Part 14 (2/2)
”Absolutely. Aren't you?”
”I do believe you care for me a little, or--I shouldn't be here.”
”A little! You--you bad girl; you dearest, sweetest of darlings!
Between ourselves, if it does turn out that you're no richer than I am, I shan't be sorry. He never did want you to have anything to do with me. I might have won him over if he had lived; you know, I believe he was commencing to like me a little better. I'm not sure that I wouldn't sooner have you without his money; I should feel as if I were playing the game.”
”It will be horrid if he has left nothing; it will perhaps mean a scandal, and things are bad enough as they are.”
”I see what you have in your mind, but I a.s.sure you you need not have the slightest fear. I'll stake my own integrity that in all matters of business your father had the highest sense of honour. I'll be willing to write myself down a rogue if it can be shown that he ever deviated in any particular from the highest standard of commercial rect.i.tude.”
”I hope you're right.”
”I am right, on that point you may rest a.s.sured.”
”You know, Rodney, you're all I have in the world--now.”
The use of the adverb, in that connection, tickled him. The idea that, so far as she was concerned, her father ever had been much of a personal a.s.set was distinctly funny. However, he allowed no hint of how her words struck him to peep out; never a more ardent lover, a more present help in the time of a girl's trouble. He escorted her to what bade henceforward to be her lonely home in the cab which still waited at the door. When he returned to Paddington it was very late.
As he moved to his bedroom up the darkened staircase a door opened on the landing. The fluffy-haired girl looked out. She was in a state of considerable _deshabille_.
”You are late,” she whispered. ”I thought you never were coming back.”
”You goose.”
He put his arms about her and kissed her with the calmest proprietary air.
”To think that you should be still awake.”
”You knew I should sit up; you knew mother wasn't coming back to-night, and you said you'd be in early.”
She spoke with an air of grievance. He smiled.
”It's been a case of man proposes. I have had many things to contend with--all sorts of worries. Now, as I want breakfast early, I'm going to bed, and, I hope, to sleep, if you aren't.”
”You don't care for me a bit.”
He kissed her again.
She waited on him at breakfast, which, as he had forewarned her, he had unusually early. She was his landlady's daughter; her name was Mabel Joyce. Among his letters was one from Stella Austin. He opened it as she placed before him his bacon and eggs; as he glanced at Stella's opening lines Miss Joyce talked.
”So you went to Brighton yesterday--by the Pullman, too.”
He looked up at her as if surprised.
”Did I? Who told you that?”
”Didn't you?”
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