New Grub Street (70 page)

'Yes, but he looks very ill.'

They conversed of such matters until Mrs Yule—now her own
servant—brought in the dinner. After the meal, Marian was in her
bedroom for about an hour; then she went to her father, who sat in
idleness, smoking.

'What is your mother doing?' he asked, as she entered.

'Some needlework.'

'I had perhaps better say'—he spoke rather stiffly, and with
averted face—'that I make no exclusive claim to the use of this
room. As I can no longer pretend to study, it would be idle to keep
up the show of privacy that mustn't be disturbed. Perhaps you will
mention to your mother that she is quite at liberty to sit here
whenever she chooses.'

It was characteristic of him that he should wish to deliver this
permission by proxy. But Marian understood how much was implied in
such an announcement.

'I will tell mother,' she said. 'But at this moment I wished to
speak to you privately. How would you advise me to invest my
money?'

Yule looked surprised, and answered with cold dignity.

'It is strange that you should put such a question to me. I
should have supposed your interests were in the hands of—of some
competent person.'

'This will be my private affair, father. I wish to get as high a
rate of interest as I safely can.'

'I really must decline to advise, or interfere in any way. But,
as you have introduced this subject, I may as well put a question
which is connected with it. Could you give me any idea as to how
long you are likely to remain with us?'

'At least a year,' was the answer, 'and very likely much
longer.'

'Am I to understand, then, that your marriage is indefinitely
postponed?'

'Yes, father.'

'And will you tell me why?'

'I can only say that it has seemed better—to both of us.'

Yule detected the sorrowful emotion she was endeavouring to
suppress. His conception of Milvain's character made it easy for
him to form a just surmise as to the reasons for this postponement;
he was gratified to think that Marian might learn how rightly he
had judged her wooer, and an involuntary pity for the girl did not
prevent his hoping that the detestable alliance was doomed. With
difficulty he refrained from smiling.

'I will make no comment on that,' he remarked, with a certain
emphasis. 'But do you imply that this investment of which you speak
is to be solely for your own advantage?'

'For mine, and for yours and mother's.'

There was a silence of a minute or two. As yet it had not been
necessary to take any steps for raising money, but a few months
more would see the family without resources, save those provided by
Marian, who, without discussion, had been simply setting aside what
she received for her work.

'You must be well aware,' said Yule at length, 'that I cannot
consent to benefit by any such offer. When it is necessary, I shall
borrow on the security of—'

'Why should you do that, father?' Marian interrupted. 'My money
is yours. If you refuse it as a gift, then why may not I lend to
you as well as a stranger? Repay me when your eyes are restored.
For the present, all our anxieties are at an end. We can live very
well until you are able to write again.'

For his sake she put it in his way. Supposing him never able to
earn anything, then indeed would come a time of hardship; but she
could not contemplate that. The worst would only befall them in
case she was forsaken by Jasper, and if that happened all else
would be of little account.

'This has come upon me as a surprise,' said Yule, in his most
reserved tone. 'I can give no definite reply; I must think of
it.'

'Should you like me to ask mother to bring her sewing here now?'
asked Marian, rising.

'Yes, you may do so.'

In this way the awkwardness of the situation was overcome, and
when Marian next had occasion to speak of money matters no serious
objection was offered to her proposal.

Dora Milvain of course learnt what had come to pass; to
anticipate criticism, her brother imparted to her the decision at
which Marian and he had arrived. She reflected with an air of
discontent.

'So you are quite satisfied,' was her question at length, 'that
Marian should toil to support her parents as well as herself?'

'Can I help it?'

'I shall think very ill of you if you don't marry her in a year
at latest.'

'I tell you, Marian has made a deliberate choice. She
understands me perfectly, and is quite satisfied with my projects.
You will have the kindness, Dora, not to disturb her faith in
me.'

'I agree to that; and in return I shall let you know when she
begins to suffer from hunger. It won't be very long till then, you
may be sure. How do you suppose three people are going to live on a
hundred a year? And it's very doubtful indeed whether Marian can
earn as much as fifty pounds. Never mind; I shall let you know when
she is beginning to starve, and doubtless that will amuse you.'

At the end of July Maud was married. Between Mr Dolomore and
Jasper existed no superfluous kindness, each resenting the other's
self-sufficiency; but Jasper, when once satisfied of his proposed
brother-in-law's straightforwardness, was careful not to give
offence to a man who might some day serve him. Provided this
marriage resulted in moderate happiness to Maud, it was undoubtedly
a magnificent stroke of luck. Mrs Lane, the lady who has so often
been casually mentioned, took upon herself those offices in
connection with the ceremony which the bride's mother is wont to
perform; at her house was held the wedding-breakfast, and such
other absurdities of usage as recommend themselves to Society. Dora
of course played the part of a bridesmaid, and Jasper went through
his duties with the suave seriousness of a man who has convinced
himself that he cannot afford to despise anything that the world
sanctions.

About the same time occurred another event which was to have
more importance for this aspiring little family than could as yet
be foreseen. Whelpdale's noteworthy idea triumphed; the weekly
paper called Chat was thoroughly transformed, and appeared as
Chit-Chat. From the first number, the success of the enterprise was
beyond doubt; in a month's time all England was ringing with the
fame of this noble new development of journalism; the proprietor
saw his way to a solid fortune, and other men who had money to
embark began to scheme imitative publications. It was clear that
the quarter-educated would soon be abundantly provided with
literature to their taste.

Whelpdale's exultation was unbounded, but in the fifth week of
the life of Chit-Chat something happened which threatened to
overturn his sober reason. Jasper was walking along the Strand one
afternoon, when he saw his ingenious friend approaching him in a
manner scarcely to be accounted for, unless Whelpdale's
abstemiousness had for once given way before convivial invitation.
The young man's hat was on the back of his head, and his coat flew
wildly as he rushed forwards with perspiring face and glaring eyes.
He would have passed without observing Jasper, had not the latter
called to him; then he turned round, laughed insanely, grasped his
acquaintance by the wrists, and drew him aside into a court.

'What do you think?' he panted. 'What do you think has
happened?'

'Not what one would suppose, I hope. You seem to have gone
mad.'

'I've got Lake's place on Chit-Chat!' cried the other hoarsely.
'Two hundred and fifty a year! Lake and the editor
quarrelled—pummelled each other—neither know nor care what it was
about. My fortune's made!'

'You're a modest man,' remarked Jasper, smiling.

'Certainly I am. I have always admitted it. But remember that
there's my connection with Fleet as well; no need to give that up.
Presently I shall be making a clear six hundred, my dear sir!

A clear six hundred, if a penny!'

'Satisfactory, so far.'

'But you must remember that I'm not a big gun, like you! Why, my
dear Milvain, a year ago I should have thought an income of two
hundred a glorious competence. I don't aim at such things as are
fit for you. You won't be content till you have thousands; of
course I know that. But I'm a humble fellow. Yet no; by Jingo, I'm
not! In one way I'm not—I must confess it.'

'In what instance are you arrogant?'

'I can't tell you—not yet; this is neither time nor place. I
say, when will you dine with me? I shall give a dinner to half a
dozen of my acquaintances somewhere or other. Poor old Biffen must
come. When can you dine?'

'Give me a week's notice, and I'll fit it in.'

That dinner came duly off. On the day that followed, Jasper and
Dora left town for their holiday; they went to the Channel Islands,
and spent more than half of the three weeks they had allowed
themselves in Sark. Passing over from Guernsey to that island, they
were amused to see a copy of Chit-Chat in the hands of an obese and
well-dressed man.

'Is he one of the quarter-educated?' asked Dora, laughing.

'Not in Whelpdale's sense of the word. But, strictly speaking,
no doubt he is. The quarter-educated constitute a very large class
indeed; how large, the huge success of that paper is demonstrating.
I'll write to Whelpdale, and let him know that his benefaction has
extended even to Sark.'

This letter was written, and in a few days there came a
reply.

'Why, the fellow has written to you as well!' exclaimed Jasper,
taking up a second letter; both were on the table of their
sitting-room when they came to their lodgings for lunch. 'That's
his hand.'

'It looks like it.'

Dora hummed an air as she regarded the envelope, then she took
it away with her to her room upstairs.

'What had he to say?' Jasper inquired, when she came down again
and seated herself at the table.

'Oh, a friendly letter. What does he say to you?'

Dora had never looked so animated and fresh of colour since
leaving London; her brother remarked this, and was glad to think
that the air of the Channel should be doing her so much good. He
read Whelpdale's letter aloud; it was facetious, but oddly
respectful.

'The reverence that fellow has for me is astonishing,' he
observed with a laugh. 'The queer thing is, it increases the better
he knows me.'

Dora laughed for five minutes.

'Oh, what a splendid epigram!' she exclaimed. 'It is indeed a
queer thing, Jasper! Did you mean that to be a good joke, or was it
better still by coming out unintentionally?'

'You are in remarkable spirits, old girl. By-the-by, would you
mind letting me see that letter of yours?'

He held out his hand.

'I left it upstairs,' Dora replied carelessly.

'Rather presumptuous in him, it seems to me.'

'Oh, he writes quite as respectfully to me as he does to you,'
she returned, with a peculiar smile.

'But what business has he to write at all? It's confounded
impertinence, now I come to think of it. I shall give him a hint to
remember his position.'

Dora could not be quite sure whether he spoke seriously or not.
As both of them had begun to eat with an excellent appetite, a few
moments were allowed to pass before the girl again spoke.

'His position is as good as ours,' she said at length.

'As good as ours? The "sub." of a paltry rag like Chit-Chat, and
assistant to a literary agency!'

'He makes considerably more money than we do.'

'Money! What's money?'

Dora was again mirthful.

'Oh, of course money is nothing! We write for honour and glory.
Don't forget to insist on that when you reprove Mr Whelpdale; no
doubt it will impress him.'

Late in the evening of that day, when the brother and sister had
strolled by moonlight up to the windmill which occupies the highest
point of Sark, and as they stood looking upon the pale expanse of
sea, dotted with the gleam of light-houses near and far, Dora broke
the silence to say quietly:

'I may as well tell you that Mr Whelpdale wants to know if I
will marry him.'

'The deuce he does!' cried Jasper, with a start. 'If I didn't
half suspect something of that kind! What astounding
impudence!'

'You seriously think so?'

'Well, don't you? You hardly know him, to begin with. And
then—oh, confound it!'

'Very well, I'll tell him that his impudence astonishes me.'

'You will?'

'Certainly. Of course in civil terms. But don't let this make
any difference between you and him. Just pretend to know nothing
about it; no harm is done.'

'You are speaking in earnest?'

'Quite. He has written in a very proper way, and there's no
reason whatever to disturb our friendliness with him. I have a
right to give directions in a matter like this, and you'll please
to obey them.'

Before going to bed Dora wrote a letter to Mr Whelpdale, not,
indeed, accepting his offer forthwith, but conveying to him with
much gracefulness an unmistakable encouragement to persevere. This
was posted on the morrow, and its writer continued to benefit most
remarkably by the sun and breezes and rock-scrambling of Sark.

Soon after their return to London, Dora had the satisfaction of
paying the first visit to her sister at the Dolomores' house in
Ovington Square. Maud was established in the midst of luxuries, and
talked with laughing scorn of the days when she inhabited Grub
Street; her literary tastes were henceforth to serve as merely a
note of distinction, an added grace which made evident her
superiority to the well-attired and smooth-tongued people among
whom she was content to shine. On the one hand, she had contact
with the world of fashionable literature, on the other with that of
fashionable ignorance. Mrs Lane's house was a meeting-point of the
two spheres.

'I shan't be there very often,' remarked Jasper, as Dora and he
discussed their sister's magnificence. 'That's all very well in its
way, but I aim at something higher.'