CHAPTER XXXVII.
"CALL ME DORA."
Mr. Townsend's rooms were at Albert Gate. Miss Jardine's home was inSloane Gardens. From Albert Gate to Sloane Gardens is not very far. Itwas a clear, brisk morning. Mr. Townsend decided to walk.
Just as he had crossed the road some one touched his arm from behind,and a voice said--
"Excuse me--might I speak to you for a moment?"
Mr. Townsend turned. He supposed it was a beggar. The speaker lookedlike one. The man--it was a man--had on a top hat which was batteredand bruised out of all semblance of its original shape. His overcoat,which was trimmed with imitation astrachan, was torn in half a dozenplaces and covered with mud, as if it had been rolled in the gutterwith its owner inside it, but it was buttoned right up to his chin in amanner which suggested a not unnatural anxiety to conceal materialdeficiencies in the rest of his attire. His countenance bore evidenceof having been recently subjected to serious ill-usage. One eye wasornamented by a purple patch, the skin of his right cheek was bruisedand broken as by a blow from a fist, and his mouth was so badly cut asto say, the least, to render it highly inconvenient for him to becompelled to open his lips.
The sorry spectacle was Stewart Trevannion, _alias_ Alexander Taunton,_alias_ Mr. Arthur Stewart, _alias_ a dozen other names--the immaculateMr. Townsend's brother. A striking contrast the two brothers presentedas they stood there.
Alexander was rubbing his hands over each other. He seemed toexperience a difficulty in holding himself straight up. He shivered asif in pain.
"Reginald," he muttered.
Possibly Alexander was in a sensitive frame of mind. He seemed toshrink from the look of mingled amusement and scorn with which hisbrother regarded him.
"You!" Mr. Townsend's voice rang with laughter. "Well, my man, what doyou want with me--charity?"
Alexander put up his hand, as if to hide his injured mouth.
"It isn't only that."
"No? What else is it then?"
"It's a word I want to say to you--a word of warning."
"Of warning? Against what?"
"Do you know a man named Haines--an American?"
"Haines?" Mr. Townsend reflected. "Well, what of Mr. Haines?"
"You've been doing something to his daughter--you best know what. He'sfound it out, and he's looking for you. If he gets a chance he'll killyou. He's almost done for me."
Mr. Townsend made a significant gesture in the direction of hisbrother.
"Is this his handiwork?"
"It's no laughing matter. I tell you he means murder. If you take myadvice you'll clear. He left me as good as dead last night. He wouldn'thave cared if he had left me quite. I don't believe I've a whole bonein my body. It's as much as I can do to stand." Alexander put his handto his back and groaned. His tone became a whine. "You couldn't obligeme with the loan of a shilling or two?"
"With pleasure. I'll oblige you with the loan of a whole sovereign. Ifyou take my advice you'll spend part of it on plaster. I'll think ofwhat you've said. Good-day."
As he walked away Mr. Townsend swung his cane. He seemed amused.Alexander, clutching the sovereign tightly in his hand, stared afterhim. He did not seem to be at all amused.
"You may laugh now, but you won't laugh then. You've been up to somedevil's trick, and this time you've caught the devil. If he does findyou, one of you'll be missing."
As he pursued his way down Sloane Street, Mr. Townsend did not appearhimself to regard his situation in such a serious light. The idea thatthere could be anything serious about it appeared to afford him nothingbut amusement.
"Haines? Haines? I fancy that that's the name of Mrs. Carruth's Yankeefriend. The dissenting parson sort of looking individual. I take itthat Alexander, as usual, has the wrong end of the stick--from the lookof him he appears to have felt both ends of it, and the middle too. IfMr. Haines has done me the honour to object to my behaviour, I imaginethat it is because he supposes that I have poached on his preserve. Iassure him he need be under no apprehension. If he only knew!"
Mr. Townsend laughed--then checked himself. He struck the ferrule ofhis stick against the pavement.
"Now, what am I to say to Dora? Its awkward--very!"
It was awkward. Especially as he had not made up his mind what to sayto Dora, even when he found himself at Sir Haselton Jardine's.
He was shown at once into Miss Jardine's own sitting-room, and there hefound the lady.
Miss Jardine was short and slight. Although she was not handsome, shecertainly was not bad-looking. Her appearance, her bearing, hermovements suggested buoyancy, activity, health. Her eyes were her mostcharacteristic possession. They affected different people in differentways. They were blue eyes. Their chief peculiarity was that they werelight--some people said unnaturally light. But, as also they werebeautiful eyes, that saying may be set down to malice. Somehow one feltas one looked at Miss Jardine that she would never cry.
She held out her hand to Mr. Townsend.
"Reggie!"
Mr. Townsend made no attempt to touch the outstretched hand. He merelybowed.
"Miss Jardine!"
Miss Jardine was not at all disconcerted. She laughed.
"So it's that way!" She assumed an air of mock dignity, which becameher very well. "Mr. Townsend, may I offer you a chair?"
"With your permission I will stand."
Mr. Townsend spoke with an air of decorous propriety which approachedthe severe. The lady did not fall into his mood at all. She looked upat him with her sunny eyes.
"Stand! Why stand?"
Mr. Townsend returned the young lady's smiling glance, without evincingany inclination to smile in return.
"You have sent for me. I have come."
Going to the fireplace, Miss Jardine stood with one foot upon the kerb.Her hands were behind her back. Her face was inclined a little upwards.She reminded one somehow of a bird--a resemblance which owed something,perhaps, to the brightness of her eyes.
"I have one or two questions which I wish to ask you. You must answerthem. First, Do you love me?"
"You must forgive my suggesting that that is scarcely the firstquestion which you should ask me. The man in the street may love you.It does not follow that he is worthy."
"But if I love him?"
Mr. Townsend made a slight movement with his hands. He was standing inwhat, to the average Englishman, is a rather trying position--in thecentre of the room, away from any article of furniture, with his armshanging loosely at his sides; and yet he looked well.
"He may love you. You may love him. And yet any connection with him maybring you, at the best, unhappiness."
"You have not answered my question. Do you love me?"
"You know that I do."
"As you say, I know that you do. You know also that I love you. Mysecond question, Are you married?"
"I am not."
"Then why should you not marry me? Stay! Let me explain my position."
His eyes became, if anything, brighter. Something came over her whichmade one forget how physically small she was. One realised that thegirl, like the man she was addressing, had a magnetic personality ofher own.
"I am, in a measure, Reggie--I am going to call you Reggie--what it isthe fashion to call a pessimist. It is my father's dower. I am afraidthat, in a sense, from the men of my acquaintance, I always expect theworst. I believe most of them do, in their youth, many things whichthey ought not to do--and for which, in their age, they are sorry. Itake this for granted. And I believe that, in spite of this being so,some of them make good husbands and good fathers. I think it possiblethat your temptations have been greater than is the case with theaverage man, and that, therefore, your misdoings have been more. But Iam convinced that, as regards real strength, you are stronger than theaverage man, and that you can, if you like, put these things behind youfor ever--and, on the stepping-stones of your dead self, rise to higherthings. And I believe that you will like,
because you love me--andbecause, also, I love you."
"Unfortunately, Miss Jardine----"
She made an imperious gesture with her hand.
"Call me Dora. With you, now, it shall not be Miss Jardine."
"Unfortunately"--there was an almost imperceptible pause, and thenthere came very softly the Christian name--"Dora, there are thingswhich, when they are once done, we cannot put away. They meet us atPhilippi."
"If in your life there are such ghosts, why did you ask me to marryyou?"
"I ought not to have done. When I did I hoped that I should be able tolay the ghosts, and that for me there would be no Philippi."
"But is there no hope now?" He seemed to hesitate. She went on with, inher voice, a sudden tremor. "Consider! Think well before you speak!Reggie, I wonder if you know how much the spoiling of your life willmean the spoiling of mine?"
Her voice, or her manner, or her words--or all three combined--affectedMr. Townsend strangely. There seemed to be something in her glancewhich he found himself unable to encounter. He turned away. Going tohim, she touched him softly on the arm. A shudder went all over him.The muscles of his face seemed to stiffen; his expression became alittle set. His voice also became, as it were, a little rigid.
"There may be hope."
"There may be? Reggie!" She paused--as if breathless. "Of laying theghosts--for ever?"
"For ever."
She was still again. Her articulation seemed to be actually impeded.
"When will you know--for sure?"
"This afternoon, at five."
"Reggie!" His words appeared to take her by surprise. "Do you meanit--really?"
"I do."
He turned and looked at her. Their glances met. She shrank away fromhim. The hot blood flowed into her cheeks. Her emotion was so great, itmade her beautiful. His name came from her lips, with a catching of herbreath, and in a whisper. She was visibly trembling.
"Reggie!"