Part 7 (2/2)

”YES,” said Benjamin. ”It _is_ a coincidence certainly. Still--”

He stopped and looked at me. He seemed a little doubtful how I might receive what he had it in his mind to say to me next.

”Go on,” I said.

”Still, my dear, I see nothing suspicious in what has happened,” he resumed. ”To my mind it is quite natural that your husband, being in London, should pay a visit to one of his friends. And it's equally natural that we should pa.s.s through Vivian Place on our way back here.

This seems to be the reasonable view. What do _you_ say?”

”I have told you already that my mind is in a bad way about Eustace,”

I answered. ”_I_ say there is some motive at the bottom of his visit to Major Fitz-David. It is not an ordinary call. I am firmly convinced it is not an ordinary call!”

”Suppose we get on with our dinner?” said Benjamin, resignedly. ”Here is a loin of mutton, my dear--an ordinary loin of mutton. Is there anything suspicious in _that?_ Very well, then. Show me you have confidence in the mutton; please eat. There's the wine, again. No mystery, Valeria, in that claret--I'll take my oath it's nothing but innocent juice of the grape. If we can't believe in anything else, let's believe in juice of the grape. Your good health, my dear.”

I adapted myself to the old man's genial humor as readily as I could.

We ate and we drank, and we talked of by-gone days. For a little while I was almost happy in the company of my fatherly old friend. Why was I not old too? Why had I not done with love, with its certain miseries, its transient delights, its cruel losses, its bitterly doubtful gains? The last autumn flowers in the window basked brightly in the last of the autumn sunlight. Benjamin's little dog digested his dinner in perfect comfort on the hearth. The parrot in the next house screeched his vocal accomplishments cheerfully. I don't doubt that it is a great privilege to be a human being. But may it not be the happier destiny to be an animal or a plant?

The brief respite was soon over; all my anxieties came back. I was once more a doubting, discontented, depressed creature when I rose to say good-by.

”Promise, my dear, you will do nothing rash,” said Benjamin, as he opened the door for me.

”Is it rash to go to Major Fitz-David?” I asked.

”Yes--if you go by yourself. You don't know what sort of man he is; you don't know how he may receive you. Let me try first, and pave the way, as the saying is. Trust my experience, my dear. In matters of this sort there is nothing like paving the way.”

I considered a moment. It was due to my good friend to consider before I said No.

Reflection decided me on taking the responsibility, whatever it might be, upon my own shoulders. Good or bad, compa.s.sionate or cruel, the Major was a man. A woman's influence was the safest influence to trust with him, where the end to be gained was such an end as I had in view.

It was not easy to say this to Benjamin without the danger of mortifying him. I made an appointment with the old man to call on me the next morning at the hotel, and talk the matter over again. Is it very disgraceful to me to add that I privately determined (if the thing could be accomplished) to see Major Fitz-David in the interval?

”Do nothing rash, my dear. In your own interests, do nothing ras.h.!.+”

Those were Benjamin's last words when we parted for the day.

I found Eustace waiting for me in our sitting-room at the hotel. His spirits seemed to have revived since I had seen him last. He advanced to meet me cheerfully, with an open sheet of paper in his hand.

”My business is settled, Valeria, sooner than I had expected,” he began, gayly. ”Are your purchases all completed, fair lady? Are _you_ free too?”

I had learned already (G.o.d help me!) to distrust his fits of gayety. I asked, cautiously,

”Do you mean free for to-day?”

”Free for to-day, and to-morrow, and next week, and next month--and next year too, for all I know to the contrary,” he answered, putting his arm boisterously round my waist. ”Look here!”

He lifted the open sheet of paper which I had noticed in his hand, and held it for me to read. It was a telegram to the sailing-master of the yacht, informing him that we had arranged to return to Ramsgate that evening, and that we should be ready to sail for the Mediterranean with the next tide.

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