He had only that morning negotiated a bill with Mr. Moss for another hundred pounds.
Stephen smiled evilly behind his pocket handkerchief. He held that bill in his pocketbook at that moment, in company with all Jack’s previous ones.
CHAPTER XXX
The two men sat beside the fire almost in silence. Jack was trying to get over his reluctance to go to the Hurst, and wondering what would become of him if he did not, and Una left him all alone in town; and Stephen was wondering whether it was time to strike the blow he meditated.
Very soon Jack jumped up.
“If you’ve had enough wine, let us join the ladies,” he said, and went toward the door.
Stephen followed him, but turned back to fetch his pocket handkerchief.
Lying beside it, on the table, was a rose which had fallen from the bosom of Una’s dress. He took it up, and looked at it with that look which a man bestows on some trifle which has been worn by the woman he loves, and then, as if by an irresistible impulse, raised it to his lips, kissing it passionately, and put it carefully in his bosom. As he did so, he raised his eyes to the glass, which reflected one side of the room, and saw the slight figure of a woman standing in the open door and watching him.
The light from the carefully shaded lamp was too dim to allow him to see the face distinctly, but something in the figure caused him to feel a sudden chill.
He turned sharply and walked to the door; but the hall was empty and there was no sound of retreating footsteps.
“Some servant maid waiting to come in to clear the table,” he muttered.
But he returned to the dining-room, and drank off a glass of liquor before going to the drawing-room, from which ripples of Jack’s frank laughter were floating in the hall.
Lady Bell was seated at the piano, playing and singing in her light-hearted, careless fashion; Jack and Una were seated in a dimly-lit corner, talking in an undertone.
Stephen went up to the piano and stood apparently listening intently, but in reality watching the other two under his lowered lids.
The presence of the rose in his bosom seemed to heighten the passion which burned in his heart; and the sight of Jack bending over Una, and of her rapt, up-turned face as she looked up, drinking in his lightest word as if it were gospel, maddened him.
It was with a start that he became conscious that Lady Bell had ceased playing, and that she, like him, was watching the lovers.
“Miss Una and Mr. Newcombe seem very good friends,” she said, with a forced smile.
“Do they not?” said Stephen, in his softest voice. “Too good.”
Lady Bell looked up at him quickly.
“What do you mean?”
Stephen looked down at her gravely.
“Can you keep a secret, Lady Bell?” he said, hesitatingly.
“Sometimes,” she said. “What is it?”
Stephen glanced across at Jack and Una.
“I’m rather anxious about our young friends,” he said, his voice dropped still lower, his head bent forward with such an insidious smile that Lady Bell could not, for the life of her, help thinking of a serpent.
“Anxious!” she echoed, her heart beating. “As how?”
“Can you not guess?” he said, raising his eyebrows.
“You – you mean that they may fall in love with each other. Well, they are not badly matched,” said Lady Bell, bravely, though her heart was aching.
“Not badly, in one sense,” said Stephen, after a pause; “but as badly as two persons could be in all others. They are a match as regards their means. They are both penniless.”
Lady Bell looked up with a start.
“Is – is Mr. Newcombe so badly off? I thought – that is, I fancied he had a wealthy uncle – ” She paused.
“You mean Mr. Ralph Davenant,” said Stephen, calmly, and with an air of sadness. “I am sorry to say that he left everything which he possessed to a less worthy person – to me.”
Lady Bell looked at him inquiringly.
“To me,” he repeated, “and poor Jack was – well, disinherited, and left penniless. It is of him I think when I say that I am anxious about them; naturally, I think of him. Miss Rolfe is a friend of my mother’s, and has been used to a straitened life; but poor Jack does not know what poverty means, and in his ignorance may drift into an entanglement which may embitter her life. No man in the world is less fitted for love in a cottage, and nothing to pay the rent, than Jack Newcombe. You, who have seen something of him, must have remarked his easy-going, careless nature, his utter ignorance of the value of money, his unsuitableness for a life of poverty and privation.”
Lady Bell’s heart beat fast.
“But – but – ” she said, “you have plenty.”
“Of which Jack will not take one penny. You see he is as proud as he is poor.”
“I like him for that,” murmured Lady Bell.
“Yes, so do I; though it pains and grieves me. If Jack would permit me to help him, Lady Bell, he might marry Una Rolfe tomorrow; but as it is, I fear, I am anxious. Another man would be wiser, but Jack has no idea of prudence, and would plunge head first into all the misery of such a union without a thought of the morrow.”
“And you – you think he loves her,” murmured Lady Bell; and she waited for an answer as a man on his trial might wait for the verdict of the jury.
Stephen smiled. He could read Lady Bell’s heart as if it were an open book.
“Loves her! No, certainly not – not yet. He is amused and entertained, but love has not come yet.”
“And she?” asked Lady Bell, anxiously, her eyes fixed on Una’s face.
Stephen smiled again.
“No, not yet. She is ignorant of the meaning of the word. I have taken some trouble to arrive at the truth, and I am sure of what I say. It is well for her that she is not, for anything like a serious engagement would be simply madness. Poor Jack! His future lies so plainly before him, and if he would follow it, the rest of his life might be happiness itself.”
“You mean that he should marry for money,” said Lady Bell, coldly.
“No, not for money alone,” murmured Stephen. “Jack is too high-minded to be guilty of such meanness; but is it not possible to marry for love and money, too, Lady Bell?”
Lady Bell turned her head aside; her heart beating fast. The voice of the tempter sounded like music in her ear. Why should not he marry for love as well as money? She had both. She loved him passionately, and she would pour her money at his feet to do as he liked with; to squander and make ducks and drakes of, if he would but give her a little love in return.
As she looked across the room at him, that awful, wistful longing which only a woman who loves with all her heart can feel, took possession of her and mastered her.
“Why do you tell me this?” she asked, sharply turning her face, pale and working.
“Because,” murmured Stephen, “because I have Jack’s interest so much at heart that I am bold enough to ask for aid where I know it can be of avail.”
“Do you mean that you ask me?” she said, tremulously. “What can I do?”
“Much, everything,” he whispered, his head bent low, almost to her ear. “Ask yourself, dear Lady Bell, and you will understand me. Let me be plain and straightforward, even at the risk of offending you. There was a time, not many months ago, when I and his best friends thought Jack had made a choice at once happy and wise.”
Lady Bell rose and moved to and fro, and then sank down again trembling with agitation.
“You mean that – that he was falling in love with me?”
Stephen inclined his head with lowered eyes.
“It is true,” he said. “You cannot fail to have seen what all observed.” And he went on quickly – “And but for this fancy – this passing fancy – all would have been well. Lady Bell, I am speaking more openly than I ever have spoken to woman before. I am risking offending you, but I do so from the affection which I bear my cousin. Lady Bell, I implore you to help me in saving him from a step which will plunge him into life-long misery. He is totally unfitted to battle with the world; married wisely and well, he would be a happy and contented man; married unwisely and badly, no one can picture the future.”
Lady Bell rose, her face pale, her eyes gleaming under the strain which she was enduring.
“Don’t say any more,” she said; “I – I cannot bear it. You have guessed my secret; I can feel that. Yes, I would save him if I could, and if you are sure that – that there is no engagement – ”
“There is none,” said Stephen, lying smoothly. “There can be none; the idea is preposterous.”
Lady Bell moved away as he spoke, and turned over some book on the table to conceal her agitation, and Stephen, humming a popular hymn tune, crossed the room and looked down at Jack and Una with a benedictory smile, as if he was blessing them.
“Are you aware of the time, and that Lady Bell’s hall porter is uttering maledictions for our tardiness?” he said, playfully.
Jack looked at his watch.
“By Jove! No idea it was so late. Are you ready, Mrs. Davenant?”
Mrs. Davenant woke from a sleep, and she and Una went upstairs.
“I see you have a new maid,” she said, when they came down again. “What a superior-looking young girl.”
“Is she not?” said Lady Bell, absently. “She is more than superior, she is interesting. She has a history.”
Stephen, standing by, folding and unfolding his opera hat, smiled.
“Very interesting; but take care, Lady Bell; I am always suspicious of interesting people with a history.”
As he spoke, a pale, dark face looked down upon him from the upper landing for a moment, then disappeared.
“You will come with us, Stephen?” said Mrs. Davenant, nervously.
“No, thanks. I should like the walk. Good-night,” and he kissed her dutifully, and shook hands with Jack and Lady Bell.
“Going to walk?” cried Mrs. Davenant. “It is very chilly, and you’ve only that thin overcoat.”
“I’ve a scarf somewhere – where is it?” said Stephen.
Una stooped, and picked up a white scarf.
“Here it is,” she said, laughing, and all innocently she threw it round his neck.
“Will you tie it, please?” said Stephen, in an ordinary tone, and Una, laughing still, tied it.
Stephen stood motionless, his eyes cast down; he was afraid to raise them lest the passion blazing in them should be read by all there.
“Thanks. I cannot catch cold now,” he said, as he took her hand and held it for a moment.
He put them into the brougham, and under the pretext of arranging her shawl, touched her hand once again; then he stood in the chilly street and watched the brougham till it disappeared in the distance.
Then he turned and walked homeward.
“One step in the right direction,” he muttered. “Take care, Master Jack; I shall outwit you yet.”
As he ascended the stairs of his chambers, Slummers came out to meet him.
“There is a – person waiting for you, Mr. Stephen,” he said.
Stephen stopped, and his hand closed on the balustrade; his thoughts flew to Laura Treherne.
“A – woman, Slummers?”
“No, sir, a man,” said Slummers.
“Very good,” said Stephen, with a breath of relief. “Who is it – do you know?”
Slummers shook his head.
“A rough sort of man, sir; says he has come on business. He has been waiting for hours.”
“I am very sorry,” said Stephen, aloud and blandly, for the benefit of the visitor. “I am sorry to have kept anyone waiting. But it is rather late – ”
He entered the room as he spoke, and started slightly, for standing in the center of the apartment was Gideon Rolfe.
Notwithstanding the start Stephen came forward with outstretched hand and a ready smile of welcome.
“My dear Mr. Rolfe, I am indeed sorry that you should have been kept so long. If I had only known that you were coming – ”
Gideon Rolfe waived all further compliment aside with a gesture of impatience.
“I wished to see you,” he said. “Time is no object to me.”
Stephen shut the door carefully and stood in a listening attitude. He knew it was of no use to ask his visitor to sit down.
“You have come to inquire about your daughter?”
“No, I have not,” said Gideon Rolfe, calmly. “I know that she is well – I see her daily. I came to remind you of our contract – I came to remind you of your promise that no harm should come near her.”
Stephen smiled and shook his head.
“And I trust no harm has come near her, my dear Mr. Rolfe.”
“But I say that it has,” said Gideon Rolfe, coldly. “I have watched her daily and I know.”
“To what harm do you allude?” asked Stephen, bravely.
“Do you deny that the young man Jack Newcombe is near her?”
“Oh,” said Stephen, and he drew a long breath.
Then he commenced untying the scarf, his acute brain hard at work.
Here was an instrument ready to his hand, if he chose to use it properly.
“Oh, I understand. No, I do not deny it; I wish that I could do so, for your sake and for Una’s,” he said gravely.
“Speak plainly,” said Gideon Rolfe, hoarsely.
“I will,” said Stephen. “Plainly then, Mr. Newcombe has chosen to fall in love with – your daughter! That accounts for his constant attendance upon her.”
Gideon Rolfe’s face worked.
“I will take her back,” he said, grimly.
Stephen smiled.
“Softly, softly. There are two to that bargain, my dear Mr. Rolfe. For Miss Una to go back to a state of savagery in Warden Forest is impossible. You, who have seen her in her new surroundings, and the change they have wrought in her, must admit that.”
Gideon Rolfe wiped the perspiration from his brow.
“I know that she is changed,” he said. “She is like a great lady now. I see her dressed in rich silks and satins, and coming and going in carriages, with servants to wait upon her, and I know that she is changed, and that she has forgotten the friends of her childhood – forgotten those who were father and mother to her – ”
“You wrong Miss Una,” said Stephen, smoothly. “Not a day passes but she inquires for you and deplores your absence – ”
“But,” went on Gideon, as if he had not been interrupted, “I have not forgotten her, nor my promise to her mother. In a weak moment, moved by your threats more than your persuasions, I consented to part with her, but I would rather she were dead than that should happen – which you say will happen.”
“Pardon me,” said Stephen, blandly, and with an evil smile. “I said that Mr. Newcombe had fallen in love with her; I did not say that he would marry her. I would rather she were dead than that should happen,” and he turned his face for one moment to the light.
It was pale even to the lips, the eyes gleaming with resolute purpose.
Gideon Rolfe looked at him in silence for a moment.
“I do not understand,” he said, in a troubled voice.
“Let me make it clear to you,” said Stephen. “Against my will and wish these two have met and become acquainted. Against my will and wish that acquaintance has ripened into” – he drew a long breath as if the word hurt him – “into love, or what they mistake for love. Thus far it has gone, but it must go no further. I am at one with you there. You and I must prevent it. You cannot do it alone, you know. You have no control over Miss Una; you who are not her father and in no way related to her.”
Gideon Rolfe set his teeth hard.
“You see,” said Stephen, with a haggard smile, “alone you are helpless. Be sure of that. If you move in the matter without me, I will declare the secret of her birth. Stop! be calm! But you and I can put an end to this engagement.”
“They are engaged?” muttered Gideon Rolfe.
Stephen smiled contemptuously.
“My good friend, this matter has passed beyond your strength. Leave it to me. Yes, they are engaged; the affair has gone so far, but it must go no further. While you have been lurking outside area gates and behind carriages I have been at work, and I will stop it. I am not too proud to accept your aid, however. When the time comes I will ask your aid. Give me an address to which to write to you.”
Gideon Rolfe, with a suspicious air, drew a piece of paper from his pocket and wrote an address.
“This will find you?” said Stephen. “Good. When the time comes I will send for you; meanwhile” – and he smiled – “you can go on haunting area gates and watching carriages, but be sure of one thing, that this marriage shall never take place.”
Gideon Rolfe watched the pale face grimly.
“I must know more,” he said. “How will you put an end to this?”
Stephen smiled. It was not a pleasant smile.
“You want to see the modus operandi? How the conjurer is going to perform the wonderful feat? Well, it is very simple. My friend and somewhat cousin, for all his romance, will not care to marry a girl whose name is stained with shame. If I know my dear Jack, he will not care to make an illegitimate child of Gideon Rolfe, the woodman, Mrs. Newcombe.”
Gideon Rolfe started.
“You will tell him?” he said, hoarsely.
“Yes,” said Stephen; “I shall tell him the truth, of course concealing the proper names, and you must be here to confirm my statement. That is all you have to do. Mind! not a word of my uncle’s connection with the matter, or all is lost. You understand?”
“Yes, I understand,” said Gideon, hoarsely. “I care not by what means so that the marriage is prevented.”
“Nor I,” said Stephen, coolly; “and now we are agreed on that point. When I want you I will write to you. Until then – will you take any refreshment?”
Gideon Rolfe waved his hand by way of negative, and Stephen rang the bell. “Show this gentleman out, Slummers. Mind the lower stairs, the gas has been put out. Good-night, good-night.”
CHAPTER XXXI
It was settled that Mrs. Davenant, Una and Stephen should go to the Hurst in a week’s time. Jack had definitely declined to go to the Hurst. He felt that he would rather bear the absence of Una for a week or two than go to the old house, haunted as it was, for him, with so many memories; but lo and behold, a few days after the dinner party, had come a note from Lady Bell’s father, asking him to visit Earl’s Court.
Of course, Jack accepted gladly enough, without a thought of Lady Bell, and only remembering that a good nag would take him from Earl’s Court to Hurst in an hour and a half, or less.
The week passed rapidly, and with something like restlessness Lady Bell organized all kinds of outings and expeditions, in all of which Jack’s services were found to be indispensable.
He could not exactly tell how it happened; but he seemed to spend almost as much time with Lady Bell as with Una. Now it was to go and try a horse which Lady Bell wanted to buy; then to select some dogs to take down to Earl’s Court; and, again, to buy and send down pony-carriages and dog-carts.
There was always something to take him to Park Lane, and though Jack felt inclined to kick at these demands upon his time, which would otherwise have been spent near Una, he could not see his way to refuse. Then he was fond of buying horses, and dogs, and carriages, and used to hold a levee at Spider Court of disreputable-looking men in fustian corduroys, much to Leonard Dagle’s disgust.
“It seems to me, Jack,” he said, “that you have become Lady Bell’s grand vizier. Do you choose her dress for her?”
“Chaff away, old man,” said Jack. “It was only the other day that you were badgering me with being cool to her.”
“Yes, with a purpose,” said Leonard; “but that purpose has disappeared. Have you been to the Square yet this morning?”
“No; I’m going now. No, I can’t, confound it! I promised to see to the harness for the pair of ponies Lady Bell bought.”
Leonard smiled rather grimly.
“How Miss Una must love Lady Bell,” he said, ironically.
“So she does,” said Jack, sharply. “Now don’t pretend to be cynical, Len. You know as well as I do that I would spend every hour of my life by Una’s side if I could; but what can I do?”
“All right!” said Len, and he fell to work again.
Strangely enough now, that Jack was so much occupied with Lady Bell’s affairs, Stephen happened to find more leisure to visit his mother, and very often he accompanied her and Una to some concert or picture-gallery to which Jack was prevented from going. Stephen seemed, in addition, quite changed, and had become quite the man of pleasure in contrast to his former habits.
He rarely appeared at the Square without a nosegay or a new novel; he took the greatest interest in any subject which interested Una, and was as attentive to her as if he had been the most devoted of lovers. Now that Jack was so much absent, it was he who sat opposite her in the little brougham, who leaned over her chair at the theater, or rode beside her in the Row.
At first Una felt rather constrained by his constant attendance; she had been so used to have Jack at her side that she felt embarrassed with Stephen; but Stephen, whose tact was second only to his cunning, soon put her at her ease. She found that it was not necessary to talk to him, that she might sit by his side or ride with him for an hour without uttering a word, and was quite free to think of Jack while Stephen chatted on in his smooth, insinuating voice.
And so the very effect Stephen desired to produce came about; she got accustomed to have him near her, and got to feel at her ease in his presence. But how long the mornings seemed! and how she longed for Jack and wondered what he was doing! If anyone had openly told her she was jealous of Lady Bell, she would have repudiated the idea with scorn too deep for anything but a smile; and yet – and yet – that bright, happy look which Lady Bell had so much admired, grew fainter and fainter, and nearly disappeared, reviving only when Jack hurried in to spend a few hours with her, and then hurried off to keep some engagement with Lady Bell or on Lady Bell’s affairs.
But never by word or look did Una show that his absence pained her; instead, she was always the first to remind him of his engagements and to bid him depart.
At last the day arrived for her departure to Hurst. Lady Bell did not go down to Earl’s Court till three days later, and Jack, of course, had to remain in town for a day or two after that.
“It is the first time we have been parted for twenty-four hours since that happy day I learned you loved me, my darling!” he whispered as he held Una in his arms: “I almost wish that I had accepted Stephen’s invitation. But – but I could not sleep under the old roof – by Heaven, I could not! You cannot understand – ”
“But I do,” murmured Una; “and I am glad you are not coming. If – ”
And she paused.
“Well, darling?” asked Jack, kissing her.
“If you had said half a word, I would not have gone.”
“Why not?” said Jack, with a sigh. “Yes, I am glad you are going. You will see the old house in which I was so happy as a boy – which I once thought would have been mine.”
“Dear Jack!” she murmured; and her hand smoothed the hair from his forehead caressingly and comfortingly.
“Well, never mind,” said Jack; “it is better as it is. Perhaps I should have had the Hurst, and have lost you; and I would rather lose the whole earth than you, my darling! Besides, Stephen has turned out a better fellow than I thought him, and deserves all he has got, and will make a better use of it than I should. No, I am content – I have got the greatest treasure on earth!”
And he pressed her closer to him, and kissed her again and again until, from very shame, she slid from his grasp.
Stephen had engaged a first-class carriage, had even taken the precaution to order foot-warmers, though the weather was not yet winterish, and if he had been the personal attendant on a sovereign, and that sovereign had been Una, he could not have been more anxious for her comfort. He was so thoughtful and considerate that there was nothing left for Jack to do but go down to the station and see them off.
“Four days only, my darling,” he whispered, as the train was starting; “they will seem years to me.”
And he clung to her hand to the last moment, much to the disgust of the guard and porters, who expected to see him dragged under the train. Then he went back to Spider Court, feeling cold, chilly and miserable, as if the sun had been put out.
“Len, I wish I had gone!” he exclaimed, as he opened the door.
But there was no Len to hear him – the room was empty.
“Great Heaven! has everyone disappeared?” he exclaimed, irritably, and flung himself out of the house and into a hansom.
“Where to?” said the cabman, and Jack, half absently, answered:
“Park Lane.”
The man had often driven him before, and he drove straight to Lady Bell’s.
Jack walked into the drawing-room quite naturally – the room was familiar to him – and sat down before the fire; and Lady Bell came in with outstretched hand.
It was a comfort to have someone left, and Jack greeted her warmly, more warmly than he knew or intended. Lady Bell’s face flushed as he held her hand longer than was absolutely necessary.
“Thank Heaven! there is someone left,” he said, devoutly. “They have all gone, and Len is out, and – ”
“I am left,” said Lady Bell. “Well, you are just in time for luncheon. I half expected you, and I have told them to make a curry.”
Curry was one of Jack’s weaknesses.
“That is very kind of you,” he said, gratefully. He felt, very unreasonably, neglected somehow. “You always seem to know what a fellow likes.”
“That’s because I have a good memory,” said Lady Bell, smiling down at him. “I shall take care to have plenty of curries at Earl’s Court. And, by the way, will you choose a paper for the smoking-room down there? I have told them that they must do it at once.”
Jack rose without a word; he had been choosing papers and decorations for a week past, and it did not seem strange. Luncheon was announced while they were discussing the paper, and Jack gave her his arm. Mrs. Fellowes was the only other person present, and she sat reading a novel, deaf and blind to all else. Not but what she might have heard every word, for the young people talked of the most commonplace subjects, and Jack was very absent-minded, thinking of Una, and quite unconscious of the light which beamed in Lady Bell’s eyes when they rested on him.
Then they rode in the Row; he could do no less than offer to accompany her, and Mrs. Fellowes wanted to see a piece at one of the theaters, and Jack went to book seats, and took one for himself, and sat staring at the stage and thinking of Una; but he sat behind Lady Bell’s chair, and spoke to her occasionally, and Lady Bell was content.
Hetley and Arkroyd were in the stalls, and saw him.
“Jack’s making the running,” said Lord Dalrymple, eying the box through his opera glass. “He’s the winning horse, and we, the field, are nowhere.”
And not only those two, but many others, remarked on Jack’s close attendance on the great heiress, and not a few who would have gone to the box if he had not been there, kept away.
Meanwhile, Jack, simple, unsuspecting Jack, was bestowing scarcely a thought on the beautiful woman by his side, and thinking of Una miles away.
The theater over, and Lady Bell put into the carriage, he looked in at the club, sauntered into the card-room, smoked a cigar in the smoking-room, and then went home to Spider Court.
Much to his surprise he found Leonard up, not only up, but pacing the room, his face flushed and agitated.
“Hallo!” exclaimed Jack, “what’s the matter? And where on earth have you been?”
“Jack, I have found her!”
“That’s just what I said some months ago!”
“Yes, I know. I have been thinking how strangely alike our love affairs have been. It is my turn now. I have found her!”
“What, this young lady, Laura Treherne?”
“Yes,” said Leonard, with a long breath.
“Tell me all about it,” said Jack. “Hold hard a minute, till I get something to drink. Now, fire away.”
“Well,” said Leonard, still pacing up and down, and seeming scarcely conscious of Jack’s presence, “I was walking in the park. You know the place, that quiet walk under the beeches. I was thinking of you and your love affairs, when I saw, sitting under a tree, a figure that I knew at once. For a moment I could not move, and scarcely think; then I wondered how I should get to speak to her; but presently, when I had pulled myself together, I saw that she had dropped her handkerchief, and I went and picked it up and took it to her.”
“A fine opening,” muttered Jack.
Leonard Dagle evidently did not hear him.
“Well, she started when I approached her, and merely thanked me with a bow, but I was determined not to let her go this time, and I said, ‘Pardon me, but we have met before.’ ‘Where?’ said she. ‘In a railway carriage,’ I said, and she looked at me, and trembled. ‘I remember,’ she said, and I swear I saw her shudder. ‘Since then,’ I said, ‘I have sought you far and near.’ ‘Why should you do that?’ she asked.”
“A very natural question,” interjected Jack.
“Then I told her. I told her that from that hour I had been unable to rid my mind of her face, that it had haunted me; that I had followed her and learned her address; and that though I had lost her I had sought her all over London.”
“Was she angry?” asked Jack.
“At first she was,” said Leonard, “very angry, but something in my voice or my face – Heaven knows I was earnest enough! convinced her that I meant no harm, and she listened.”
“Well,” said Jack, interested and excited.
“Well,” said Leonard, “we sat talking for an hour, perhaps more, and she has promised to meet me again; at least she admitted that she walked in the park every afternoon. I tried to get her address, but she told me plainly that she would not give it to me.”
“And is that all you learned?” asked Jack, with something like good-natured contempt.
“No!” replied Leonard. “I learned that she had been injured – oh, not in the way you think – and that she had some purpose to effect – some wrong to right.”
“And of course you offered to help her?” said Jack.
“I offered to help her; I laid my services, my whole time and strength, at her disposal; I went so far as to beseech her to tell me what this purpose, this wrong was; but she would not tell me, and so we parted. But we are to meet again. She is much changed; paler and thinner than when I saw her in the railway carriage, but still more beautiful in my eyes than any other woman in the world.”
“It is a strange affair,” mused Jack. “Quite a romance in its way. Isn’t it funny, Len, that both our love affairs should be romantic, and so much alike!”
“Yes,” said Leonard, “very. But mine has scarcely begun, while yours has ended happily, or will do so, if you do not play the fool!”