CHAPTER XIV.
THE DINNER AT RICHMOND.
Three days later, at the unusually early hour of nine in the morning,Victor Nevill was enjoying his sponge bath. There appeared to besomething of a pleasing nature on his mind, for as he dressed he smiledcomplacently at his own reflection in the glass. Having finished histoilet, he did not ring immediately for his breakfast. He sat down tohis desk, and drew pen, ink and paper before him.
"My Dear Jack" he wrote, "will you dine with me at the Roebuck to-morrownight? Jimmie Drexell is coming, and I am going to drive him down. Wewill stop and pick you up on the way. An answer will oblige, if not toomuch trouble."
He put the invitation in an envelope and addressed it. Then he pulledthe bell-cord, and a boy shortly entered the room with a tray containingbreakfast and a little heap of letters. Nevill glanced over hiscorrespondence carelessly--they were mostly cards for receptions andtradesmen's accounts--until he reached a letter bearing a foreign stamp.It was a long communication, and the reading of it caused him anythingbut satisfaction, to judge from the frown that gathered on his features.
"I wouldn't have credited Sir Lucius with such weakness," he mutteredangrily. "What has possessed him?--and after all these years! He sayshis conscience troubles him! He fears he was too cruel and hard-hearted!Humph! it's pleasant for me, I must say. Fancy him putting _me_ on thescent--asking _me_ to turn private detective! I suppose I'll have tohumor him, or pretend to. It will be the safest course. Can there be anytruth in his theory, I wonder? No, I don't think so. And after such alapse of time the task would be next to impossible. I will be a fool ifI let the thing worry me."
Victor Nevill locked the offending letter in his desk, vowing that hewould forget it. But that was easier said than done, and his gloomycountenance and preoccupied air showed how greatly he was disturbed. Hisbreakfast was quite spoiled, and he barely tasted his coffee and rolls.With a savage oath he put on his hat, and went down into Jermyn street.He walked slowly in the direction of the Albany, where Jimmie Drexellhad been fortunate enough to secure a couple of chambers.
The afternoon post brought Jack the invitation to dinner for thefollowing night, and he answered it at once. He accepted with pleasure,but told Nevill not to stop for him on the way to Richmond. He would notbe at home after lunch, he wrote, but would turn up at the Roebuck ontime. Having thus disposed of the matter, he went to town, and he andDrexell dined together and spent the evening at the Palace, where thenewest attraction was an American dancer with whom the susceptibleJimmie had more than a nodding acquaintance, a fact that possibly hadsomething to do with his hasty visit to London.
Jack worked hard the next day--he had a lot of lucrative commissions onhand, and could not afford to waste much time. It was three o'clock whenhe left the studio, and half an hour later he was crossing Kew Bridge.He turned up the river, along the towing-path, and near the old palacehe joined Madge. She had written to him a couple of days before,announcing her immediate return from Portland Terrace, and arrangedfor a meeting.
It was a perfect afternoon of early summer, with a cloudless sky and arefreshing breeze. It cast a spell over the lovers, and for a time theywere silent as they trod the grassy path, with the rippling Thames,dotted with pleasure-craft, flowing on their right. Jack stole many aglance at the lovely, pensive face by his side. He was supremely happy,in a dreamy mood, and not a shadow of the gathering storm marred hiscontent.
"It was always a beautiful world, Madge," he said, "but since you cameinto my life it has been a sort of a paradise. Work is a keener pleasurenow--work for your sake. Existence is a dreary thing, if men only knewit, without a good, pure woman's love."
The girl's face was rapturous as she looked up at him; she clungcaressingly to his arm.
"You regret nothing, dearest?" he asked.
"Nothing, Jack. How could I?"
"You have been very silent."
"You can't read a woman's heart, dear. If I was silent, it was because Iwas so happy--because the future, our future, seemed so bright. There isonly the one little cloud--"
"Your father?" he interrupted. "Is he still relentless, Madge?"
"I think he is softening. He has been much kinder to me since I camehome. He does not mention your name, and he has not forbidden me to seeyou or write to you. I should not have hesitated to tell him that I wasgoing to meet you to-day. He knows that I won't give you up."
"And, knowing that, he will make the best of it," Jack said, gladly."He will come round all right, I feel sure. And now I want to ask yousomething, Madge, dear. You won't make me wait long, will you?"
She averted her eyes and blushed. Jack drew her to a lonely bench nearthe moat, and they sat down.
"I will tell you why I ask," he went on. "I got a letter this morningfrom a man who wants to buy my Academy pictures. He offers a splendidprice--more than I hoped for--and I will put it aside for our honeymoon.Life is short enough, and we ought to make the most of it. Madge, whatdo you say? Will you marry me early in September? That is a gloriousmonth to be abroad, roaming on the Continent--"
"It is so soon, Jack."
"To me it seems an age. You will consent if your father does?"
"Yes, I will."
"And if he refuses?"
The girl nestled closer to him, and looked into his face with laughingeyes.
"Then, I am afraid I shall have to disobey him, dear. If you wish it Iwill be your wife in September."
"My own sweet Madge!" he cried.
All his passionate love was poured out in those four little words. Heforgot the past, and saw only the rich promise of the future. There wasa lump in his throat as he added softly:
"You shall never repent your choice, darling!"
For an hour they sat on the bench, talking as they had never talkedbefore, and many a whispered confidence of the girl's, many a phrase andsentence, burnt into Jack's memory to haunt him afterward. Then theyparted, there by the riverside, and Madge tripped homeward.
Happy were Jack's reflections as he picked up a cab that rattled himswiftly into Richmond and up the famous Hill to the Roebuck. Nevill andJimmie Drexell, who had arrived a short time before, greeted himhilariously.
The table was laid for Nevill and his guests in the coffee-room of theRoebuck, as cheerful and snug a place as can be found anywhere, with itssnowy linen and shining silver and cut-glass, its buffet temptinglyspread, and on the walls a collection of paintings that any collectormight envy.
The Roebuck's _chef_ was one of the best, and the viands served wereexcellent; the rare old wines gurgled and sparkled from cobwebbedbottles that had lain long in bin. The dinner went merrily, the eveningwore on, and the sun dipped beneath the far-off Surrey Hills.
"This is a little bit of all right, my boys," said Jimmie, quotingLondon slang, as he stirred his _creme de menthe frappe_ with a straw."I'm jolly glad I crossed the pond. Many's the time I longed for aglimpse of Richmond and the river while I sweltered in the heat on theCasino roof-garden. Here's to 'Dear Old London Town,' in the wordsof--who _did_ write that song?"
Nevill drained his chartreuse.
"Come, let's go and have a turn on the Terrace," he said. "It's tooearly to drive back to town."
They lighted their cigars and filed down stairs, laughing gaily, andcrossed the road. Jack was the merriest of the three. Little did hedream that he was going to meet his fate.
In Friendship's Guise Page 14