Whelpdale exhausted himself in terms of satisfaction.
'You deserve to get on, my dear fellow. In a few years you will be the Aristarchus of our literary world.'
When the visitor rose to depart, Jasper said he would walk a short distance with him. As soon as they had left the house, the future Aristarchus made a confidential communication.
'It may interest you to know that my sister Maud is shortly to be married.'
'Indeed! May I ask to whom?'
'A man you don't know. His name is Dolomore—a fellow in society.'
'Rich, then, I hope?'
'Tolerably well-to-do. I dare say he has three or four thousand a year!'
'Gracious heavens! Why, that's magnificent.'
But Whelpdale did not look quite so much satisfaction as his words expressed.
'Is it to be soon?' he inquired.
'At the end of the season. Make no difference to Dora and me, of course.'
'Oh? Really? No difference at all? You will let me come and see you—both—just in the old way, Milvain?'
'Why the deuce shouldn't you?'
'To be sure, to be sure. By Jove! I really don't know how I should get on if I couldn't look in of an evening now and then. I have got so much into the habit of it. And—I'm a lonely beggar, you know. I don't go into society, and really—'
He broke off, and Jasper began to speak of other things.
When Milvain re-entered the house, Dora had gone to her own sitting-room. It was not quite ten o'clock. Taking one set of the proofs of his 'Reardon' article, he put it into a large envelope; then he wrote a short letter, which began 'Dear Mrs Reardon,' and ended 'Very sincerely yours,' the communication itself being as follows:
'I venture to send you the proofs of a paper which is to appear in next month's Wayside, in the hope that it may seem to you not badly done, and that the reading of it may give you pleasure. If anything occurs to you which you would like me to add, or if you desire any omission, will you do me the kindness to let me know of it as soon as possible, and your suggestion shall at once be adopted. I am informed that the new edition of "On Neutral Ground" and "Hubert Reed" will be ready next month. Need I say how glad I am that my friend's work is not to be forgotten?'
This note he also put into the envelope, which he made ready for posting. Then he sat for a long time in profound thought.
Shortly after eleven his door opened, and Maud came in. She had been dining at Mrs Lane's. Her attire was still simple, but of quality which would have signified recklessness, but for the outlook whereof Jasper spoke to Whelpdale. The girl looked very beautiful. There was a flush of health and happiness on her cheek, and when she spoke it was in a voice that rang quite differently from her tones of a year ago; the pride which was natural to her had now a firm support; she moved and uttered herself in queenly fashion.
'Has anyone been?' she asked.
'Whelpdale.'
'Oh! I wanted to ask you, Jasper: do you think it wise to let him come quite so often?'
'There's a difficulty, you see. I can hardly tell him to sheer off. And he's really a decent fellow.'
'That may be. But—I think it's rather unwise. Things are changed. In a few months, Dora will be a good deal at my house, and will see all sorts of people.'
'Yes; but what if they are the kind of people she doesn't care anything about? You must remember, old girl, that her tastes are quite different from yours. I say nothing, but—perhaps it's as well they should be.'
'You say nothing, but you add an insult,' returned Maud, with a smile of superb disregard. 'We won't reopen the question.'
'Oh dear no! And, by-the-by, I have a letter from Dolomore. It came just after you left.'
'Well?'
'He is quite willing to settle upon you a third of his income from the collieries; he tells me it will represent between seven and eight hundred a year. I think it rather little, you know; but I congratulate myself on having got this out of him.'
'Don't speak in that unpleasant way! It was only your abruptness that made any kind of difficulty.'
'I have my own opinion on that point, and I shall beg leave to keep it. Probably he will think me still more abrupt when I request, as I am now going to do, an interview with his solicitors.'
'Is that allowable?' asked Maud, anxiously. 'Can you do that with any decency?'
'If not, then I must do it with indecency. You will have the goodness to remember that if I don't look after your interests, no one else will. It's perhaps fortunate for you that I have a good deal of the man of business about me. Dolomore thought I was a dreamy, literary fellow. I don't say that he isn't entirely honest, but he shows something of a disposition to play the autocrat, and I by no means intend to let him. If you had a father, Dolomore would have to submit his affairs to examination.
I stand to you in loco parentis, and I shall bate no jot of my rights.'
'But you can't say that his behaviour hasn't been perfectly straightforward.'
'I don't wish to. I think, on the whole, he has behaved more honourably than was to be expected of a man of his kind. But he must treat me with respect. My position in the world is greatly superior to his. And, by the gods! I will be treated respectfully! It wouldn't be amiss, Maud, if you just gave him a hint to that effect.'
'All I have to say is, Jasper, don't do me an irreparable injury. You might, without meaning it.'
'No fear whatever of it. I can behave as a gentleman, and I only expect Dolomore to do the same.'
Their conversation lasted for a long time, and when he was again left alone Jasper again fell into a mood of thoughtfulness.
By a late post on the following day he received this letter:
'DEAR MR MILVAIN,—I have received the proofs, and have just read them; I hasten to thank you with all my heart. No suggestion of mine could possibly improve this article; it seems to me perfect in taste, in style, in matter. No one but you could have written this, for no one else understood Edwin so well, or had given such thought to his work. If he could but have known that such justice would be done to his memory! But he died believing that already he was utterly forgotten, that his books would never again be publicly spoken of. This was a cruel fate. I have shed tears over what you have written, but they were not only tears of bitterness; it cannot but be a consolation to me to think that, when the magazine appears, so many people will talk of Edwin and his books. I am deeply grateful to Mr Mortimer for having undertaken to republish those two novels; if you have an opportunity, will you do me the great kindness to thank him on my behalf? At the same time, I must remember that it was you who first spoke to him on this subject. You say that it gladdens you to think Edwin will not be forgotten, and I am very sure that the friendly office you have so admirably performed will in itself reward you more than any poor expression of gratitude from me. I write hurriedly, anxious to let you hear as soon as possible.
'Believe me, dear Mr Milvain,
'Yours sincerely,
'AMY REARDON.'
CHAPTER XXXIV. A CHECK
Marian was at work as usual in the Reading-room. She did her best, during the hours spent here, to convert herself into the literary machine which it was her hope would some day be invented for construction in a less sensitive material than human tissue. Her eyes seldom strayed beyond the limits of the desk; and if she had occasion to rise and go to the reference shelves, she looked at no one on the way. Yet she herself was occasionally an object of interested regard. Several readers were acquainted with the chief facts of her position; they knew that her father was now incapable of work, and was waiting till his diseased eyes should be ready for the operator; it was surmised, moreover, that a good deal depended upon the girl's literary exertions. Mr Quarmby and his gossips naturally took the darkest view of things; they were convinced that Alfred Yule could never recover his sight, and they had a dolorous satisfaction in relating the story of Marian's legacy. Of her relations with Jasper Milvain none of these persons had heard; Yule had never spoken of that
matter to any one of his friends.
Jasper had to look in this morning for a hurried consultation of certain encyclopaedic volumes, and it chanced that Marian was standing before the shelves to which his business led him. He saw her from a little distance, and paused; it seemed as if he would turn back; for a moment he wore a look of doubt and worry. But after all he proceeded. At the sound of his 'Good-morning,' Marian started—she was standing with an open book in hand—and looked up with a gleam of joy on her face.
'I wanted to see you to-day,' she said, subduing her voice to the tone of ordinary conversation. 'I should have come this evening.'
'You wouldn't have found me at home. From five to seven I shall be frantically busy, and then I have to rush off to dine with some people.'
'I couldn't see you before five?'
'Is it something important?'
'Yes, it is.'
'I tell you what. If you could meet me at Gloucester Gate at four, then I shall be glad of half an hour in the park. But I mustn't talk now; I'm driven to my wits' end. Gloucester Gate, at four sharp. I don't think it'll rain.'
He dragged out a tome of the 'Britannica.' Marian nodded, and returned to her seat.
At the appointed hour she was waiting near the entrance of Regent's Park which Jasper had mentioned. Not long ago there had fallen a light shower, but the sky was clear again. At five minutes past four she still waited, and had begun to fear that the passing rain might have led Jasper to think she would not come. Another five minutes, and from a hansom that rattled hither at full speed, the familiar figure alighted.
'Do forgive me!' he exclaimed. 'I couldn't possibly get here before. Let us go to the right.'
They betook themselves to that tree-shadowed strip of the park which skirts the canal.
'I'm so afraid that you haven't really time,' said Marian, who was chilled and confused by this show of hurry. She regretted having made the appointment; it would have been much better to postpone what she had to say until Jasper was at leisure. Yet nowadays the hours of leisure seemed to come so rarely.
'If I get home at five, it'll be all right,' he replied. 'What have you to tell me, Marian?'
'We have heard about the money, at last.'
'Oh?' He avoided looking at her. 'And what's the upshot?'
'I shall have nearly fifteen hundred pounds.'
'So much as that? Well, that's better than nothing, isn't it?'
'Very much better.'
They walked on in silence. Marian stole a glance at her companion.
'I should have thought it a great deal,' she said presently, 'before I had begun to think of thousands.'
'Fifteen hundred. Well, it means fifty pounds a year, I suppose.'
He chewed the end of his moustache.
'Let us sit down on this bench. Fifteen hundred—h'm! And nothing more is to be hoped for?'
'Nothing. I should have thought men would wish to pay their debts, even after they had been bankrupt; but they tell us we can't expect anything more from these people.'
'You are thinking of Walter Scott, and that kind of thing'—Jasper laughed. 'Oh, that's quite unbusinesslike; it would be setting a pernicious example nowadays. Well, and what's to be done?'
Marian had no answer for such a question. The tone of it was a new stab to her heart, which had suffered so many during the past half-year.
'Now, I'll ask you frankly,' Jasper went on, 'and I know you will reply in the same spirit: would it be wise for us to marry on this money?'
'On this money?'
She looked into his face with painful earnestness.
'You mean,' he said, 'that it can't be spared for that purpose?'
What she really meant was uncertain even to herself. She had wished to hear how Jasper would receive the news, and thereby to direct her own course. Had he welcomed it as offering a possibility of their marriage, that would have gladdened her, though it would then have been necessary to show him all the difficulties by which she was beset; for some time they had not spoken of her father's position, and Jasper seemed willing to forget all about that complication of their troubles. But marriage did not occur to him, and he was evidently quite prepared to hear that she could no longer regard this money as her own to be freely disposed of. This was on one side a relief but on the other it confirmed her fears. She would rather have heard him plead with her to neglect her parents for the sake of being his wife. Love excuses everything, and his selfishness would have been easily lost sight of in the assurance that he still desired her.
'You say,' she replied, with bent head, 'that it would bring us fifty pounds a year. If another fifty were added to that, my father and mother would be supported in case the worst comes. I might earn fifty pounds.'
'You wish me to understand, Marian, that I mustn't expect that you will bring me anything when we are married.'
His tone was that of acquiescence; not by any means of displeasure. He spoke as if desirous of saying for her something she found a difficulty in saying for herself.
'Jasper, it is so hard for me! So hard for me! How could I help remembering what you told me when I promised to be your wife?'
'I spoke the truth rather brutally,' he replied, in a kind voice. 'Let all that be unsaid, forgotten. We are in quite a different position now. Be open with me, Marian; surely you can trust my common sense and good feeling. Put aside all thought of things I have said, and don't be restrained by any fear lest you should seem to me unwomanly—you can't be that. What is your own wish? What do you really wish to do, now that there is no uncertainty calling for postponements?'
Marian raised her eyes, and was about to speak as she regarded him; but with the first accent her look fell.
'I wish to be your wife.'
He waited, thinking and struggling with himself.
'Yet you feel that it would be heartless to take and use this money for our own purposes?'
'What is to become of my parents, Jasper?'
'But then you admit that the fifteen hundred pounds won't support them. You talk of earning fifty pounds a year for them.'
'Need I cease to write, dear, if we were married? Wouldn't you let me help them?'
'But, my dear girl, you are taking for granted that we shall have enough for ourselves.'
'I didn't mean at once,' she explained hurriedly. 'In a short time—in a year. You are getting on so well. You will soon have a sufficient income, I am sure.'
Jasper rose.
'Let us walk as far as the next seat. Don't speak. I have something to think about.'
Moving on beside him, she slipped her hand softly within his arm; but Jasper did not put the arm into position to support hers, and her hand fell again, dropped suddenly. They reached another bench, and again became seated.
'It comes to this, Marian,' he said, with portentous gravity. 'Support you, I could—I have little doubt of that. Maud is provided for, and Dora can make a living for herself. I could support you and leave you free to give your parents whatever you can earn by your own work. But—'
He paused significantly. It was his wish that Marian should supply the consequence, but she did not speak.
'Very well,' he exclaimed. 'Then when are we to be married?'
The tone of resignation was too marked. Jasper was not good as a comedian; he lacked subtlety.
'We must wait,' fell from Marian's lips, in the whisper of despair.
'Wait? But how long?' he inquired, dispassionately.
'Do you wish to be freed from your engagement, Jasper?'
He was not strong enough to reply with a plain 'Yes,' and so have done with his perplexities. He feared the girl's face, and he feared his own subsequent emotions.
'Don't talk in that way, Marian. The question is simply this: Are we to wait a year, or are we to wait five years? In a year's time, I shall probably be able to have a small house somewhere out in the suburbs. If we are married then, I shall be happy enough with so good a wife, but my career will take a different shape. I shall just th
row overboard certain of my ambitions, and work steadily on at earning a livelihood. If we wait five years, I may perhaps have obtained an editorship, and in that case I should of course have all sorts of better things to offer you.'
'But, dear, why shouldn't you get an editorship all the same if you are married?'
'I have explained to you several times that success of that kind is not compatible with a small house in the suburbs and all the ties of a narrow income. As a bachelor, I can go about freely, make acquaintances, dine at people's houses, perhaps entertain a useful friend now and then—and so on. It is not merit that succeeds in my line; it is merit plus opportunity. Marrying now, I cut myself off from opportunity, that's all.'
She kept silence.
'Decide my fate for me, Marian,' he pursued, magnanimously. 'Let us make up our minds and do what we decide to do. Indeed, it doesn't concern me so much as yourself. Are you content to lead a simple, unambitious life? Or should you prefer your husband to be a man of some distinction?'
'I know so well what your own wish is. But to wait for years—you will cease to love me, and will only think of me as a hindrance in your way.'
'Well now, when I said five years, of course I took a round number. Three—two might make all the difference to me.'
'Let it be just as you wish. I can bear anything rather than lose your love.'
'You feel, then, that it will decidedly be wise not to marry whilst we are still so poor?'
'Yes; whatever you are convinced of is right.'
He again rose, and looked at his watch.
'Jasper, you don't think that I have behaved selfishly in wishing to let my father have the money?'
'I should have been greatly surprised if you hadn't wished it. I certainly can't imagine you saying: "Oh, let them do as best they can!" That would have been selfish with a vengeance.'
'Now you are speaking kindly! Must you go, Jasper?'
'I must indeed. Two hours' work I am bound to get before seven o'clock.'
'And I have been making it harder for you, by disturbing your mind.'
'No, no; it's all right now. I shall go at it with all the more energy, now we have come to a decision.'
New Grub Street Page 51