same conditions as the ancient and wide inheritance of the
two Toppings--Diplow, where Sir Hugo had lived and hunted through many a
season in his younger years, and where his wife and daughters ought to
have been able to retire after his death.

This grievance had naturally gathered emphasis as the years advanced, and
Lady Mallinger, after having had three daughters in quick succession, had
remained for eight years till now that she was over forty without
producing so much as another girl; while Sir Hugo, almost twenty years
older, was at a time of life when, notwithstanding the fashionable
retardation of most things from dinners to marriages, a man's hopefulness
is apt to show signs of wear, until restored by second childhood.

In fact, he had begun to despair of a son, and this confirmation of
Grandcourt's interest in the estates certainly tended to make his image
and presence the more unwelcome; but, on the other hand, it carried
circumstances which disposed Sir Hugo to take care that the relation
between them should be kept as friendly as possible. It led him to dwell
on a plan which had grown up side by side with his disappointment of an
heir; namely, to try and secure Diplow as a future residence for Lady
Mallinger and her daughters, and keep this pretty bit of the family
inheritance for his own offspring in spite of that disappointment. Such
knowledge as he had of his nephew's disposition and affairs encouraged the
belief that Grandcourt might consent to a transaction by which he would
get a good sum of ready money, as an equivalent for his prospective
interest in the domain of Diplow and the moderate amount of land attached
to it. If, after all, the unhoped-for son should be born, the money would
have been thrown away, and Grandcourt would have been paid for giving up
interests that had turned out good for nothing; but Sir Hugo set down this
risk as _nil_, and of late years he had husbanded his fortune so well by
the working of mines and the sale of leases that he was prepared for an
outlay.

Here was an object that made him careful to avoid any quarrel with
Grandcourt. Some years before, when he was making improvements at the
Abbey, and needed Grandcourt's concurrence in his felling an obstructive
mass of timber on the demesne, he had congratulated himself on finding
that there was no active spite against him in his nephew's peculiar mind;
and nothing had since occurred to make them hate each other more than was
compatible with perfect politeness, or with any accommodation that could
be strictly mutual.

Grandcourt, on his side, thought his uncle a superfluity and a bore, and
felt that the list of things in general would be improved whenever Sir
Hugo came to be expunged. But he had been made aware through Lush, always
a useful medium, of the baronet's inclinations concerning Diplow, and he
was gratified to have the alternative of the money in his mind: even if he
had not thought it in the least likely that he would choose to accept it,
his sense of power would have been flattered by his being able to refuse
what Sir Hugo desired. The hinted transaction had told for something among
the motives which had made him ask for a year's tenancy of Diplow, which
it had rather annoyed Sir Hugo to grant, because the excellent hunting in
the neighborhood might decide Grandcourt not to part with his chance of
future possession;--a man who has two places, in one of which the hunting
is less good, naturally desiring a third where it is better. Also, Lush
had thrown out to Sir Hugo the probability that Grandcourt would woo and
win Miss Arrowpoint, and in that case ready money might be less of a
temptation to him. Hence, on this unexpected meeting at Leubronn, the
baronet felt much curiosity to know how things had been going on at
Diplow, was bent on being as civil as possible to his nephew, and looked
forward to some private chat with Lush.

Between Deronda and Grandcourt there was a more faintly-marked but
peculiar relation, depending on circumstances which have yet to be made
known. But on no side was there any sign of suppressed chagrin on the
first meeting at the _table d'hote_, an hour after Grandcourt's arrival;
and when the quartette of gentlemen afterward met on the terrace, without
Lady Mallinger, they moved off together to saunter through the rooms, Sir
Hugo saying as they entered the large _saal_--

"Did you play much at Baden, Grandcourt?"

"No; I looked on and betted a little with some Russians there."

"Had you luck?"

"What did I win, Lush?"

"You brought away about two hundred," said Lush.

"You are not here for the sake of the play, then?" said Sir Hugo.

"No; I don't care about play now. It's a confounded strain," said
Grandcourt, whose diamond ring and demeanor, as he moved along playing
slightly with his whisker, were being a good deal stared at by rouged
foreigners interested in a new milord.

"The fact is, somebody should invent a mill to do amusements for you, my
dear fellow," said Sir Hugo, "as the Tartars get their praying done. But I
agree with you; I never cared for play. It's monotonous--knits the brain
up into meshes. And it knocks me up to watch it now. I suppose one gets
poisoned with the bad air. I never stay here more than ten minutes. But
where's your gambling beauty, Deronda? Have you seen her lately?"

"She's gone," said Deronda, curtly.

"An uncommonly fine girl, a perfect Diana," said Sir Hugo, turning to
Grandcourt again. "Really worth a little straining to look at her. I saw
her winning, and she took it as coolly as if she had known it all
beforehand. The same day Deronda happened to see her losing like wildfire,
and she bore it with immense pluck. I suppose she was cleaned out, or was
wise enough to stop in time. How do you know she's gone?"

"Oh, by the Visitor-list," said Deronda, with a scarcely perceptible
shrug. "Vandernoodt told me her name was Harleth, and she was with the
Baron and Baroness von Langen. I saw by the list that Miss Harleth was no
longer there."

This held no further information for Lush than that Gwendolen had been
gambling. He had already looked at the list, and ascertained that
Gwendolen had gone, but he had no intention of thrusting this knowledge on
Grandcourt before he asked for it; and he had not asked, finding it enough
to believe that the object of search would turn up somewhere or other.

But now Grandcourt had heard what was rather piquant, and not a word about
Miss Harleth had been missed by ham. After a moment's pause he said to
Deronda--

"Do you know those people--the Langens?"

"I have talked with them a little since Miss Harleth went away. I knew
nothing of them before."

"Where is she gone--do you know?"

"She is gone home," said Deronda, coldly, as if he wished to say no more.
But then, from a fresh impulse, he turned to look markedly at Grandcourt,
and added, "But it is possible you know her. Her home is not far from
Diplow: Offendene, near Winchester."

Deronda, turning to look straight at Grandcourt, who was on his left hand,
might have been a subject for those old painters who liked contrasts of
temperament. There was a calm intensity of life and richness of tint in
his face that on a sudden gaze from him was rather startling, and often
made him seem to have spoken, so that servants and officials asked him
automatically, "What did you say, sir?" when he had been quite silent.
Grandcourt himself felt an irritation, which he did not show except by a
slight movement of the eyelids, at Deronda's turning round on him when he
was not asked to do more than speak. But he answered, with his usual
drawl, "Yes, I know her," and paused with his shoulder toward Deronda, to
look at the gambling.

"What of her, eh?" asked Sir Hugo of Lush, as the three moved on a little
way. "She must be a new-comer at Offendene. Old Blenny lived there after
the dowager died."

"A little too much of her," said Lush, in a low, significant tone; not
sorry to let Sir Hugo know the state of affairs.

"Why? how?" said the baronet. They all moved out of the _salon_ into an
airy promenade.

"He has been on the brink of marrying her," Lush went on. "But I hope it's
off now. She's a niece of the clergyman--Gascoigne--at Pennicote. Her
mother is a widow with a brood of daughters. This girl will have nothing,
and is as dangerous as gunpowder. It would be a foolish marriage. But she
has taken a freak against him, for she ran off here without notice, when
he had agreed to call the next day. The fact is, he's here after her; but
he was in no great hurry, and between his caprice and hers they are likely
enough not to get together again. But of course he has lost his chance
with the heiress."

Grandcourt joining them said, "What a beastly den this is!--a worse hole
than Baden. I shall go back to the hotel."

When Sir Hugo and Deronda were alone, the baronet began--

"Rather a pretty story. That girl has something in her. She must be worth
running after--has _de l'imprevu_. I think her appearance on the scene has
bettered my chance of getting Diplow, whether the marriage comes off or
not."

"I should hope a marriage like that would not come off," said Deronda, in
a tone of disgust.

"What! are you a little touched with the sublime lash?" said Sir Hugo,
putting up his glasses to help his short sight in looking at his
companion. "Are you inclined to run after her?"

"On the contrary," said Deronda, "I should rather be inclined to run away
from her."

"Why, you would easily cut out Grandcourt. A girl with her spirit would
think you the finer match of the two," said Sir Hugo, who often tried
Deronda's patience by finding a joke in impossible advice. (A difference
of taste in jokes is a great strain on the affections.)

"I suppose pedigree and land belong to a fine match," said Deronda,
coldly.

"The best horse will win in spite of pedigree, my boy. You remember
Napoleon's _mot--Je suis un ancetre_" said Sir Hugo, who habitually
undervalued birth, as men after dining well often agree that the good of
life is distributed with wonderful equality.

"I am not sure that I want to be an ancestor," said Deronda. "It doesn't
seem to me the rarest sort of origination."

"You won't run after the pretty gambler, then?" said Sir Hugo, putting
down his glasses.

"Decidedly not."

This answer was perfectly truthful; nevertheless it had passed through
Deronda's mind that under other circumstances he should have given way to
the interest this girl had raised in him, and tried to know more of her.
But his history had given him a stronger bias in another direction. He
felt himself in no sense free.