Part 29 (1/2)
”I thought you might pay some of those debts with the money and let me be your creditor instead,” she said hesitatingly. ”Of course, you would pay me back as you saved enough, just as you are doing now with the others. And it would be a sort of symbol of the new footing on which we start from to-day.”
”Dear Margaret,” he said, ”please don't try and press that on me. It won't help me in the least, as you see yourself. Besides, what need have we of a symbol? I want you to believe in the new footing just as much without it. And then,” he added, in a gayer note, ”there is another reason why I can't allow you to have such ideas. Heroines always do that sort of thing, and it's quite too conventional for you.”
She laughed and did not persist, though she had coloured still more.
And just then she bethought herself of the hour and drew forth her tiny watch.
”This is being wicked with a vengeance!” she exclaimed. ”I really must be going back.”
”You must let me come with you, else I shall be nervous all night and my hair may be grey by the morning.”
”Part of the excitement of the adventure was to come alone and to go alone. But as I can't have your hair turning grey----”
”Do they know at home where you were going?” he asked, as he helped her on with her jacket.
”I didn't tell them, but I dare say they'll guess, and I mean to let them know anyway. I'm going to leave you these,” and she unfastened the bunch of forget-me-nots and put them on the table.
He saw her to her own door; it was long since he had set foot in Wimpole street. She gave him a long comrade's hand-clasp, saying: ”We had a charming Bohemian supper. You have made me happier to-night than I have been for years.”
He turned away as she rang the bell and he walked all the way back to Southwark. Now that he had taken her into his life at last, he seemed to have unburdened himself of some overwhelming weight. Margaret knew everything at last, understood everything, and loved him through all.
His self-distrust had made him keep himself hidden from the Medhursts, but she had helped him to find and know his own strength. She was right. He was strong enough to accept her friends.h.i.+p.
Though he would have to be at his desk at the usual hour in the morning, he could not go to bed at once. The flowers she had left seemed to fill the room with sweetness. And something of lightness and fragrance seemed to remain with him, to be flitting here and there with the silence of a phantom, to be hovering in the air, to be bending over him, to be nestling close to him. Then, as he closed his eyes dreamily, Margaret seemed to float before him. He was aware of her eyes, her hair, her voice; he saw her just as she had sat there with her face and hands showing exquisite against the silver-blue of her dress, and the forget-me-nots at her throat and waist.
CHAPTER VIII.
In the autumn of the third year of Morgan's engagement with the Upper Thames street firm of printers he found himself with enough money to pay off the balance due to his one remaining creditor. There had been a good deal of method displayed in the order in which he had enjoined Helen to settle the debts, and this particular firm had been left to the last because it had received a goodly sum in the first days when Cleo was using up their ready money.
It was Sat.u.r.day, and he had just got away from the works. He had been intending to take this last instalment to Helen that very afternoon; but the idea came to him that he would rather enjoy the sensation of making this last payment in person, and he proceeded immediately to act on it.
Arrived at the business place of the firm, he explained to a clerk that he wished to clear off an old matter, and recalled the occasion to him. The man looked surprised, and went to consult his princ.i.p.al.
An old ledger had to be looked up, and then Morgan was informed the account had been settled very shortly after the closing of the theatre. The princ.i.p.al now remembered the circ.u.mstances perfectly. A cheque had come from a certain firm of solicitors in the West End, much to his surprise. After some further searching the clerk was able to tell Morgan who these solicitors were.
This last piece of information simply corroborated what he had at once suspected. Helen had carried out, without consulting him, the very same suggestion that Margaret had once made to him, and was keeping the sums he had been sending her from time to time. He understood, though, that she must have done it mainly for the sake of the actors and workpeople.
He said nothing to her of his discovery when he called at Belgrave Square a couple of hours later, but just handed her the money, which she quietly placed in a drawer of her escritoire.
”And now I have to congratulate you, Morgan,” she said. ”You have shown the stuff you are made of. Tell me, how does it feel?”
”I feel extraordinarily light-hearted,” he admitted.
”I'm sorry,” she said, and looked it.
He stared at her.
”There is a story of a hungry peasant gorging himself on bread and cheese, and, when he couldn't eat any more, they brought in the stuffed geese and other delicacies.”
”Well?”
”Stupid! the stuffed geese and other delicacies have yet to come in.