Part 87 (2/2)

'Very well. Then he shall have the letter to-morrow afternoon.'

'Don't let it come before the last post. I had so much rather not.

Manage it, if you can.'

'Very well. Now go and say good-night to the girls. It's a vile night, and you must get home as soon as possible.'

She turned away, but again came towards him, murmuring:

'Just a word or two more.'

'About the letter?'

'No. You haven't said--'

He laughed.

'And you couldn't go away contentedly unless I repeated for the hundredth time that I love you?'

Marian searched his countenance.

'Do you think it foolish? I live only on those words.'

'Well, they are better than pea-nuts.'

'Oh don't! I can't bear to--'

Jasper was unable to understand that such a jest sounded to her like profanity. She hid her face against him, and whispered the words that would have enraptured her had they but come from his lips. The young man found it pleasant enough to be wors.h.i.+pped, but he could not reply as she desired. A few phrases of tenderness, and his love-vocabulary was exhausted; he even grew weary when something more--the indefinite something--was vaguely required of him.

'You are a dear, good, tender-hearted girl,' he said, stroking her short, soft hair, which was exquisite to the hand. 'Now go and get ready.'

She left him, but stood for a few moments on the landing before going to the girls' room.

CHAPTER XXIX. CATASTROPHE

Marian had finished the rough draft of a paper on James Harrington, author of 'Oceana.' Her father went through it by the midnight lamp, and the next morning made his comments. A black sky and sooty rain strengthened his inclination to sit by the study fire and talk at large in a tone of flattering benignity.

'Those paragraphs on the Rota Club strike me as singularly happy,' he said, tapping the ma.n.u.script with the mouthpiece of his pipe. 'Perhaps you might say a word or two more about Cyriac Skinner; one mustn't be too allusive with general readers, their ignorance is incredible. But there is so little to add to this paper--so little to alter--that I couldn't feel justified in sending it as my own work. I think it is altogether too good to appear anonymously. You must sign it, Marian, and have the credit that is due to you.'

'Oh, do you think it's worth while?' answered the girl, who was far from easy under this praise. Of late there had been too much of it; it made her regard her father with suspicions which increased her sense of trouble in keeping a momentous secret from him.

'Yes, yes; you had better sign it. I'll undertake there's no other girl of your age who could turn out such a piece of work. I think we may fairly say that your apprentices.h.i.+p is at an end. Before long,' he smiled anxiously, 'I may be counting upon you as a valued contributor.

And that reminds me; would you be disposed to call with me on the Jedwoods at their house next Sunday?'

Marian understood the intention that lay beneath this proposal. She saw that her father would not allow himself to seem discouraged by the silence she maintained on the great subject which awaited her decision.

He was endeavouring gradually to involve her in his ambitions, to carry her forward by insensible steps. It pained her to observe the suppressed eagerness with which he looked for her reply.

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