Part 21 (1/2)
”Pray don't go for a moment,” he said. ”I have come back here on the express chance of seeing you.”
”I cannot wait now, Mr. Fanning,” I replied.
”But I really must have an interview with you, it is of the highest importance,--when can I see you alone? When can you give me an hour of your time quite undisturbed?”
”Never,” I answered brusquely.
”Now you will forgive me for saying that that is pure nonsense. If you will not promise me an hour of your own free will I shall take the present opportunity of speaking to you.”
”But I shall not stay,” I answered with spirit, ”and you cannot keep me here against my will. Mr. Fanning, I also will take the present opportunity of telling you that you and I have nothing in common, that I dislike your singling me out for special conversations of any kind, and that I hope in the future you will clearly understand that I do not wish you to do so.”
”Oh, that is all very fine,” he said, ”but come now; what have I done to make myself obnoxious? There is the old lady upstairs, she has taken no end of a fancy to you, she says you are the most charming and the prettiest girl she has ever seen, and what have you to say against my mother? Let me tell you that she has come to this house on purpose to make your acquaintance.”
”I have nothing whatever to say against your mother, Mr. Fanning, but I object to the subject of conversation which she chooses to occupy her time with while talking to me. I am not in the least interested in you, and I wish you and your mother clearly to understand this fact as quickly as possible.”
I do not think it was in the nature of Mr. Fanning ever to look crestfallen, or my present speech might have made him do so. He did not even change colour, but he looked at me out of those eyes which his mother had so vividly described, and after a moment said softly--
”There will come a day when you will regret this. An honest heart is offered to you and you trample it in the dust, but there will come a day when you will be sorry. How do you think this establishment is working?”
I was so astonished and relieved at his change of conversation that I said--
”It seems to be going very well, don't you think so?”
”It is going well for my purpose,” he replied, and then he added, ”it is working itself out in a way that will only spell one word--RUIN.
Now you ponder on that. Take it as your night-cap, and see what sort of sleep you'll have, and when next I ask for a few moments'
conversation perhaps you'll not say no. I will not keep you any longer for the present.”
He left the room, I heard his footsteps dying down the corridor, and the next instant he had slammed his bedroom door.
CHAPTER XIV
ANXIETY
After he had left me, and I was quite certain that I should not see him again that night, I went straight to Jane Mullins' room. Jane was generally up the last in the house, and I had not the slightest doubt I should still find her in her dinner dress, and ready for conversation. I had bidden mother good night long ago, and hoped she was sound asleep, but I did not mind disturbing Jane. I opened the door now and went in. As I expected, Jane was up; she was seated by the fire, she was looking into its depths, and did not turn round at once when I entered. The first thing she did when she became aware of the fact that there was some one else in the room besides herself, was to sigh somewhat deeply. Then she said in a low voice--
”What if it all turns out a mistake?” and then she jumped to her feet and confronted me. ”Yes, dear, yes,” she said. ”Oh, my dear Westenra, why aren't you in bed? It is very bad indeed for young people to be up so late. You will get quite worn and wrinkled. Let me tell you, my love, that we can never get youth back again, and we ought to prize it while we have it. How old are you, Westenra, my love?”
”I shall be twenty-two my next birthday,” was my answer.
”Ah, yes, yes, quite young, in the beautiful prime of youth.
Nevertheless, the bloom can be rubbed off, and then--well, it never comes back, dear. But go to bed, Westenra, don't stay up bothering your head. I see by that frown between your brows that you are going to say something which I would rather not listen to. Don't tell me to-night, Westenra, love.”
”I must tell you,” I answered. ”I have come to see you for the purpose. You are old enough, Jane, to bear the little disagreeable things I tell you now and then. You are our mainstay, our prop, in this establishment. I cannot go on without confiding in you, and you must listen to me.”
”Well, child, sit down, here is a comfortable chair.” Jane got up and offered me her own chair. I did not take it.
”What nonsense,” I said, ”sit down again. Here, this little ha.s.sock at your feet will suit me far better.”