Mr. Marx's Secret

  CHAPTER XV. A TETE-A-TETE DINNER.

  "What have you been up to in Torchester, eh? Shopping?" Mr. Marxinquired. I saw no reason for concealing anything from him, nor did I doso. Rather awkwardly I told him of Mr. Ravenor's note to me, and that Ihad been with Reynolds all the afternoon. Perhaps I spoke with a littleenthusiasm of our somewhat elaborate purchases. At any rate, when I hadfinished, he laughed softly to himself--a long, noiseless, but notunpleasant laugh.

  "Well, I'm glad I met you," he said, his lips still twitching, as thoughwith amusement. "Sit down and have some dinner with me."

  I hesitated, for just at that moment Mr. Ravenor's words concerning hissecretary flashed into my mind. Besides, I was not at all sure that Iliked him. But, on the other hand, what alternative was there for me?What excuse could I find for declining so simple an invitation? In a fewminutes the waiter would appear with the modest meal which I had ordered,and it would be impossible for me to order him to set it down in anotherpart of the room, or to leave it and walk out of the hotel, just becausethis man was there. To do so would be to tell him as plainly as possiblethat I had some particular desire for avoiding him, and he wouldinstantly divine that I was obeying a behest of Mr. Ravenor's. No; it wasunavoidable. I had better accept his invitation, and, briefly, I did so.

  "That's right," he said pleasantly. "It's a queer fancy of mine, but Ihate dining alone. Waiter, bring some more soup at once. This gentlemanwill dine with me."

  During dinner our conversation was interrupted. Hat in hand, Reynolds wasstanding before us, looking at Mr. Marx and then at me and the tablebefore us with a look on his face which I did not altogether understand,although it annoyed me excessively. He spoke to me:

  "The dogcart has come round, sir."

  I half rose and threw down my napkin, though with some reluctance. I heldout my hand regretfully to Mr. Marx, but he refused to take it.

  "You needn't go home with Reynolds unless you like," he said. "I have abrougham from the Castle here, and I can drop you at the farm on my wayhome."

  I hesitated, for the temptation to stay was strong. In fact, I shouldhave accepted at once, only that Reynolds's grave, frowning face somehowreminded me of Mr. Ravenor's injunction. Reynolds, like a fool, settledthe matter.

  "I think Mr. Morton had better return with me, sir," he said to Mr. Marx."If you are ready, sir," he added to me. "The mare gets very fidgety ifshe's kept waiting."

  My boyish vanity was wounded to the quick by the style of his address,and his unwise assumption of authority, and I answered quickly:

  "You'd better be off at once, then, Reynolds. I shall accept Mr. Marx'soffer."

  He was evidently uneasy and made one more effort.

  "I think Mr. Ravenor would prefer your returning with me, sir," he said.

  Mr. Marx had been leaning back in his chair, sipping his coffee somewhatabsently, and to all appearance altogether indifferent as to which way Ishould decide. He looked up now, however, and addressed Reynolds for thefirst time.

  "How the deuce do you know anything about what your master would prefer?"he said coolly.

  Reynolds made no answer, but looked appealingly at me. I chose not to seehim.

  "I should imagine," Mr. Marx continued, leaning back in his chair againand deliberately stirring his coffee, "that if Mr. Ravenor has any choiceabout the matter at all, which seems to me very unlikely, he would preferMr. Morton's riding home in safety with a dry skin. Listen!"

  We did so, and at that moment a fierce gust of wind drove a very delugeof rain against the shaking window-panes.

  "That decides it!" I exclaimed. "I'll accept your offer, Mr. Marx, if youdon't mind."

  "By far the more sensible thing to do," he remarked carelessly. "Have aglass of wine, Reynolds, before you start. You've a wet drive beforeyou."

  Reynolds shook his head, and, wishing me a respectful good evening,withdrew.

  Mr. Marx watched Reynolds leave the room and then shrugged his shouldersslightly.

  "Honest, but stupid. Well, now you're in my charge, Morton, I must seewhether I can't amuse you somehow. Ever been to the theatre?"

  I could not help a slight blush as I admitted that I had never even seenthe outside of one.

  Mr. Marx looked at me after my admission as though I were some sort ofnatural curiosity.

  "Well, we'll go if you like," he said. "There's a very good one here, Ibelieve, for the provinces, and it will be a change for you."

  "It will make us very late, won't it?" I ventured to say.

  "Not necessarily. I suppose it will be over about half-past ten and thecarriage can meet us at the door."

  I said no more, for fear that he would take me at my word and give up theidea of going. In a few minutes Mr. Marx called for his bill and settledit, and, glancing at his watch, declared that it was time to be off. Thewaiter called a hansom, and we drove through the busy streets, Mr. Marxleisurely smoking a fragrant cigarette, and I leaning forward, watchingthe hurrying throngs of people, some pleasure-seekers, but mostly justreleased from their daily toil at the factory or workshop.

  It was a wet night and the streets seemed like a perfect sea ofumbrellas. The rain was coming down in sheets, beating against the closedglass front of our cab and dimming its surface, until it becameimpossible to see farther than the horse's head. I leaned back by Mr.Marx's side with a sigh, and found that he had been watching me with anamused smile.

  "Busy little place, Torchester," he remarked.

  "It seems so to me," I acknowledged. "I have never been in any other townexcept Mellborough."

  "Lucky boy!" he exclaimed, half lightly, half in earnest. "You have allthe pleasures of life before you, with the sauce of novelty to help youto relish them. What would I not give never to have seen Paris or Vienna,or never to have been in love, or tasted quails on toast! But here we areat the theatre!"