Part 42 (2/2)

I described, further, Jane Mullins' agitation, her despair, her difficulty in going on at all, the dreadful news which had reached us with regard to Jim, the almost certainty that he was drowned.

Then I told her of the awful day when I went to try and borrow a thousand pounds from the d.u.c.h.ess, and how I could not see the d.u.c.h.ess, for she was too ill to see any one, all on account of Jim's supposed death; and then I told her what I found when I came back--the awful greasy little man in the dining-room--the man in possession. I described his att.i.tude that day at dinner, and the surprise and astonishment of the boarders; and then I explained how he had gone and why he had gone, and I told her of my visit to Albert Fanning in Paternoster Row, and what Albert Fanning had said, and how kind he was to me; and, notwithstanding his want of polish, how really chivalrous he was in his own way, and how really he loved me and wanted to help me. I made the very best of him, and I went on still further, and told her of the man who had burst into mother's presence in the drawing-room, and rudely demanded payment for his debt, and then how I had yielded, and told Albert Fanning that I would marry him, and how, after that, everything was smooth, and all the worries about money had disappeared as if by magic.

”I gave him my bond,” I said at the conclusion. ”I said that I would marry him at the end of a year, and he was satisfied, quite satisfied, and he paid up everything, and mother went to her grave happy. She was sure that all was well with me, and indeed I gave her to understand that all was very well, and she died; and never guessed that 17 Graham Square was an absolute, absolute failure--a castle in the clouds, which was tumbling about our heads.”

I paused at the end of my story. Jasmine had tears in her eyes; they were rolling down her cheeks.

”Why didn't you come to me, Westenra?” she said; ”my husband is very rich, and we would have lent you the money. Oh! to think that a thousand pounds could have saved you!”

”I did not think of you,” I replied. ”You must acknowledge, Jasmine, that you were cold and indifferent, and did not help me with a cheery word, nor with much of your presence, during my time in the boarding-house; and when the d.u.c.h.ess failed me, troubles came on too thick and fast to wait for any chance help from outside. I just took the help that was near, and in my way was grateful.”

”I see,” said Jasmine; ”it is a most piteous--most terrible story.”

”Do not say that,” I answered. ”Help me to bear it; don't pity me too much. Help me to see the best, all the best in those two good people with whom I am in future to live. Albert Fanning is not polished, he is not a gentleman outwardly, but he has--O Jasmine! he has in his own way a gentleman's heart, and his mother is a dear old soul, and even for Jim I would not break my bond, no, not for fifty Jim Randolphs; but I love Jim--oh, I love him with all my heart and soul.”

I did not cry as I said the words; I was quite past tears that evening, and Jasmine continued to sit near me and to talk in soft tones, and after a time she relapsed into silence, a sort of despairing silence, and I lay with my eyes closed, for I could not look at her, and presently I dropped asleep.

At an early hour the next day I wrote to the Fannings to tell them that I would go with them to Switzerland. I went and saw Jasmine after I had written the note.

”I am going with the Fannings to Switzerland on the 4th of August,” I said; ”will this interfere with your plans? I mean, may I stay on here until they start?”

”Oh yes, you can stay on here, Westenra,” she replied. She looked at me fixedly. I thought she would say something to dissuade me, but she did not. She opened her lips once, but no words came. She simply said--

”Is that the letter?”

”Yes.”

”I am going out,” she said then; ”I will post it for you.”

”Thank you,” I answered. I went back to the drawing-room. I heard Jasmine go downstairs and out, and then I sat quiet. Everything seemed to have come to a sort of end; I could not see my way any further. In a fortnight's time I should have truly stepped down out of sight of those who were my friends. I should have left them for ever and ever. It would be a final stepping down for me. Nevertheless, the faintest thought of being unfaithful to the promise I had made, I am glad to think now, never for a single moment occurred to me.

Jasmine returned to lunch, and after lunch we went to the drawing-room, and she asked me if I would like to drive with her. I said--

”Yes, but not in the Park.” Perhaps she guessed what I meant.

”Jim has come back,” she remarked; ”I had a line from him, and he wants to see you this evening.”

”Oh, I cannot see him,” I answered.

”I think you must. You ought to tell him yourself; it is only fair to him. Tell him just what you told me; he ought to know, and it will pain him less to hear it from your lips.”

I thought for a moment.

”What hour is he coming?” I asked then.

”He will look in after dinner about nine o'clock. I am going to a reception with Henry; you will have the drawing-room to yourselves.”

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