As he was about to go Mrs. Staunton became desperate. “Allerton is a stern man,” she said, with an air that forbade the idea that mere vulgar curiosity was moving her. “He has the notion that Cecilia was not polite to you--you know, she gives way to strange moods. And he is so irritated against her that he is treating her harshly.”
Frothingham looked astonished. “Really!” he said. “How extraordinary. I can’t conceive how he happened to wander off into that. Nothing could be farther from the truth.”
“I confess,” Mrs. Staunton went on, “I’m much disappointed. I’ve taken a fancy to you. I had rather hoped that you and Cecilia would like each other--you understand.”
Frothingham reflected. It was possible, yes, probable, that Cecilia’s father could drive her into marrying him, would do it if he should hint to Mrs. Staunton that he did fancy Cecilia and was “horribly cut up” because she didn’t fancy him. “What the devil do her feelings matter to me?” he demanded of himself. “A month after we were married she’d forget all this ghost nonsense and would be thanking me for pulling her out of it.”
“And,” Mrs. Staunton was saying, “I know her father would have liked it as well as I.”
But Frothingham didn’t follow his impulse and her unconscious leading. “What am I thinking of?” he said to himself in the sharp struggle that was going on behind his impassive exterior. “I’m not that sort of blackguard--at least, not yet.” Then he drawled his answer to Mrs. Staunton: “I’m tremendously flattered, but really, I fear the young lady and I would never hit it off. I’ve no great fancy for marrying--never had. I’ve always thought it a poor business--one of the sort of things that are good for the women and children, you know, but not for the men.”
Mrs. Staunton looked mild and humourous disapproval. “What is the world coming to? A man asked me the other day why all the nice women were married and all the nice men single. I hadn’t thought of it until he spoke. But I must say it’s true of my acquaintances.”
“I hope you’ll let Mr. Allerton know he’s wrong,” said Frothingham. “I hate it that the poor girl’s had the screws put on her on my account.”
“Certainly--I’ll tell him. But I’m sorry it’s not to be as we hoped.” She was studying him with a puzzled expression. She had heard from what she regarded as a thoroughly trustworthy source that he had come over especially to get him a rich wife. If that wasn’t his object, why was he wandering about here? Titled foreigners didn’t come to America except for the one thing of interest to them which America has--money. She could not understand his unbusiness-like conduct.