Part 17 (2/2)
”I don't object to the theatre, Glory. It is the derangement of your life I am thinking of; and if anybody is responsible for that he is your enemy, not your friend.”
”You will make me angry again, as you did before,” and she began to bite her quivering lip.
”I did not come to make you angry, Glory. I came to ask you--even to entreat you--to break off this hateful connection.”
”Because you know nothing of this--this connection, as you say--you call it hateful.”
”I know what I am talking about, my child. The life these men live is worse than hateful; and it makes my heart bleed to see you falling a victim to it.”
”You are degrading me again; you are always degrading me. Other men try to be agreeable to me, but you---- Besides, I can not hear my friends abused. Yes, they _are_ my friends. I _was_ at the theatre with them last night, and I am going to take tea at their chambers on my next holiday. So please----”
”Glory!”
With one plunge of his arm he had gripped her by the wrist.
”You are hurting me.”
”You are never to set foot in the rooms of those men!”
”Let me go!”
”You are as inexperienced as a child, Glory, and it is my duty to protect you against yourself.”
”Let go, I say!”
”Don't destroy yourself. Think while there's time--think of your good name, your character!”
”I shall do as I please.”
”Listen! If I have chosen to be a clergyman, it's not because I've lived all my life in cotton wool. Let me tell you what the lives of such men really are--the best of them, the very best. He gets up at noon, walks in the park, takes tea with some one, grunts and groans that he must go to somebody's dinner party, escapes to the Gaiety Theatre, sups at a so-called club----”
”You mean Lord Robert. But what right have you to say----”
”The right of one who knows him to be as bad as this, and worse--ten times worse! Such a man thinks he has a right to play with a girl if she is poor. She may stake her soul, her salvation, but he risks nothing.
To-day he trifles with her; to-morrow he marries another, and flings her to the devil!”
”There's something else in this. What is it?”
But John Storm had swung about and left her.
As soon as she was at liberty she went in search of Polly Love, expecting to find her in her cubicle, but the cubicle was empty. Coming out of the little room she saw a piece of paper lying on the floor. It was a letter, carefully folded. She picked it up, unfolded it, and read it, hardly knowing what she was doing, for her head was dizzy and her eyes were swimming in unshed tears. It ran:
”You ask, Do I mean to adopt entirely? Yes; to bring up just the same as if it were born to me. I hope yours will be a strong and healthy boy; but if it is a girl----”
Glory could not understand what she was reading. Whose letter could it be? It was addressed ”X. Y. Z., Office of _Morning Post_.”
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