Young Blood

  CHAPTER XXVIII.

  A TALE APART.

  Harry Ringrose used sometimes to complain of his life from a literarypoint of view. This piece of ingratitude he was wont to couch in thetechnical terminology with which his conversation was rather freelygarnished. He acknowledged that his "African horse had good legs," asGordon Lowndes would remind him; it was the later years that set himgrumbling. In Harry's opinion they were full of "good stuff," which helonged to "handle"; but the facts were so badly "constructed" (as factswill be) that all the king's horses and all the king's men could notpull them to pieces and put them together again without spoiling them.Then there were the "unities": our author was not quite clear as totheir meaning, but he had an uncomfortable presentiment that they wouldprove another difficulty. And the "dramatic interest" lackedcontinuity. It was also of too many different kinds. The play began inone theatre, went on in another, and finished across the river. Worstof all was the "love story:" it disappeared for years, and then camealtogether in a lump.

  This was true. It did. And if Harry Ringrose had essayed the task towhich his innate subjectivity and the want of better ideas often drewhim, there is no saying how much he would have made of scenes which theimpersonal historian is content simply to mention. Of such was themeeting which took place within a few hours of that other meeting inthe Eastbourne lodgings. Yet this proved to be the beginning of a newstory rather than the end of an old one, which poor Harry meant it tobe, as he returned alone to town the same afternoon, and drove straightto Berkeley Square.

  His excitement is not to be described. It seemed but a day since theleave-taking in the little shabby drawing-room on Richmond Hill. Heremembered his own words so clearly. He remembered her replies. Therewere no more mysteries now; there were no more quarrels; and he caredstill, as he had always done, Heaven knew! If only she still cared forhim--if only there was nobody else--what was there to hinder it foranother minute?

  Nothing, one would have thought: yet it was dusk when Harry rang thebell in a shivering glow of hope and fear, and nearly midnight when hecame away downcast and disheartened: and during all those hours but onehe had been pressing an unsuccessful suit: though he had her word forit that there was nobody else.

  What was there, then?

  Those six years which had once given Harry Ringrose a misleading senseof safety.

  And literally nothing else!

  * * * * *

  He called again next day. He hindered the removal on the plea of makinghimself useful. And in season and out of season he tried his luck invain.

  In the broad light of day he was met by a new and awful argument: hisbeloved showed him what she declared to be a genuine and flagrantcrow's-foot; and he only a boy of twenty-five!

  The removal was soon over, and for Harry the town emptied itself justas it was filling for everybody else; so then he took to writingtremendous letters; and an answer was never wanting in the course of aday or so; only it was never the answer he besought.

  Her fondness for him was obvious and not denied; only she had got itinto her head that those six years between them were an insuperablebar, that a boy like Harry could not possibly know his own mind, and,therefore, that it would be manifestly unfair to take him at his word.

  So the thing resolved itself into a question of time; and, in the midstof other changes in his life, Harry did his best to bury himself in hiswork; but his comic verses were as much as he could manage, and forseveral weeks in succession these were the feeblest feature in _TommyTiddler_.

  Then he went to her in despair.

  "I can't stand it any longer!"

  "Then give it up."

  "I've waited five months!"

  "I said six."

  "Surely five is enough to show whether a fellow knows his own mind?"

  "Some of it may be mere obstinacy."

  "Well, then, it's playing the very mischief with my work."

  "Then what _will_ it be when we are married?"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "I mean to say if we ever are."

  "Fanny, you said _when_!"

  "I meant _if_."

  "But you _said_ WHEN!!"

  * * * * *

  It was the thin edge of the wedge.

  * * * * *

  This protracted siege had other sides. It was not a joke to eitherparty. Yet each tried to treat it as one. The man tried to conceal hisdisappointment, his inevitable chagrin; the woman, her deep andselfless anxiety as to whether, in all the years before them, he wouldbe happy always--truly happy--happy as a man could be. She looked sofar ahead, and he such a little way. Sometimes they told each othertheir thoughts; sometimes they were less happy than lovers ought to be;but all these months their inner lives were very full. They did notstagnate in each other's love. They lived intensely and they feltacutely. And that is why, if Harry Ringrose were to tell his own lovestory, and tell it honestly, it would be a tale apart.

  * * * * *

  When the time came there was some little heart-burning as to who shouldperform the ceremony. Harry had set his heart on being married by hisdear Mr. Innes. This man still filled a unique place in his life.Indeed the many friendships that he had struck up in the last year ortwo only emphasised the value of that friend of friends: there was noone like Mr. Innes. They had not seen a great deal of each other duringthese last years; but they had never quite lost touch; and of the manyinfluences to which the younger man's nature responded only tooreadily, as strings to every wind, there was none so constant or sohelpful as that of the old master to whom he was now content to be as aboy all his days. It was not that he had paid very many visits to theschool at Guildford: it was that each had left its own indelibleimpress on his mind, its own high resolves and noble yearnings in hisheart. So it was natural enough that Harry Ringrose should want thatman to marry him to whom he vowed that he owed such shreds of virtue ashe possessed. And Fanny wished it too, for she had been with Harry toGuildford, and caught his enthusiasm, and knelt by his side one summerevening in the chapel where he had knelt as a boy. But it was not tobe; there was a clergy-man in the family; it would be impossible topass him over.

  Harry thought it would be not only possible but highly desirable, sincehis Uncle Spencer disapproved so cordially of Gordon Lowndes; but Mrs.Ringrose (with whom her son had warm words on the subject) very justlyobserved that such disapproval had not once been expressed since theengagement was announced; nor had her brother uttered one syllable tomar her own great happiness in her husband's return, but had shown amore tender sympathy in her joy than in her trouble; after which hemust marry them, or they could be married without their mother. Thematter was settled by a private appeal to Innes himself, who sidedagainst Harry, and by a note from Mr. Walthew, in which that gentlemanaccepted the responsibility with fewer reservations than Harry had everknown him make before.

  "To tell you the truth," wrote Uncle Spencer, "it is against all myprinciples to make engagements so many weeks ahead; but every rule hasits exception, and I shall be very happy to officiate on December 1st,if I am spared, and if it has not seemed good to you meanwhile topostpone the event. I must say that in my poor judgment a longerengagement would have shown greater wisdom: your Aunt and I waited somefive years and a quarter! As you say that you are determined to depend(almost entirely) on your own efforts, it would have been well, in ouropinion, to follow our example, and to wait until your literaryposition is more established than your warmest admirer can consider itto be at present. At the same time, my dear Henry, if marriage leadsyou into a less frivolous vein of writing (such as I once hoped youwere about to adopt), I for one shall be thankful--if only you are alsoable to make both ends meet."

  Gordon Lowndes read this letter with such uproarious delight that Harrywas sorry he had shown it to him.

  "There's that brother of mine," said he; "the chap we wired t
o for thetenner; _he_ would want a finger in the pie if he knew. But he'sforgotten our existence since we left Berkeley Square, and I'm hangedif I remember his again. Besides, he's as High as your uncle's Low, andthey might set on each other in the church. On the whole I'm sorry itisn't to be your schoolmaster friend. I want to meet that man,Ringrose. I want to turn that school of his into a Limited LiabilityCompany."

  * * * * *

  It took place very quietly on a bright keen winter's day. Harry'sparents were there, and Gordon Lowndes, and another. Mr. Walthewperformed the ceremony in a slow and sober fashion which addedsomething to its solemnity; the church was very still and empty; and inone awful pause the bridegroom's voice deserted him, in the merefulness of his boyish heart. But the hand that he was holding pressedhis with the familiar, firm, kind pressure, and it was from his heartof hearts that the lagging words burst:

  "I will!"

  THE END.

  PRINTED BY CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED, LA BELLE SAUVAGE, LONDON, E.C.