New Grub Street (44 page)

'Why shouldn't I?'

'Then I think you have been behaving very strangely.'

Jasper saw that she was in earnest. He stroked the back of his
head and smiled at the wall.

'With regard to Marian, you mean?'

'Of course I do.'

'But Marian understands me perfectly. I have never for a moment
tried to make her think that—well, to put it plainly, that I was in
love with her. In all our conversations it has been my one object
to afford her insight into my character, and to explain my
position. She has no excuse whatever for misinterpreting me. And I
feel assured that she has done nothing of the kind.'

'Very well, if you feel satisfied with yourself—'

'But come now, Dora; what's all this about? You are Marian's
friend, and, of course, I don't wish you to say a word about
her.

But let me explain myself. I have occasionally walked part of
the way home with Marian, when she and I have happened to go from
here at the same time; now there was nothing whatever in our talk
at such times that anyone mightn't have listened to. We are both
intellectual people, and we talk in an intellectual way. You seem
to have rather old-fashioned ideas—provincial ideas. A girl like
Marian Yule claims the new privileges of woman; she would resent it
if you supposed that she couldn't be friendly with a man without
attributing "intentions" to him—to use the old word. We don't live
in Wattleborough, where liberty is rendered impossible by the
cackling of gossips.'

'No, but—'

'Well?'

'It seems to me rather strange, that's all. We had better not
talk about it any more.'

'But I have only just begun to talk about it; I must try to make
my position intelligible to you. Now, suppose—a quite impossible
thing—that Marian inherited some twenty or thirty thousand pounds;
I should forthwith ask her to be my wife.'

'Oh indeed!'

'I see no reason for sarcasm. It would be a most rational
proceeding. I like her very much; but to marry her (supposing she
would have me) without money would he a gross absurdity, simply
spoiling my career, and leading to all sorts of discontents.'

'No one would suggest that you should marry as things are.'

'No; but please to bear in mind that to obtain money somehow or
other—and I see no other way than by marriage—is necessary to me,
and that with as little delay as possible. I am not at all likely
to get a big editorship for some years to come, and I don't feel
disposed to make myself prematurely old by toiling for a few
hundreds per annum in the meantime. Now all this I have frankly and
fully explained to Marian. I dare say she suspects what I should do
if she came into possession of money; there's no harm in that. But
she knows perfectly well that, as things are, we remain
intellectual friends.'

'Then listen to me, Jasper. If we hear that Marian gets nothing
from her uncle, you had better behave honestly, and let her see
that you haven't as much interest in her as before.'

'That would be brutality.'

'It would be honest.'

'Well, no, it wouldn't. Strictly speaking, my interest in Marian
wouldn't suffer at all. I should know that we could be nothing but
friends, that's all. Hitherto I haven't known what might come to
pass; I don't know yet. So far from following your advice, I shall
let Marian understand that, if anything, I am more her friend than
ever, seeing that henceforth there can be no ambiguities.'

'I can only tell you that Maud would agree with me in what I
have been saying.'

'Then both of you have distorted views.'

'I think not. It's you who are unprincipled.'

'My dear girl, haven't I been showing you that no man could be
more above-board, more straightforward?'

'You have been talking nonsense, Jasper.'

'Nonsense? Oh, this female lack of logic! Then my argument has
been utterly thrown away. Now that's one of the things I like in
Miss Rupert; she can follow an argument and see consequences. And
for that matter so can Marian. I only wish it were possible to
refer this question to her.'

There was a tap at the door. Dora called 'Come in!' and Marian
herself appeared.

'What an odd thing!' exclaimed Jasper, lowering his voice. 'I
was that moment saying I wished it were possible to refer a
question to you.'

Dora reddened, and stood in an embarrassed attitude.

'It was the old dispute whether women in general are capable of
logic. But pardon me, Miss Yule; I forget that you have been
occupied with sad things since I last saw you.'

Dora led her to a chair, asking if her father had returned.

'Yes, he came back yesterday.'

Jasper and his sister could not think it likely that Marian had
suffered much from grief at her uncle's death; practically John
Yule was a stranger to her. Yet her face bore the signs of acute
mental trouble, and it seemed as if some agitation made it
difficult for her to speak. The awkward silence that fell upon the
three was broken by Jasper, who expressed a regret that he was
obliged to take his leave.

'Maud is becoming a young lady of society,' he said—just for the
sake of saying something—as he moved towards the door. 'If she
comes back whilst you are here, Miss Yule, warn her that that is
the path of destruction for literary people.'

'You should bear that in mind yourself' remarked Dora, with a
significant look.

'Oh, I am cool-headed enough to make society serve my own
ends.'

Marian turned her head with a sudden movement which was checked
before she had quite looked round to him. The phrase he uttered
last appeared to have affected her in some way; her eyes fell, and
an expression of pain was on her brows for a moment.

'I can only stay a few minutes,' she said, bending with a faint
smile towards Dora, as soon as they were alone. 'I have come on my
way from the Museum.'

'Where you have tired yourself to death as usual, I can
see.'

'No; I have done scarcely anything. I only pretended to read; my
mind is too much troubled. Have you heard anything about my uncle's
will?'

'Nothing whatever.'

'I thought it might have been spoken of in Wattleborough, and
some friend might have written to you. But I suppose there has
hardly been time for that. I shall surprise you very much. Father
receives nothing, but I have a legacy of five thousand pounds.'

Dora kept her eyes down.

'Then—what do you think?' continued Marian. 'My cousin Amy has
ten thousand pounds.'

'Good gracious! What a difference that will make!'

'Yes, indeed. And her brother John has six thousand. But nothing
to their mother. There are a good many other legacies, but most of
the property goes to the Wattleborough park—"Yule Park" it will be
called—and to the volunteers, and things of that kind. They say he
wasn't as rich as people thought.'

'Do you know what Miss Harrow gets?'

'She has the house for her life, and fifteen hundred
pounds.'

'And your father nothing whatever?'

'Nothing. Not a penny. Oh I am so grieved! I think it so unkind,
so wrong. Amy and her brother to have sixteen thousand pounds and
father nothing! I can't understand it. There was no unkind feeling
between him and father. He knew what a hard life father has had.
Doesn't it seem heartless?'

'What does your father say?'

'I think he feels the unkindness more than he does the
disappointment; of course he must have expected something. He came
into the room where mother and I were, and sat down, and began to
tell us about the will just as if he were speaking to strangers
about something he had read in the newspaper—that's the only way I
can describe it. Then he got up and went away into the study. I
waited a little, and then went to him there; he was sitting at
work, as if he hadn't been away from home at all. I tried to tell
him how sorry I was, but I couldn't say anything. I began to cry
foolishly. He spoke kindly to me, far more kindly than he has done
for a long time; but he wouldn't talk about the will, and I had to
go away and leave him. Poor mother! for all she was afraid that we
were going to be rich, is broken-hearted at his
disappointment.'

'Your mother was afraid?' said Dora.

'Because she thought herself unfitted for life in a large house,
and feared we should think her in our way.' She smiled sadly. 'Poor
mother! she is so humble and so good. I do hope that father will be
kinder to her. But there's no telling yet what the result of this
may be. I feel guilty when I stand before him.'

'But he must feel glad that you have five thousand pounds.'

Marian delayed her reply for a moment, her eyes down.

'Yes, perhaps he is glad of that.'

'Perhaps!'

'He can't help thinking, Dora, what use he could have made of
it.

It has always been his greatest wish to have a literary paper of
his own—like The Study, you know. He would have used the money in
that way, I am sure.'

'But, all the same, he ought to feel pleasure in your good
fortune.'

Marian turned to another subject.

'Think of the Reardons; what a change all at once! What will
they do, I wonder? Surely they won't continue to live apart?'

'We shall hear from Jasper.'

Whilst they were discussing the affairs of that branch of the
family, Maud returned. There was ill-humour on her handsome face,
and she greeted Marian but coldly. Throwing off her hat and gloves
and mantle she listened to the repeated story of John Yule's
bequests.

'But why ever has Mrs Reardon so much more than anyone else?'
she asked.

'We can only suppose it is because she was the favourite child
of the brother he liked best. Yet at her wedding he gave her
nothing, and spoke contemptuously of her for marrying a literary
man.'

'Fortunate for her poor husband that her uncle was able to
forgive her. I wonder what's the date of the will? Who knows but he
may have rewarded her for quarrelling with Mr Reardon.'

This excited a laugh.

'I don't know when the will was made,' said Marian. 'And I don't
know whether uncle had even heard of the Reardons' misfortunes. I
suppose he must have done. My cousin John was at the funeral, but
not my aunt. I think it most likely father and John didn't speak a
word to each other. Fortunately the relatives were lost sight of in
the great crowd of Wattleborough people; there was an enormous
procession, of course.'

Maud kept glancing at her sister. The ill-humour had not
altogether passed from her face, but it was now blended with
reflectiveness.

A few moments more, and Marian had to hasten home. When she was
gone the sisters looked at each other.

'Five thousand pounds,' murmured the elder. 'I suppose that is
considered nothing.'

'I suppose so.—He was here when Marian came, but didn't
stay.'

'Then you'll take him the news this evening?'

'Yes,' replied Dora. Then, after musing, 'He seemed annoyed that
you were at the Lanes' again.'

Maud made a movement of indifference.

'What has been putting you out?'

'Things were rather stupid. Some people who were to have come
didn't turn up. And—well, it doesn't matter.'

She rose and glanced at herself in the little oblong mirror over
the mantelpiece.

'Did Jasper ever speak to you of a Miss Rupert?' asked Dora.

'Not that I remember.'

'What do you think? He told me in the calmest way that he didn't
see why Marian should think of him as anything but the most
ordinary friend—said he had never given her reason to think
anything else.'

'Indeed! And Miss Rupert is someone who has the honour of his
preference?'

'He says she is about thirty, and rather masculine, but a great
heiress. Jasper is shameful!'

'What do you expect? I consider it is your duty to let Marian
know everything he says. Otherwise you help to deceive her. He has
no sense of honour in such things.'

Dora was so impatient to let her brother have the news that she
left the house as soon as she had had tea on the chance of finding
Jasper at home. She had not gone a dozen yards before she
encountered him in person.

'I was afraid Marian might still be with you,' he said,
laughing.

'I should have asked the landlady. Well?'

'We can't stand talking here. You had better come in.'

He was in too much excitement to wait.

'Just tell me. What has she?'

Dora walked quickly towards the house, looking annoyed.

'Nothing at all? Then what has her father?'

'He has nothing,' replied his sister, 'and she has five thousand
pounds.'

Jasper walked on with bent head. He said nothing more until he
was upstairs in the sitting-room, where Maud greeted him
carelessly.

'Mrs Reardon anything?'

Dora informed him.

'What?' he cried incredulously. 'Ten thousand? You don't say
so!'

He burst into uproarious laughter.

'So Reardon is rescued from the slum and the clerk's desk! Well,
I'm glad; by Jove, I am. I should have liked it better if Marian
had had the ten thousand and he the five, but it's an excellent
joke. Perhaps the next thing will be that he'll refuse to have
anything to do with his wife's money; that would be just like him.'
After amusing himself with this subject for a few minutes more, he
turned to the window and stood there in silence.

'Are you going to have tea with us?' Dora inquired.

He did not seem to hear her. On a repetition of the inquiry, he
answered absently:

'Yes, I may as well. Then I can go home and get to work.'

During the remainder of his stay he talked very little, and as
Maud also was in an abstracted mood, tea passed almost in silence.
On the point of departing he asked:

'When is Marian likely to come here again?'

'I haven't the least idea,' answered Dora.