A Millionaire of Yesterday

  CHAPTER XXXIX

  Scarcely a word passed between the two men until they found themselvesin the smoking-room of Trent's house. A servant noiselessly arrangeddecanters and cigars upon the sideboard, and, in response to animpatient movement of Trent's, withdrew. Francis lit a cigarette. Trent,contrary to his custom, did not smoke. He walked to the door and softlylocked it. Then he returned and stood looking down at his companion.

  "Francis," he said, "you have been my enemy since the day I saw youfirst in Bekwando village."

  "Scarcely that," Francis objected. "I have distrusted you since then ifyou like."

  "Call it what you like," Trent answered. "Only to-night you have servedme a scurvy trick. You were a guest at my table and you gave me not theslightest warning. On the contrary, this morning you offered me a week'srespite."

  "The story I told," Francis answered, "could have had no significance tothem."

  "I don't know whether you are trying to deceive me or not," Trent said,"only if you do not know, let me tell you--Miss Wendermott is that oldman's daughter!"

  The man's start was real. There was no doubt about that. "And she knew?"

  "She knew that he had been in Africa, but she believed that he haddied there. What she believes at this moment I cannot tell. Your storyevidently moved her. She will probably try to find out from you thetruth."

  Francis nodded.

  "She has asked me to call upon her to-morrow."

  "Exactly. Now, forgive my troubling you with personal details, butyou've got to understand. I mean Miss Wendermott to be my wife."

  Francis sat up in his chair genuinely surprised. Something like a scowlwas on his dark, sallow face.

  "Your wife!" he exclaimed, "aren't you joking, Trent?"

  "I am not," Trent answered sharply. "From the moment I saw her that hasbeen my fixed intention. Every one thinks of me as simply a speculatorwith the money fever in my veins. Perhaps that was true once. It isn'tnow! I must be rich to give her the position she deserves. That's all Icare for money."'

  "I am very much interested," Francis said slowly, "to hear of yourintentions. Hasn't it occurred to you, however, that your behaviourtoward Miss Wendermott's father will take a great deal of explanation?"

  "If there is no interference," Trent said, "I can do it. There ismystery on her part too, for I offered a large reward and news of himthrough my solicitor, and she actually refused to reply. She has refusedany money accruing to her through her father, or to be brought intocontact with any one who could tell her about him."

  "The fact," Francis remarked drily, "is scarcely to her credit. Montymay have been disreputable enough, I've no doubt he was; but hisgoing away and staying there all these years was a piece of nobleunselfishness."

  "Monty has been hardly used in some ways," Trent said. "I've done mybest by him, though."

  "That," Francis said coldly, "is a matter of opinion."

  "I know very well," Trent answered, "what yours is. You are welcome toit. You can blackguard me all round London if you like in a week--but Iwant a week's grace."

  "Why should I grant it you?"

  Trent shrugged his shoulders.

  "I won't threaten," he said, "and I won't offer to bribe you, but I'vegot to have that week's grace. We're both men, Francis, who've beenaccustomed to our own way, I think. I want to know on what terms you'llgrant it me."

  Francis knocked the ash off his cigarette and rose slowly to his feet.

  "You want to know," he repeated meditatively, "on what terms I'll holdmy tongue for a week. Well, here's my answer! On no terms at all!"

  "You don't mean that," Trent said quietly.

  "We shall see," Francis answered grimly. "I'll be frank with you, Trent.When we came in here you called me your enemy. Well, in a sense you wereright. I distrusted and disliked you from the moment I first met youin Bekwando village with poor old Monty for a partner, and read theagreement you had drawn up and the clause about the death of eithermaking the survivor sole legatee. In a regular fever swamp Monty wasdrinking poison like water--and you were watching. That may have seemedall right to you. To me it was very much like murder. It was my mistrustof you which made me send men after you both through the bush, and,sure enough, they found poor Monty abandoned, left to die while you hadhastened off to claim your booty. After that I had adventures enoughof my own for a bit and I lost sight of you until I came across you andyour gang road-making, and I am bound to admit that you saved my life.That's neither here nor there. I asked about Monty and you told me someplausible tale. I went to the place you spoke of--to find him of coursespirited away. We have met again in England, Scarlett Trent, and Ihave asked once more for Monty. Once more I am met with evasions. Thismorning I granted you a week--now I take back my word. I am going tomake public what I know to-morrow morning."

  "Since this morning, then," Trent said, "your ill-will toward me hasincreased."

  "Quite true," Francis answered. "We are playing with the cards uponthe table, so I will be frank with you. What you told me about yourintentions towards Miss Wendermott makes me determined to strike atonce!"

  "You yourself, I fancy," Trent said quietly, "admired her?"

  "More than any woman I have ever met," Francis answered promptly, "and Iconsider your attitude towards her grossly presumptuous."

  Trent stood quite still for a moment--then he unlocked the door.

  "You had better go, Francis," he said quietly. "I have a defenceprepared but I will reserve it. And listen, when I locked that door itwas with a purpose. I had no mind to let you leave as you are leaving.Never mind. You can go--only be quick."

  Francis paused upon the threshold. "You understand," he saidsignificantly.

  "I understand," Trent answered.

  * * * * *

  An hour passed, and Trent still remained in the chair before hiswriting-table, his head upon his hand, his eyes fixed upon vacancy.Afterwards he always thought of that hour as one of the bitterest ofhis life. A strong and self-reliant man, he had all his life ignoredcompanionship, had been well content to live without friends,self-contained and self-sufficient. To-night the spectre of a greatloneliness sat silently by his side! His heart was sore, his pride hadbeen bitterly touched, the desire and the whole fabric of his life wasin imminent and serious danger.

  The man who had left him was an enemy and a prejudiced man, but Trentknew that he was honest. He was the first human being to whom he hadever betrayed the solitary ambition of his life, and his scornful wordsseemed still to bite the air. If--he was right! Why not? Trent lookedwith keen, merciless eyes through his past, and saw never a thing thereto make him glad. He had started life a workman, with a few ambitionsall of a material nature--he had lived the life of a cold, schemingmoney-getter, absolutely selfish, negatively moral, doing little evilperhaps, but less good. There was nothing in his life to make him worthyof a woman's love, most surely there was nothing which could ever makeit possible that such a woman as Ernestine Wendermott should evercare for him. All the wealth of Africa could never make him anythingdifferent from what he was. And yet, as he sat and realised this, heknew that he was writing down his life a failure. For, beside his desirefor her, there were no other things he cared for in life. Already he wasweary of financial warfare--the City life had palled upon him. He lookedaround the magnificent room in the mansion which his agents had boughtand furnished for him. He looked at the pile of letters waiting for himupon his desk, little square envelopes many of them, but all telling thesame tale, all tributes to his great success, and the mockery of it allsmote hard upon the walls of his fortitude. Lower and lower his headdrooped until it was buried in his folded arms--and the hour whichfollowed he always reckoned the bitterest of his life.