Part 30 (1/2)
Before the private door a couple of over-dressed young men lounged, smoking cheap cigars, and within a watchman sat in a small box, like the stage-door keeper of a theatre.
Muriel and her lean cavalier paused for a moment, then they shook hands, and with a final word parted; he turned back City-wards, and she entered the door, receiving a rough, familiar greeting from the two caddish young a.s.sistants, who were not sufficiently polite to raise their hats to her.
I stood watching the man's disappearing figure, and hesitated. But even as I waited there I saw him emerge into the road and enter a pa.s.sing tram. The reason I did not follow him was because I was too confounded in my feelings. Muriel was my chief thought. I hated this man, and entertained no desire to seek further who or what he was. I knew him to be an a.s.sociate of Aline. That was sufficient.
I noted the shop well, and the door at which my love had entered, then seeing that it was already ten o'clock, the hour when female shop-a.s.sistants are expected to be in, I turned reluctantly and took a cab back to my chambers.
At six o'clock next evening, I entered the establishment on a small pretext, and ascertained from one of the employes that they closed at seven. Therefore I smoked a cigar in the crowded saloon of the Nag's Head until that hour, when, together with a number of other loungers, I waited at the door from which the slaves of the counters and the workrooms, male and female, soon began to emerge, eager to breathe the fresh air after the weary hours in the stifling atmosphere, heavy with that peculiar odour of humanity and ”goods” that ever pervades the cheap drapers'.
After waiting nearly half an hour Muriel at last came forth, dressed neatly in cotton blouse and dark skirt, with a large black hat. She went to the kerb, glanced up and down the broad thoroughfare, as if looking for an omnibus or tram, then, there being none in sight, she commenced to walk along the Holloway Road in the direction of the City.
For some distance I followed, then with beating heart I overtook her, and, raiding my hat, addressed her.
”You!” she gasped, halting suddenly, and looking into my face with terror.
”Yes, Muriel!” I answered gravely. ”At last I have found you, though I have striven in vain all these months.”
An expression of annoyance crossed her features, but next second a forced laugh escaped her.
”Why did you leave Madame's in the manner you did, without saying anything to me?” I inquired, as I walked on at her side.
”I did not leave of my own accord,” she replied. ”I was discharged because you kept me late, and I broke the rules.”
”But you did not send me your address,” I exclaimed reproachfully.
”I had no object in doing so,” she responded, in a wearied voice, as if the effort of speaking were too much for her.
”You acted cruelly--very cruelly,” I said.
”No, I scarcely think that,” she protested. ”I told you quite plainly that we could be but mere acquaintances in future.”
”But I cannot understand you,” I cried, dismayed. ”What have I done to deserve your contempt, Muriel?”
”Nothing,” she responded coldly. ”I do not hold you in contempt.”
”But you love another!” I cried quickly, recollecting her companion of the previous night.
”And if I do,” she answered, ”it is only my own concern, I suppose.”
”No!” I cried fiercely. ”It is mine, for I alone love you truly and honestly. This man you love is a knave--a scoundrel--a--”
”How do you know him?” she interrupted, regarding me in wonder. ”Have you seen us together?”
”Yes,” I replied, bitterly. ”Last night I saw you with him. How long will you scorn my affection and trample my love beneath your feet?
Think, Muriel!” I implored; ”think how dearly I love you. Tell me that this shall not continue always.”
”I am perfectly happy,” she answered, in a mechanical tone, not, however, without noticing my hesitation. ”I have no desire to change.”
”Happy!” I repeated blankly. ”Are you then happy in that low-cla.s.s drapery place, where you are compelled to dance attendance on the wives of city clerks, and are treated with contempt by them because they think it a sign of good breeding to show capriciousness, and give you all the unnecessary trouble possible? In their eyes--in the eyes of those around you--you are only a `shop-girl,' but in mine, Muriel,” I added, bending nearer her in deep earnestness, ”you are a queen--a woman fitted to be my wife. Can you never love me? Will you never love me?”