Part 75 (1/2)

In a moment, however, he has pulled himself together. He tells himself he sees at once the right course to pursue. In other words, he has decided on conquering her.

”You shall certainly not do that,” says he icily.

”I shall, however.” She almost laughs as she steps back from him, and up to Margaret. There is an air about her as though she had snapped her pretty fingers in his face. ”Now you must help me to gain my living,” cries she gaily. ”'A child of the people' (I quote your mother again),” smiling at Rylton, ”I will go back to the people.”

”It is not quite so bad as that,” says Margaret, who has been studying the fatal letter with a view of tearing _some_ good out of it. ”It seems that when these speculations that your uncle made with your money all failed--and these failures have been going on for years--that still he tried to keep up his credit with you by--by sacrificing all his own money, and----”

”Poor old Uncle George,” says the girl softly. For the first time she seems sorry for the misfortune that has fallen on her house.

”Perhaps I can go to him, and help him. I dare say, now he is down in the world, he might be a little kinder to me.”

”Impossible, t.i.ta. He has gone abroad,” says Margaret, who, as she tells herself miserably, is developing into a determined liar!

Uncle George, so runs the letter, has committed suicide. Truly he has gone abroad with a vengeance, and no man knoweth whither.

t.i.ta sighs. It is, to tell truth, a sigh of relief. Uncle George had not been palatable to her.

”Well, I can earn something.”

”You need not that,” says Margaret. ”It seems there is from two to three hundred a year left to you that cannot be disputed. It should be sufficient to----”

”I can live on _half_ that!” cries t.i.ta eagerly.

”You shall live with me,” says Rylton, breaking in with cold anger.

”You are my wife. You shall not leave me.”

t.i.ta makes a little gesture.

”Why waste time over it?” says she. ”I shall leave you as soon as ever I can. To-morrow. I am afraid it is too late to-night. I should have gone any way, after what you said to me just now----”

”After what _he_ said to you, you mean!” bursts in Rylton violently, losing all control over his temper. ”You were going with him----”

_”Maurice!”_ Margaret has stepped between them. ”How _dare_ you speak to her like that?” says she, her calm, kind face transfigured.

”I hope to see you ashamed of yourself to-morrow. Be quiet, t.i.ta.

_I_ will look after you.” She turns again hurriedly to Rylton, who is looking very white and breathing heavily, with his eyes immovably fixed on t.i.ta. ”She will come with me--to my house to-morrow,” says Margaret. ”You will, t.i.ta?”

”Oh yes, to you!” cries t.i.ta, running to her, and flinging herself into her arms. ”You are the only one who--of _his_ family”--with a baleful glance at Rylton over her shoulder--”who has been kind to me!”

CHAPTER XVI.

HOW MAURICE TELLS HIS MOTHER OF THE GREAT FIASCO; AND HOW SHE RECEIVES THE NEWS.

The guests have all gone! The morning train had swallowed up the Hescotts, and the eleven o'clock had disposed of the rest. Only the Dowager Lady Rylton and Margaret still remain.

The latter has decided on going by the evening train and taking t.i.ta with her, deeming it best to separate husband and wife for a little while, until the calamity be overpast for a few weeks, at all events. As for Tessie, she had come with a determination to linger on until Christmas with her son and his wife, though asked for three weeks only; and it is her son's pleasing task to be obliged now to explain to her why and wherefore she must go back at once to the old home--to The Place--to the old home partially saved from ruin by his unhappy marriage, and now doomed to a sure destruction because of the loss of the fortune that had been the primary motive in the making of that marriage.

Rylton got through the telling of his lamentable tale more easily than he could have supposed possible. Whilst walking up the stairs to his mother's room, he had tried to compose certain forms of speech that might let the whole affair ”down easy,” to quote from the modern English language, but had failed utterly. Yet, when on the spot, he had run glibly through it all--coldly--almost without feeling. And his mother had heard him as coldly, until she learned all hope was at an end--as far as t.i.ta's thousands were concerned.