Mr. Ely took a cab into the city. On the road he stopped to buy a ring. He was the kind of man whose determination is intensified by opposition. He had been half in love with Miss Truscott before he met his German friend; now, in his own peculiar way, he was quite. Miss Ruth Rosenbaum was the youngest and most prepossessing of the six, and that there had been certain passages between them he was well aware. But in any case her father's attempt to force his daughter down his throat would have had the effect of making him fly off at a tangent in quite another direction. Now the effect it had upon him was to send him off helter-skelter to purchase Miss Truscott an engagement-ring. But he was the man of business even then. The jeweller found some difficulty in meeting his requirements. What Mr. Ely wanted was an article of the greatest value at the smallest cost. For instance, for a ring priced at a hundred and fifty guineas he offered fifteen pounds--and this with such an air of making a first-rate bid that the tradesman did not know whether to treat it as an insult or a jest. Finally he expended twenty pounds, and had his value for it, rest assured.
Directly he entered the Stock Exchange he encountered Mr. Ash.
"I had your wire," began that gentleman. "I congratulate you, my dear boy."
"Yes." Mr. Ely looked the other straight in the face, which was a trick he had when there was something which he particularly wished to say. Then he slipped his arm through Mr. Ash's, and drew that gentleman aside. "She's a fine girl, Ash--finer than I thought she was. Finest girl in England, in the world, by George she is!"
Mr. Ash was a little surprised at his friend's enthusiasm. But he let no sign of this escape him.
"She's a good girl too, my boy."
"Best girl ever yet I came across."
"And she's true--true as a die."
"Truer--truest girl ever yet I saw."
"And when she says she loves a man----" Mr. Ash paused. He glanced at his friend. Mr. Ely gave no sign. "When she says she loves a man, you may be quite certain that she does."
Mr. Ely looked down at his toes, then up at Mr. Ash.
"I've bought the ring."
"What! The wedding-ring!"
"The wedding-ring! Good gad, no! I never thought of that. It's the engagement ring I've got."
"The other one comes after, eh?"
"I gave twenty sovereigns for it."
"That's a pile." What the smile meant in Mr. Ash's eyes it would be difficult to say.
"He wanted forty-five. I beat him down. Said I'd seen its own brother at Attenborough's for ten." There was a pause. Then Mr. Ely began again. "I say, Ash, when do you think the wedding could come off?"
"In a hurry? Well, what do you say to twelve months, my boy?"
"Twelve months! Twelve months be hanged! A month's enough for me."
"A month! The girl won't have time to turn herself round. And you've a house to take, and all the rest of it."
"You say the word, and I'll have a house by to-morrow night, and get it furnished in a week."
"But, my dear boy, you don't seem to be aware that the lady generally has a voice in that kind of thing."
"You say a month, and I'll make it right with her."
"You may marry her to-morrow for all I care.
"I should like to marry her to-morrow," said Mr. Ely candidly; "but--I suppose it'll have to be a month."
But even a month was not an impassable space of time. Mr. Ely reflected that there were a good many things which must be done--it should be a lunar month, he decided in his own mind--his time would be much occupied, the days would quickly pass, and then--then the maid with the big eyes, the finest girl in the world, the best and the truest, would be his bride.
His happiness was consummated on the following morning. It had never occurred to him to suggest that there should be any correspondence. He was not a man who was fond of writing himself, and a love-letter--the idea of a sane man writing a love-letter!--was an idea which up to the present moment had never entered his mind. And that in spite of a certain unfortunate document which was in the possession of Miss Ruth Rosenbaum. So when he found upon his breakfast table the following morning a large square envelope, addressed to "Frederic Ely, Esq." in an unmistakably feminine hand, the postmark of which was Shanklin, his heart gave quite a jump.
It was from Miss Truscott, as sure as fate: the first letter from his love?
Mr. Ely played with that letter as a cat plays with a mouse. It was a tender morsel, abonne bouche, which must not be hastily dismissed. He turned it over and over, examining first the superscription, the bold, flourishing hand in which she had penned his name--how well it looked; the first time his name had been inscribed by her! Then he examined the reverse--the monogram. He could make it out quite well--L. T.--Lily Truscott. He blushed as he caught himself in the act of raising the magic letters to his lips. Then he laid it down in a prominent position in front of his plate, and studied the exterior as he began to eat.
"I wonder what she has to say!" Ah, what! "I wonder if--if she's come round to my point of view? Got--got spoony, and--and all that. By George, I hope she has!" What with the food he had in his mouth, and the sigh, he was almost choked. "I think every woman ought to love the man she's going to marry. I love her--I know I do."
He began to know that fact too well. The man who had had nothing to do with sentiment was painfully conscious that he was on the point of becoming the most sentimental of men.
"I mismanaged the affair all through. I ought to have told her that I loved her. How can a man expect a girl to love him if she don't believe that he loves her? Perhaps she has written to say that she can conceal the fact no longer: that she loves me whether I want her to or don't. By George! I hope she has."
He feasted his eyes again upon the envelope, and helped himself to another serving of ham and eggs.
"I thought her behaviour was a trifle cold. It was that beastly dog that did it. How can a man make himself agreeable to a woman when there's a dog ready to bite his nose off sitting on her knee? Still, I thought her behaviour was a trifle cold. She didn't seem to pay much attention to what I had to say; I believe she would have preferred to read; and when she did begin to talk she was taking pot-shots at one all over the place, as it were."
He sighed, and took another egg.
"And when I asked her to marry me I might have been asking her to take a tart; she didn't seem to be interested in the least. She was most uncommon anxious to treat the thing in a business-like kind of way. I oughtn't to have been so particular about saying I was a business man. That was a mistake; I know it was."
He sighed again. He put down his knife and fork.
"By George, if she writes to say she loves me, I--I'd give a hundred pounds!"
He took the letter in his hands.
"I wonder if she does!"
In his anxiety he rose from his seat and began to pace the room, holding the letter tightly in his hand. He paused before the mantelshelf and regarded himself in the glass.
"Well, upon my word, I never thought that I should come to this--I never did. Here's all the papers, and goodness knows what news from Paris, and I haven't looked at one, and don't want to neither, that's the truth. If she's only written to say she loves me, whether I want her to or don't, I--I'd give a thousand pounds. Here goes! I can't stand fooling here all day! Goodness knows what the state of things in the City may be."
He was about to tear the envelope open with his finger. He changed his mind.
"She may have written something on the flap. I'd better use a knife."
He used a knife. To see him use it, opening an envelope might have been the most delicate operation on earth.
"Now for it!" He heaved the greatest sigh of all. "By George, if it's only to confess her love!"
He seated himself at the table with the letter spread out in front of him. It might have been as fragile as it was priceless to observe the ginger way in which he opened it and spread it out. Then he arrayed himself for its perusal with as much precision as though it were some formal and rather complicated revelation just to hand from the gods.
"'Dear Mr. Ely' (I say! She might have said 'Dear Fred,' or even 'Frederic'! 'Dear Mr. Ely'! It's rather a stiffish way of writing to the man you're going to marry, don't you know.) 'Just a line with reference to what passed between us yesterday. I have changed my mind. I thought it better to let you know at the earliest possible moment. It is quite impossible for me to be your wife. The fact is, I am going to marry Mr. Summers instead. Yours truly, Lily Truscott.'"
Mr. Ely read this note through without, in his astonishment, being in the least able to grasp its meaning.
"What--what the blazes is all this!" He ploughed through it again. "'Dear Mr. Ely' (it's evidently meant for me), 'just a line with reference to what passed between us yesterday'! (What passed between us yesterday--what's she mean? She hasn't put a date; I suppose she means my asking her to be my wife. That's a pretty good way of referring to it, anyhow.) 'I have changed my mind!' (Oh, has she? About what? It didn't strike me she had a mind to change.) 'I thought it better to let you know at the earliest possible moment'! (If she had only told me what it was she thought it better to let me know, it would have been perhaps as well. If this is a love-letter, give me the other kind of thing.) 'It is quite impossible for me to be your wife.' (What--what the blazes does she mean?) 'The fact is, I am going to marry Mr. Summers instead'!"
Mr. Ely's jaw dropped, and he stared at the letter as though it were a ghost.
"Well--I'm--hanged!' The fact is, I am going to marry Mr. Summers instead.' That takes the cake!' Yours truly, Lily Truscott.'--If that isn't the sweetest thing in love-letters ever yet I heard of!"
Quite a curious change had come over Mr. Ely. If we may be forgiven a vulgarism which is most expressive--he seemed to have been knocked all of a heap. His head had fallen forward on his chest, one limp hand held Miss Truscott's letter, the other dangled nerveless by his side.
"And I gave twenty pounds for an engagement-ring!"
They were the first words in which he gave expression to the strength of his emotion.
"Good Lord, if I had given him what he asked, and stumped up forty-five!"
The reflection sent a shudder all through his frame. The horror of the picture thus conjured up by his imagination had the effect of a tonic on his nerves, it recalled him to himself.
"I'll have another read at this. There isn't much of it, but what there is requires a good deal of digesting."
He pulled himself together, sat up in his chair, and had another read.
"'Dear Mr. Ely' (yes, by George, dear at any price, I'll swear! Like her impudence to call me 'dear'! I wonder she didn't begin it 'Sir'), 'just a line with reference to what passed between us yesterday.' (That is, I think, about the coollest bit I ever heard of. Quite a casual allusion, don't you know, to a matter of not the slightest importance to any one, especially me. That young woman's graduated in an establishment where they teach 'em how to go.) 'I have changed my mind!' (That's--that's about two stone better than the other. She's changed her mind! Holy Moses! About something, you know, about which we change our minds as easily and as often as we do our boots.) 'I thought it better to let you know at the earliest possible moment.' (She certainly has done that. Unless she had changed her mind before she had made it up, she could scarcely have let me know it sooner. She might have wired, to be sure! But perhaps she never thought of that.) 'It is quite impossible for me to be your wife.' (It is as well that the explanation follows immediately after, or echo would have answered 'Why?') 'The fact is, I am going to marry Mr. Summers instead.' I suppose there never was a larger amount of meaning contained in a smaller number of words. Among the remarkable women the world has seen the record's hers; she is certainly unique."
Rising from his seat, he put the letter back in the envelope, and placed the envelope within his letter-case.
"I'll take that letter up to Ash; I'll have a word to say to him. I wonder if he knows what sort of a ward he's got? That's the best and truest girl alive; a woman whose word is just her bond; who, when she says a thing, sticks to it like glue. And to think that I spent twenty pounds on an engagement-ring!"
He put his hands into his trousers pockets. He balanced himself upon his toes and heels.
"Twenty pounds for an engagement-ring! I wonder how much Mr. Summers intends to pay?"
The reflection angered him.
"By George, I'll let her know if she's going to pitch me overboard quite so easily as that. I'll make her marry me, or I'll know the reason why."
When he left for the City his first business was to pay a visit to Mr. Ash. He dismissed the cab at the corner of Throgmorton Street. He had not taken half a dozen steps along that rather narrow thoroughfare when a hand was laid upon his shoulder; turning, he saw Mr. Rosenbaum.
"My good friend, I have a little paper here for you."
And Mr. Rosenbaum deftly slipped a paper into his good friend's hand.
"Rosenbaum! What's this?"
"It's a writ, my friend; a writ. You would not tell me the name of your solicitor, so I try personal service instead."
With a beaming smile and a nod of his head, Mr. Rosenbaum swaggered away. In a somewhat bewildered state of mind Mr. Ely stared after him, the paper in his hand.
"It never rains but it pours! Here's two strokes of luck in a single day, and I've only just got out of bed!"
He opened the legal-looking document with which he had been so unexpectedly presented by his generous friend, and glanced at its contents. It was headed "Rosenbaumv. Ely," and, so far as he could judge from his hasty glance, it purported to relate to an action brought by Ruth Rosenbaum against Frederic Ely, to recover damages for breach of promise of marriage.
"Well! This is a pretty go!"
He could scarcely believe his eyes; the damages were laid at thirty thousand pounds! And he had already spent twenty pounds for an engagement-ring!
His first impulse was to tear the paper up and scatter the pieces in the street. His second--which he followed--was to place it in the inner pocket of his coat as a companion to his letter-case.
"Rosenbaum must be a greater fool even than I thought. Thirty thousand pounds! By George! One girl values me at a considerably higher figure than another does."
He found that Mr. Ash was still in his office, and alone; so, without troubling to have himself announced, he marched straight in.
"Hallo, Ely, here again! Anything settled about the date? Or is it something more tangible than love?"
Mr. Ash was engaged with a file of correspondence, from which he looked up at Mr. Ely, with a laugh.
"I have to get through all this before I can put in an appearance in the House. And here's a man who gives me so many minute directions about what he wants to do that I can't for the life of me understand what it is he wants. Why people can't just say 'Buy this,' 'Sell that,' is more than I can tell. But what's the matter? You look quite glum."
"So would you look glum if you had as much cause for looking glum as me."
"I don't know! You've won one of the prettiest girls in England--and one of the nicest little fortunes, too. After that it would take something to make me look glum."
"She's one of the prettiest girls in England."
"There's no mistake about that. Any man might be proud of such a prize. I've been thinking about it all night."
"I've been thinking about it, too."
"And the result is to give you that dyspeptic look? Not flattering to her, eh?"
There was a pause before Mr. Ely answered. With much deliberation he put his hand into his pocket and drew out his letter-case. "I'm sorry you don't think it's flattering." Another pause before he spoke again; then it was with an even more acidulated expression of countenance. "I have received a letter by this morning's post."
"No! From her? She's going it."
"Yes, she is going it, I think."
"That sort of thing's hardly your line, eh?"
"That sort of thing hardly is my line."
"Don't care for love-letters--as a rule?"
"I should like to refer to a dictionary to know what a love-letter is. If this is a love-letter, I prefer a summons."
It was on his tongue to say a writ, but he remembered that he already had one in his pocket, and chose another word.
"Ah, Ely, you must remember that this is a romantic girl. If her language seems too flowery--too kissy-kissy--you must bear in mind that in romantic girls affection is apt to take such shapes. Besides, I should think you'd rather have that than the other kind of thing--I know I would."
"Perhaps, before you pass an opinion on that subject, you'll allow me to read to you the letter I've received."
"Read it! I say! Is that quite fair? Men don't read their love-letters even to their young women's guardians as a rule. Especially the first--I thought that was sacred above the rest."
"Look here, Ash, I'm the mildest-mannered man alive, but you never came nearer having an inkstand at your head than since I've been inside this room."
"Ely! Good gracious, man! What's the matter now?"
"I repeat--perhaps you'll allow me to read to you the letter I've received."
With the same air of excessive deliberation, Mr. Ely opened his letter-case, took from it an envelope, and from it a letter, unfolded the epistle, and looked at Mr. Ash. Mr. Ash did nothing but stare at him.
"This is my first love-letter--the one which you thought was sacred above the rest. I don't know about the rest. This is quite enough for me. You are sure you're listening?"
"I'll take my oath on that."
"'Dear Mr. Ely' (you observe how warmly she begins! Kissy-kissy kind of way, you know), 'just a line with reference to what passed between us yesterday.' (That's a gentle allusion to the trivial fact that on the day before she pledged herself to be my wife. We're getting warm, you see.) 'I have changed my mind.'"
"She has what?"
"She says that she has changed her mind."
"What does she mean by she's changed her mind?"
"Ah, that's what we have to see. It's an obscure allusion which becomes clearer later on; an example of the flowery language in which romantic girls indulge. 'I thought it better to let you know at the earliest possible moment.' (You'll observe that she wastes no time. Perhaps that's another characteristic of the romantic state of mind.) 'It is quite impossible for me to be your wife.'"
"What's that?"
"She says that it's quite impossible for her to be my wife."
"But--good heavens!--I thought you told me she said yes."
"She did say yes."
"But an unhesitating--a final and decisive yes?"
"It was an unhesitating, a final and decisive yes.
"You sent me up a wire!"
"It was agreed between us that I should send you up a wire."
"You talked about having the marriage in a month."
"I did talk, about having the marriage in a month."
"And buying a house and furniture, and all the rest of it."
"Precisely; and all the rest of it."
"And you told me that you had bought a ring."
"That's a fact. I did. I paid twenty pounds for an engagement-ring. It's in my pocket now. That's one of the pleasantest parts of the affair."
"Then what the dickens does she mean? Is the girl stark mad? Are you sure the letter comes from her?"
"You shall examine it for yourself in a moment, and then you'll be able to decide. You understand it is the first love-letter I ever had, and therefore sacred above the rest. As for what she means, the explanation comes a little further on--in the next sentence, in fact, Perhaps you will allow me to proceed!"
"Oh, go on! It is plain the girl is mad."
"'The fact is, I am going to marry Mr. Summers instead.'"
"Good----! What--what's that?"
"She says that she's going to marry Mr. Summers instead."
"Instead! Instead of whom?"
"Instead of me."
"Well, I'm--hanged!"
"Yes, that's exactly what I am. And as this is the result of my first love-letter, I don't want to have a second experience of the same kind, you understand."
"Then he's done it after all! What a fool I've been!"
"Well, it does seem that there's a fool somewhere in the case."
"I've done it all!"
"The deuce you have!"
"Do you know this man Summers?"
"Of course I do. Didn't you see I did when I met him here the other day?"
"Do you know what he came for then?"
"How should I? For half a crown, I shouldn't be surprised. He's one of those painter fellows who run up pictures by the yard."
"He came for Lily."
"What the dickens do you mean?"
"I mean exactly what I say. He came to ask my consent to make my ward an offer of his hand."
"What! Before I did?"
"No; directly you had gone."
"But you had given your consent to me!"
"I told him so. He didn't seem to think that it mattered in the least."
"Well, he's a cool hand, upon my Sam!"
"When I told him what I had arranged with you, he wanted to start off for Shanklin there and then. It was with the greatest difficulty that I got him to listen to common sense--I never saw a man in such a state of imbecility. Finally, I agreed that if you failed then he should have his chance."
"But I didn't fail."
"Well, it looks queer."
"Looks queer! Do you want to drive me mad? And I paid twenty pounds for my engagement-ring! Do you think I should buy engagement-rings if I wasn't sure that it was clear? A girl promises to be my wife, and another man comes directly after and eggs her on to break her word! Looks queer! I should think it does, by George! Look here, Ash, if you think I'm going to sit down quietly and stand this sort of thing, you're wrong!"
"Shall I tell you what my own opinion of the matter is?"
"Get it out!"
"The girl's a fool!"
"She's either that or something worse."
"I have only to go down and talk the matter over with her quietly, and you'll see it will be all right."
"You go down! And where do you suppose that I shall be?"
"You leave the matter in my hands, and you'll find that I will make it all right."
"I'll be shot if I will! The girl has promised to be my wife, and if there's any man who's got a right to talk to her it's me. I've had one day out of town; I think I'll spare myself another. You've got a time-table, haven't you? When is there a train?"
Producing a Bradshaw, Mr. Ash plunged into its intricacies.
"It's now eleven. There's a train leaves Waterloo eleven thirty-five. Reaches Shanklin three forty-three. It's too late for that."
"Eleven thirty-five? Is it too late--we'll see. You don't seem to be aware of the fact that at this moment, for all I know, that man's amusing himself with the woman who promised to be my wife. It don't occur to you that there is any necessity for haste. I'm off; you may come or stay, just as you please."
"I'll come--it's a little awkward, but I'll come."
"It is awkward! You'd think it awkward if you were in the pair of shoes that I'm wearing now."
"Half a minute! Just let me speak one word to my managing man."
Mr. Ash called in his clerk. Mr. Ely passed into the street, and engaged a hansom cab. In a remarkably short space of time he was joined by Mr. Ash. Mr. Ely gave instructions to the cabman.
"Waterloo! Main line! And go like blazes!"
And the cab was off.
Mr. Ely's last journey from Shanklin up to town had not been exactly of a cheerful kind. Mr. Rosenbaum's appearance on the scene had put a damper on to that. The tale of the six daughters had banished peace from the successful wooer's mind. The journey from town to Shanklin was not exactly pleasant either. Under the best of circumstances Mr. Ely was not the most cheerful of companions. Under existing circumstances he was the most cheerless man alive.
He showed his mettle at the start.
"First-class smoking," Mr. Ash suggested to the guard.
Mr. Ely pulled up short.
"Not for me."
"What do you mean?"
"No smoking carriage for me. I've got enough on my hands already, without having to disinfect myself immediately I arrive."
So they were shown into a non-smoking compartment. Mr. Ash wished his friend at Jericho. The idea of a journey to Portsmouth without the aid of a cigar did not commend itself to him. Besides, he knew that Miss Truscott had liberal-minded notions on the subject of tobacco. But he deemed it prudent to refrain from treading on the tail of the coat which Mr. Ely was obviously trailing on the ground. And he had his revenge!
Just as the train was actually starting there was a cry of "Stop!" Some one came rushing down the platform, the door was opened, and first a lady and then a gentleman were assisted in.
"That was a narrow squeak!" exclaimed the gentleman. Then he turned laughing to the lady: "That's a nice beginning, Mrs. B." The lady laughed at him again. "It's a matter of no importance, but I suppose all our luggage is left behind." He put his head out of the window to see. "No, they're putting it in! In such a style! What a scene of ruin will greet our eyes when we reach the other end."
He drew his head into the compartment and took a survey of his surroundings.
"What, Ash! What, Ely! Here's a go! What brings you two thieves in here? Quite a happy family, my boys."
The gentleman extended one hand to Mr. Ash and the other to Mr. Ely. Mr. Ash laughingly grasped the one which came his way; Mr. Ely acidly declined the other, but the gentleman did not seem to be in the least cast down. He gave Mr. Ely a resounding thwack upon the shoulder, which doubled him up as though he were some lay figure.
"Ely, my boy, you look as though you had been living on sour apples for a week! What's the matter with him, Ash? Been induced to lend his aged mother half a crown? He'll never get over it, you know."
"Mr. Bailey," gasped Mr. Ely, "I'll trouble you not to play your practical jokes on me."
Mr. Bailey laughed. Behind the cover of his paper Mr. Ash laughed too. Mr. Bailey--better known as "Jack" Bailey--was also a member of the "House," and as such known both to Mr. Ely and to Ash. One of those hearty, healthy Englishmen, who having not the slightest reserve themselves have no notion of the existence of such a sense in anybody else. He was Mr. Ely's particular abhorrence. When Mr. Bailey had done laughing, he turned to the lady who accompanied him. She was a feminine repetition of himself: a tall, strapping, buxom wench, with bright black eyes and bright red cheeks; the very embodiment of health and strength; the sort of damsel who is in her element on the tennis-lawn or on the river, or doing four-and-twenty dances off the reel.
"Who do you think that is?"
The lady laughed.
"Jack! shut up," she said.
"Just hark at her! We've not been married an hour, and she's beginning to order me about already! Allow me to introduce you to my wife, Mrs. Bailey--Miss Williamson that was. Married this morning in the Church of St. Michael and All Angels, six bridesmaids, and such a wedding-cake! Only we couldn't stop to eat this wedding-cake, we had to catch the train!"
Mr. and Mrs. Bailey laughed again. Mr. Ash laughed too. But Mr. Ely--he turned green. Mr. Ash raised his hat and bowed to the lady.
"Allow me to offer you my congratulations, Mrs. Bailey. Am I justified in supposing that you are starting on your honeymoon?"
"Justified! I should think you are!" Seating himself, Mr. Bailey slipped his arm about the lady's waist. "I say, Bess, it's lucky we've fallen among men I know. I should have had to apologise for kissing you in front of strangers."
He kissed her then. But the lady only laughed.
"You know Jack," she explained. "Every one knows Jack! He has a way of his own."
"I should think I have got a way of my own!" cried the gentleman referred to. And he slipped the lady on to his knee. "I wouldn't give a button for the man who hadn't; eh, Ely, what do you say? I say, Ely, why don't you go in for something in this line?"
And he nodded towards his wife.
"I'm afraid I do not understand you."
"He says he doesn't understand me, Bess. Isn't that a funny man?"
"Are you not married, Mr. Ely?" inquired the bride of an hour.
"I have not that happiness."
For the life of him Mr. Ash could not have resisted the chance which offered.
"But he's going to be--he's engaged," he said.
Mr. Ely turned the colour of a boiled beetroot. But Mr. and Mrs. Bailey quite mistook the reason. It was not because he was shy; it was because the exigencies of civilisation debarred him from cutting Mr. Ash's throat.
"I wish you joy!" exclaimed the gentleman.
"When's it going to be!" chimed in the lady.
"I'll be best man!"
"If you promise to send me a piece of the cake I'll let you have a piece of mine."
Mr. Bailey turned to his wife.
"To look at him you wouldn't think he was engaged, now, would you?"
"Why? Is there anything funny about the looks of a man when he's engaged?"
"Funny! I should think there is! Ely, what do you think? Don't you feel funny? You ought to if you don't."
"May I inquire, Mr. Bailey, what you mean?"
There was such a savage tone in Mr. Ely's voice that even the not quick-witted Mr. Bailey was struck by it.
"Hallo! What's up now? I say, Ash, you ought to tip a fellow the wink when a man's had an unfortunate misunderstanding with his best girl."
"Mr. Bailey--I beg Mrs. Bailey's pardon,--but I suppose that in the presence of a lady you take it for granted that you may permit yourself the utmost license of speech."
Mr. Bailey whistled, Mrs. Bailey laughed, then looked out of the window with a look of innocent surprise--that look of innocent surprise which means so much. Mr. Bailey nudged his wife with his elbow.
"Beautiful scenery, isn't it?"
They were then passing a long, level stretch of what seemed turnip-fields. Mrs. Bailey laughed again.
"Ah, it's a serious thing to have a misunderstanding with your best girl!"
Mrs. Bailey laughed again.
"It's all very well to laugh, but I've had more than one, and nobody knows what it feels like who hasn't gone through it all. Poor chap, no wonder he feels down!"
"Mr. Ely," explained the lady, "never you mind Jack, it's a way he's got; he will always have his joke." Then she showed the tact for which women are so famous. "I hope that there really has been no misunderstanding with--with the lady?"
"S--sh!--Bess!--For shame!--I'm surprised at you! I wouldn't have asked such a question, not for a thousand pounds!"
"Mr. Bailey, if the worst comes to the worst, I feel quite convinced that you will be able to provide Mrs. Bailey with an excellent establishment by becoming a professional buffoon."
This was Mr. Ely's final word. The train just then drew up at Guildford. Mr. Bailey rose with the air of a martyr.
"I'm afraid, my dear Bess, we must really tear ourselves away. We ought to find a separate compartment. Our friends are most anxious to smoke, and the presence of a lady prevents them, you know."
When the pair were gone, Mr. Ely turned upon Mr. Ash with something that was very much like a snarl.
"I have to thank you for that."
"For what? What do you mean?"
"You know very well what I mean. For that clown's impertinence--great, lumbering buffoon!"
"Good gracious, Ely, you don't seem to be in the pleasantest of moods. What did I tell him? I only said you were engaged. What harm is there in that? I don't know what good you expect to come from keeping it hidden from the world."
Mr. Ely turned the matter over in his mind. He gnashed his teeth, not figuratively, but very literally indeed.
"By George, I'll make her marry me, or I'll know the reason why!"
"One way to that desirable consummation is to compromise the lady's name. Advertise the fact that she has promised to be your wife."
"If I thought that, I'd stick it up on every dead wall in town."
"Let's try milder means at first. Leave more vigorous measures to a little later on. Unless I'm much mistaken, you'll find the milder means will serve. There's a little misunderstanding, that is all."
"Little misunderstanding you call it, do you? I should like to know what you call a big one, then."
If they did not actually come to blows they did more than one little bit of figurative sparring on the way. Mr. Ash found it best to keep quite still. Directly he opened his mouth Mr. Ely showed an amazing disposition to snap at his nose. For instance, once when the train stopped at a station--
"This is Rowland's Castle, isn't it?"
"No, it isn't Rowland's Castle. I should like to know what on earth makes you think it's Rowland's Castle. I wonder you don't say it's Colney Hatch."
Mr. Ash gazed mildly at his friend, and subsided into his paper. He felt that with things as they were conversation might be labelled "dangerous."
When they reached Shanklin, Mr. Ely was shown into the drawing-room, while Mr. Ash disappeared upstairs.
"You wait in there," suggested Mr. Ash; "there's a word or two I want to say to the old lady. I want to get to the bottom of the thing, because it's quite possible we've come on a wild goose chase after all. You wait half a minute, and I'll see Miss Lily's sent to you. I shouldn't be at all surprised to see her come flying headlong into your arms. Then you'll find out that it's almost worth while to fall out for the sake of the reconciliation."
Left alone in the drawing-room, Mr. Ely was not by any means so sure. He was inclined to be sceptical as to the young lady's flying leap into his arms. And as to falling out for the sake of the reconciliation--well, there might be something, perhaps, in that, but he would like to have felt as sure about the reconciliation as he did about the falling out.
He seated himself on an ottoman, thrust his hands into his trousers pockets, and stared at his patent toes. A minute passed, more than a minute, more than five minutes, indeed, still he was left alone. He looked at his watch. Ten minutes had elapsed since he entered the room.
"This is a pretty state of things; ten living minutes have I sat stewing here! And Ash said that in less than half a minute he wouldn't be surprised to see her in my arms. It looks like it!"
He got up and surveyed the apartment.
"I wonder where she is? And where the other fellow is? That's the man to whom I ought to apply for information. I lay my hat that she's done some bounding into his arms since yesterday. That's a pleasant thought to think about the woman who's promised to be your wife!"
Mr. Ely disconsolately paced the room.
"And to think that I paid twenty pounds for an engagement-ring! And I might have forked up forty-five! That's what gets at me! And I've got Rosenbaum's writ in my coat pocket. Damages laid at thirty thousand pounds! Oh, lor! This is a nice day's work I've done!"
Pausing before the fireplace he leaned his elbow on the mantelshelf, and his head upon his hand, and groaned.
"Excuse me, but can you tell me where Miss Truscott is?" There was a voice behind him. Mr. Ely turned.
"Hallo, Ely! I had no idea that it was you! How are you, dear old man?"
Mr. Ely turned--metaphorically--into a pillar of ice. Into a pillar of red-hot ice, if we may confound our metaphors. For while his exterior demeanour was several degrees below zero, his interior economy left boiling point at the post.
A gentleman had strolled into the room through the opened window--Mr. William Summers. Mr. William Summers as large as life, and larger. There were no signs of guilt upon his countenance; certainly there were none in his bearing. He held a soft crush hat in one hand, the other he held out to Mr. Ely.
"Well, I'm--hanged!"
"I say, Ely, what's the row?"
Speechless with indignation, Mr. Ely turned and strode towards the door. When he reached it he paused, and turning again, he gazed at the intruder. The intruder did not seem to be at all abashed.
"That's the way they used to do it at the Coburg. Exit vanquished vice."
"Sir!"
"That's a little Coburg, too. They used to roll their r's."
Mr. Summers tugged at his beard. Retracing his steps, Mr. Ely strode on until he was in a measurable distance of Mr. Summers's nose.
"Understand this once for all: you are a perfect stranger, sir, to me."
"That's all right; I thought I was. Excuse one stranger speaking to another, but could you tell me where Miss Truscott is?"
Mr. Ely gasped. "This--this beats anything I ever heard of! Mr. Summers!"
"That's right, Ely, I'm awake. Wire in and lay me flat; I sha'n't mind a bit."
"In all this there may be something funny, sir, which commends it to your mind--if you have a mind--but I see nothing comic in desecrating nature's most sacred ties and in corrupting the innocence of youth."
"More don't I, Ely; not the way you put it--and I couldn't put it better if I tried."
"Are you aware that Miss Truscott has promised to be my wife?"
"Ah, that was a mistake!"
"A mistake! What the devil do you mean?"
"You see, Ely, I've been in love with her a good twelve months--aye, that and more. I fell in love with her the first moment she came across my path."
"What the dickens do I care if you've been in love with her twelve years? More shame you! Do you consider that a justification to the scoundrel who betrays another fellow's wife?"
"In love with her in a sense you do not understand--in love with her with my whole life."
"What on earth has that to do with me?"
"I have lived for her, and worked, and hoped, and dreamed, until she has grown to be the centre of my being. Does she mean all that to you?"
"What business have you to ask me such a question? When you have ruined Mrs. Jones do you put a similar inquiry to Jones? I should think Jones would feel that you were a logical sort of person if you did."
"Ah, but here she is not your wife."
"But she's going to be!"
"As I live she never will."
"Hang it, sir; don't I tell you that she promised?"
"And don't I tell you that was a mistake. If you will keep cool I will give you an explanation. If you decline to listen to an explanation, you must be content to realise the fact."
"Look here, Mr. Summers, you are a sort of man with whom I have had very little to do----"
"My misfortune--not your fault."
"But I suppose you have some idea of common decency, if you have none of honour----"
"I hope I have."
"And I ask you if you think it's decent, directly a woman has promised a man to be his wife, to go behind his back and induce the woman to dishonour herself and him?"
"But that is not what I have done."
"It is what you have done. One day Miss Truscott promises to be my wife, the next--directly my back is turned--you come and persuade her to be false to herself and me."
"My good Ely, there is one factor you are omitting from your calculations, and that is--love."
"Which with you stands higher--love or honesty?"
"Oh, they both go hand-in-hand. Would it have been honest for her to have married you when she loved me?"
"Pooh! Stuff and nonsense! I never heard such impudence! What the dickens do you mean by saying that the woman who has promised to be my wife loves you?"
"You perceive, it is from that that I saved you--that curse of all existence, that canker which eats into the very root of life--a loveless marriage. But there are not many signs of gratitude, that I can see."
And Mr. Summers sighed. Mr. Ely gasped.
"Look here, Mr. Summers, I am not a fighting man."
"No?"
"But if I were----!"
"Yes. If you were? Go on!"
"By George, sir, if I were----!" At this moment Mr. Ash entered the room. "I'm sorry, Ash, that you have come. You've interrupted the most agreeable interview that I ever had in all my life."
"I'm surprised, Mr. Summers, after what has passed, to see you here."
"Why? I assure you I'm not at all surprised at seeing you."
Rising, Mr. Summers held out his hand. But Mr. Ash declined to see it.
"Oh, take his hand! For goodness' sake take his hand! Shake it off his wrist! Don't let him suppose that you're not delighted to have the pleasure."
"Our friend Ely----"
"Your friend Ely! What the dickens, sir, do you mean by calling me your friend?"
Very red in the face, Mr. Ely struck an attitude in front of Mr. Summers which was probably intended to express ferocity. Mr. Summers tugged at his beard, and smiled. Mr. Ash interposed.
"I can hardly think, Mr. Summers, that it is necessary for me to suggest that your presence is not required here."
"My dear fellow, I am only waiting to obtain a little information."
"What information can you possibly expect to receive?"
"I only want to know where Miss Truscott is."
"Yes, that's all! That's all he wants to know! A more modest request I never heard! He only wants to know where my wife is!"
"Excuse me, Ely, but Miss Truscott is not your wife!"
"But she's going to be!"
"That she will never be!"
"Hang it, sir!" Mr. Ely rushed forward. But again Mr. Ash thought it advisable to interpose.
"Mr. Summers, be so kind as to leave this house."
"Oh, don't turn him out! For goodness' sake don't turn him out! Pray tell him where the lady is! And also acquaint him with the situation of the spoons! And entreat him, next time he calls, to bring his burglar friends, and other relatives."
Mr. Ash endeavoured to pacify his friend. But the attempt was vain. Mr. Ely's blood was up. His wrongs were more than he could bear.
"My dear Ely, I beg that you will not pay the slightest attention to this--gentleman."
"Attention! Not me! I'm not paying the attention! It's he! And to my young woman, by the Lord!"
Still tugging at his beard, Mr. Summers laughed and turned away.
"I'm sorry you cannot give me the information I require. And you really are inhospitable, Ash, you really are. But never mind, I'll have my revenge! When you come to see me I'll not show you the door; nor Ely, if he'll condescend to call."
He had reached the window when the door opened, and Mrs. Clive appeared.
"Ah, here is Mrs. Clive! I am sure that Mrs. Clive will take pity on a man, especially a man in the forlorn situation which I am. May I ask if you can tell me where I am likely to find Miss Truscott?"
"Mr. Summers!"
Mrs. Clive's attitude was a study. It was as though all the pokers in England were down her back. But Mr. Summers did not show any sign of discomposure.
"Surely you will not be hard upon a man, especially upon a man in love. Consider our position. I seek Lily, she seeks me. Life's summer-time is short. You would not have us waste its sweetness?"
"Mr. Summers, I am more amazed than I can say."
"Oh, don't be amazed! For goodness' sake don't be amazed! And don't be hard upon a man--especially upon a man in love! Consider his position, and don't waste the sweetness of life's summer-time--oh, don't, for gracious' sake!" Mr. Ely pulled up his shirt-collar and "shot" his cuffs. "I reckon I'm spending one of the pleasantest half hours I ever had in all my life."
"Mrs. Clive, will you not listen to the all-conquering voice, the voice of love?"
"Mr. Summers, I must decline to listen to another word. And I am amazed to think that you should attempt to address me at all, especially as I have given you to understand that our acquaintance, sir, had ceased."
"Ceased! And I am going to marry your niece! Could you so divide the family? She who loves you so! And whom, for her sweet sake and Pompey's, I love too?"
"Well, this--this does beat cock-fighting! That allusion to Pompey was one of the most touching things I've heard. And he is going to marry your niece, so you and I, Ash, had better go back to town."
And again Mr. Ely's collar and cuffs came into play. Mr. Ash advanced.
"Mr. Summers, I have already requested you to go. You can scarcely wish us to use force."
"No, not force--not that. If it must be then--goodbye! After all, parting is such sweet sorrow. Goodbye, Mrs. Clive, you will weep for me when I am gone. Ta-ta, Ely, we shall meet at Philippi--I leave you--yes, you three!--perchance to wrangle, in very truth thinking angry thoughts--in such an air of discord, too! While I--I go under the shadow of the trees, where love lies dreaming--and waiting perhaps for me. If I meet Miss Truscott, Ely--and I shall under the trysting tree--I will tell her that if you had been a fighting man you certainly would have murdered me."