Part 26 (2/2)
”She had no parents, but the house was respectable.”
”Good-looking, I suppose?”
”As a poet's dream.”
”As yours, for instance?”
”I am a poet; I dream.”
”You dream you are a poet. Well, well! She was engaged to Mortlake?”
”Oh, yes! They made no secret of it. The engagement was an old one. When he was earning 36s. a week as a compositor, they were saving up to buy a home. He worked at Railton and Hockes who print the _New Pork Herald_. I used to take my 'copy' into the comps' room, and one day the Father of the Chapel told me all about 'Mortlake and his young woman.' Ye G.o.ds! How times are changed! Two years ago Mortlake had to struggle with my calligraphy--now he is in with all the n.o.bs, and goes to the 'At Homes'
of the aristocracy.”
”Radical M.P.'s,” murmured Wimp, smiling.
”While I am still barred from the dazzling drawing-rooms, where beauty and intellect foregather. A mere artisan! A manual labourer!” Denzil's eyes flashed angrily. He rose with excitement. ”They say he always _was_ a jabberer in the composing-room, and he has jabbered himself right out of it and into a pretty good thing. He didn't have much to say about the crimes of capital when he was set up to second the toast of 'Railton and Hockes' at the beanfeast.”
”Toast and b.u.t.ter, toast and b.u.t.ter,” said Wimp, genially. ”I shouldn't blame a man for serving the two together, Mr. Cantercot.”
Denzil forced a laugh. ”Yes; but consistency's _my_ motto. I like to see the royal soul immaculate, unchanging, immovable by fortune. Anyhow, when better times came for Mortlake the engagement still dragged on. He did not visit her so much. This last autumn he saw very little of her.”
”How do you know?”
”I--I was often in Stepney Green. My business took me past the house of an evening. Sometimes there was no light in her room. That meant she was downstairs gossiping with the landlady.”
”She might have been out with Tom?”
”No, sir; I knew Tom was on the platform somewhere or other. He was working up to all hours organising the eight hours' working movement.”
”A very good reason for relaxing his sweethearting.”
”It was. He never went to Stepney Green on a week night.”
”But you always did.”
”No--not every night.”
”You didn't go in?”
”Never. She wouldn't permit my visits. She was a girl of strong character. She always reminded me of Flora Macdonald.”
”Another lady of your acquaintance?”
”A lady I know better than the shadows who surround me, who is more real to me than the women who pester me for the price of apartments. Jessie Dymond, too, was of the race of heroines. Her eyes were clear blue, two wells with Truth at the bottom of each. When I looked into those eyes my own were dazzled. They were the only eyes I could never make dreamy.” He waved his hand as if making a pa.s.s with it. ”It was she who had the influence over me.”
”You knew her, then?”
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