Part 30 (1/2)
”They do if they arrange to do so, and keep their appointments,” he replied provokingly. ”I am fortunate in being acquainted with some of Miss Fleming's friends. I am sorry her letters leave something to be desired, but you need not be uneasy; she herself is as lively and fascinating as ever.”
I should have liked to ask him who the friends were, for Rose has never mentioned them, and she had none who could possibly have been in the Cynic's set in the old days; but friends can generally be found when the occasion demands them. I said nothing, of course, and he looked at me quizzically.
”Your comments,” he remarked, ”if I may quote, are 'few and unsatisfactory.'”
It was true, but he need not have noticed it. The fact is, I had nothing to say at the moment. That being the case there was plainly nothing for it but to abuse _him_.
”You are the Cynic to-day,” I said, ”and I foresee that you are going to sharpen your wit upon poor me. But I am not in the mood. You see, it is Sunday, and in Windyridge we are subdued and not brilliant on Sundays.”
Perhaps his ear caught the weariness in my voice, for I was feeling tired and depressed; at any rate his tone changed immediately.
”I saw at once you were off colour,” he said, ”and I was making a clumsy attempt to buck you up; but, seriously, have you no questions you wish to ask me about the old place?”
”I should like to know how matters are progressing with you,” I said.
”I often wonder what the world thinks of your p.r.o.nunciation.”
”The world knows nothing of it. I have never mentioned what I have done to anyone but you, and I do not propose to do so. As for myself--but what makes you wonder? Are you afraid I may have repented?”
”No,” I replied, ”you will never repent, you are not that sort. Not for one moment have I doubted your steadfastness.”
”Thank you,” he said simply; and then, after a moment's pause:
”I don't think it is anything to my credit. If I had been differently const.i.tuted the sacrifice would have entailed suffering, even if it had not proved too great for me. It was a lot of money, and if money is in any sense a man's G.o.d it must hurt him to lose so much. My G.o.d may be equally base, but it is not golden. In that respect I am like those ancient Athenians of whom Plato speaks, who 'bare lightly the burden of gold and of possessions,' though I fear I am not like them in despising all things except virtue. Besides, even now I am not exactly poor, for I have a good income.”
”I have thirty s.h.i.+llings a week on the average,” I interposed, ”and I consider myself quite well to do.”
”Exactly,” he replied; ”you and I take pleasure in our work for its own sake, and we are each paid, I suppose, fair value for what we do.
Having food and clothing and a roof to shelter us we have all that is necessary, but we have luxuries thrown in--true friends.h.i.+ps, for instance, which money cannot purchase. In my own case I am hoping to be quite wealthy if things turn out as I am beginning to dare to expect.”
”I am glad to hear it,” I said; ”I am sure you deserve to succeed, and I trust you will be very happy in the possession of wealth when your expectation is realised.”
He laughed, but with some constraint, I thought, and then said:
”We shall have to go in presently, Miss Holden, and before we do so, and whilst we are not likely to be interrupted, I have something to say to you which I find it difficult to mention.”
I believe the colour left my face, and I know my stupid heart lost control of its beats again. His voice was so grave that I felt sure he had some communication to make which I should not relish, though I could not guess at its nature. I controlled myself with an effort, and encouraged him to proceed with an inquiring ”Oh?”
He looked down at his boots for a moment and then continued:
”If it had not been for this I should not have come here this week-end, but I wanted to tell you what I have done, and to give you a message from one in whom you are interested. I have hesitated because I fear it may give you pain, though in one way it does not concern you in the slightest degree.”
Why anything should give me pain which did not concern me was puzzling, and I wished the man would get to the story and skip the introduction.
I never could bear to have news ”broken gently” to me, it always seems like a mere prolongation of the agony; but I did not dare to interrupt.
”I had to be in attendance at the Central Criminal Court last Tuesday,”
he continued; ”and the case in which I was interested was delayed by one in which the prisoner on trial was a young fellow whom you know.”
It was very silly of me, but the revulsion of feeling was so great that I nearly cried, though goodness only knows what I had been expecting.