Part 60 (1/2)

Marsden was the first to go. His wife watched him as he went slouching down the street. When he disappeared she did not immediately turn from the window. She had furtively produced her pocket handkerchief, and the gentlemen heard her blow her nose loudly and strenuously; but no one saw her wipe the tears from her eyes.

Mr. Collins, on the threshold of the room, was dismissing the policemen with pompous thanks, and promising to drop in upon their superintendent shortly.

”By the way,” he said, looking round; ”shall we let them escort Mrs.

Marsden home?”

”No,” said Mr. Archibald gallantly. ”That shall be my honour and pleasure. And there's no danger of his molesting her now.”

”I agree with you,” said Collins. ”We've fairly knocked the bounce out of _him_.” And he spoke to Mrs. Marsden with sentimental solicitude.

”There will be a plain-clothes constable in St. Saviour's Court, watching your door till the evening. But you needn't be afraid. Our friend won't venture to go there.”

Mr. Prentice sat at the head of his table, looking dazed and confused.

He and his whole house were taken possession of by Collins; policemen walked in and out; astounding things happened--the morning's work had been almost too much for him.

With an effort he got upon his legs to bow and smile at Mrs. Marsden, as she and Bence went out.

”Well now,” said Collins; and he shut his black bag. ”I don't think that, under the peculiar conditions of the case, anything could have been more satisfactory--do you?”

”Of course,” said Mr. Prentice, sitting down again ”you know, as well as I do, that what Marsden said was true. He could make her account to the firm for all her profits in Bence's. Such an investment isn't allowed--it isn't lawful.”

”I'll tell you what it is,” said Collins, enthusiastically blinking behind his spectacles. ”It's _great_--that's what it is; and I'm proud to have carried it through for her.”

Mr. Prentice really did not know what to say.

”And I'll tell you something more. If it isn't law, it's _justice_. I've never been such a stickler as you for mere outward form. Here were two people in terrible difficulty--Bence and Mrs. Marsden. She saw the way to save them both, and had the grit to take all risks and do it. That was good enough for me. As I say, I'm not so formal as you. I don't let a string of red tape trip up a brave woman when she's running for her life--that is, if I can prevent it.... Good morning, Prentice. Good morning to you.”

XXIX

However he might demur at first, Mr. Prentice soon came to the conclusion that it was truly great.

Perhaps at first he was so completely flabbergasted by the surprise of the thing that he could not really take it all in; his numbed brain, only partially working, fixed upon technical objections to the conduct of affairs by Hyde & Collins; and then, with awakening comprehension of a masterly coup, the sense of having been left out in the cold diminished his delight. But this soon pa.s.sed, and he began to glow joyously.

Yes, _great_! No other word for it! Magnificent justification of all that he had ever said and thought of her!

_Not_ weak, but strong--as strong as she used to be; no, stronger than at any time. And he thought of her, overwhelmed with misfortunes, hemmed round by insurmountable difficulties, brought lower and lower, until she was apparently so impotent and negligible a unit in the town's life that she had become an object of contemptuous pity to the very crossing-sweepers. He thought of what the scientists say about the conservation of energy and the indestructibility of matter. Great natural forces cannot be wiped out. Just when they seem gone, you get a fresh manifestation--the same force in another form. And so it was here.

Mrs. Marsden, seemingly abolished, bursts out in another place, explodes the debris of ruin that was holding her down, changes direction, and rises in blazing triumph on the other side of the street.

Wonderful! ”Not now; but perhaps later, when the time comes”--he remembered her words. ”I must do things my own way.” Yes, her own way was right--because her way is the way of genius. A veritable stroke of genius--no lesser term will do,--seeming so simple to look back at, although so impenetrable till it was explained! She had seen the only means by which she could successfully extricate herself from an impossible situation. Only she could have escaped the imminent disaster.

Only she could have turned an overwhelming defeat into a transcendent victory.

”Talk about giving women the vote,” cried Mr. Prentice noisily. ”That woman ought to be prime minister.”

Mrs. Prentice, rejoicing at the good news, wished that her husband could have told it less vociferously. It happened that this evening she was the victim of a bilious headache, and she lay supine on a sofa, unable to sit up for dinner. The slightest noise made her headache worse, and the mere smell of food was distressing.

Mr. Prentice, banging in and out of the room, let savoury odours reach her; and his exultant voice set up a painful throbbing. ”I told you so all along.... What did I say from the beginning?... Colossal brain power! No one like her!”

This really was the substance of all that he had to say, and he had already said it; yet he kept running in from the dinner table to say it again.