Part 94 (1/2)

'I was coming with him,' said Phoebe; 'I thought if he gave directions, you could act.'

Robert continued to cast at him glances of dismay and compunction while pursuing the narrative. 'Hastings must have learnt by some means that the speculation was not what he had imagined; for though he met her at Paddington--'

'He did?'

'She had telegraphed to him while waiting at Swindon. He found her out before I did, but he felt himself in a predicament, and I believe I was a welcome sight to him. He begged me to do him the justice to acquit him of all partic.i.p.ation in this rash step, and said he had only met Bertha with a view to replacing her in the hands of her family. How it would have been without me, I cannot tell, but I am inclined to believe that he did not know how to dispose of her. She clung to him and turned away from me so decidedly that I was almost grateful for the line he took; and he was obliged to tell her, with many fine speeches, that he could not expose her to share his poverty; and when the poor silly child declared she had enough for both, he told her plainly that it would not be available for six years, and he could not let her--tenderly nurtured, etc., etc. Then supposing me uninformed, he disclaimed all betrayal of your confidence, and represented all that had pa.s.sed as sport with a child, which to his surprise she had taken as earnest.'

'Poor Bertha!' exclaimed Phoebe.

'Pray where did this scene take place?' asked Mervyn.

'On the platform; but it was far too quiet to attract notice.'

'What! you had no fits nor struggles?'

'I should think not,' smiled Phoebe.

'She stood like a statue, when she understood him; and when he would audaciously have shaken hands with her, she made a distant courtesy, quite dignified. I took her to the waiting-room, and put back her veil.

She was crimson, and nearly choking, but she repelled me, and never gave way. I asked if she would sleep at an inn and go home to-morrow; she said ”No.” I told her I could not take her to my place because of the curates. ”I'll go to a sisterhood,” she said; and when I told her she was in no mood to be received there, she answered, ”I don't care.” Then I proposed taking her to Augusta, but that was worse; and at last I got her to come home in the dark, on my promise that she should see no one till she chose. Not a word has she since uttered.'

'Could he really have meant it all in play?' said Phoebe; 'yet there was his letter.'

'I see it all,' said Mervyn. 'I was an a.s.s to suppose such needy rogues could come near girls of fortune without running up the scent. As I told Phoebe, I know they had some monstrous ideas of the amount, which I never thought it worth my while to contradict. I imagine old Jack only intended a promising little flirtation, capable of being brought to bear if occasion served, but otherwise to be cast aside as child's play.

n.o.body could suspect such an inflammable nature with that baby face; but it seems she was ready to eat her fingers with dulness in the school-room, and had prodigious notions of the rights of woman; so she took all he said most seriously, and met him more than half-way. Then he goes to London, gets better information, looks at the will in Doctors'

Commons, maybe, finds it a slowish speculation, and wants to let her down easy; whereof she has no notion, writes two letters to his one, as we know, gets desperate, and makes this excursion.'

Robert thoughtfully said 'Yes;' and Phoebe, though she did not like to betray it, mentally owned that the intercepted letter confirmed Mervyn's opinion, being evidently meant to pacify what was inconveniently ardent and impa.s.sioned, without making tangible promises or professions.

The silence was broken by Mervyn. 'There! I shall go to bed. Phoebe, when you see that poor child, tell her not to be afraid of me, for the sc.r.a.pe was of my making, so don't be sharp with her.'

'I hope not,' said Robert gravely; 'I am beginning to learn that severity is injustice, not justice. Good night, Mervyn; I hope this has not done you harm.'

'I am glad not to be at Paddington this minute,' said Mervyn. 'You will stay and help us through this business. It is past us.'

'I will stay as long as I can, if you wish it.'

Phoebe's fervent 'Thank you!' was for both. She had never heard such friendly tones between those two, though Mervyn's were still half sullen, and chiefly softened by dejection and weariness.

'Why, Phoebe,' cried Robert, as the door closed, 'how could you not tell me this?'

'I thought I had told you that he was very unwell.'

'Unwell! I never saw any one so much altered.'

'He is at his best when he is pale. The attacks are only kept off by reducing him, and he must be materially better to have no threatening after such a day as this.'

'Well, I am glad you have not had the letter that I posted only to-day!'

'I knew you were displeased,' said Phoebe, 'and you see you were quite right in not wis.h.i.+ng us to stay here; but you forgive us now--Mervyn and me, I mean.'

'Don't couple yourself with him, Phoebe!'