The Woman with One Hand, and Mr. Ely's Engagement

  CHAPTER I

  THE FIRST WOOER

  Number Two, Draper's Gardens, the office of Mr. John Ash, dealer instocks and shares. Time, noon. Mr. Ash, with his hat pushed on to theback of his head, seated at a table studying a letter.

  "Whatever women find to write about beats me. A man puts a volumeinside two lines. A woman puts two lines inside a volume."

  Mr. Ash rustled the letter irritably in his hands. It was a voluminousproduction, written by a feminine pen, crossed and recrossed in a waywhich, in these days of cheap paper and cheap postage, none but afeminine pen would dream of.

  "However a man is supposed to read it is more than I can tell. I canjust make out the opening: 'My dearest guardian,'--yes, dear at anyprice! And the signature--where is it? I know I saw it somewhere. Yes,of course, there it is--straggling across the date and the address:'Your affectionate ward, Lily Truscott'!"

  He laid the letter down, and thrust his hands into hisbreeches-pockets, leaned back in his chair, and began to whistlesoftly beneath his breath.

  "I wish I could get some one to marry her--a decent sort of man.Though, upon my word, if this sort of thing is to go on"--he glancedat the letter with a look of mild despair--"I sha'n't mind who it is.She knows I hate letters--that's why she keeps on writing them. If twomen can't know each other without one of them dying and leaving theother with his daughter on his hands, no wonder a man likes to keephis circle of acquaintance small. And when the girl's got looks andmoney, God help the man who's got to stay and mind her! Well, heregoes. I suppose I'll have to answer it, or she'll be writing againto-morrow to know if I am ill."

  Taking up the letter he regarded it with a look of ineffable disgust.

  "What she says I don't know. Rather than decipher these hieroglyphicsI'd lose a hundred pounds. Anyhow, here goes to make the best of it."

  Drawing towards him a sheet of paper and a pen he began to nibble theend of the pen.

  "What the dickens shall I say? How can a man answer a letter when hedoesn't know what is in it!"

  He began to write, indulging in a sort or commentary by the way.

  "MY DEAR LILY,--I have read your charming letter with the greatestinterest. (I have! I have!) You are indeed a mistress of theepistolary art. (I hope she won't imagine that's writ sarkastick. Now,what shall I say?) The account which you give of the doings of yourneighbourhood (I hope that's safe--it ought to be, women always dotalk about that kind of thing) is most entertaining. (Most!) It iswith the greatest pleasure that I hear of your continuance in goodhealth. (I wonder if she says anything about her being ill?) I am gladto hear, too, that your aunt, Mrs. Clive, is still in the enjoyment ofnature's greatest blessing. (I wonder if she mentions the old girl'sname!) Pray convey to her my compliments. (Old fool! Now for somethingto wind up with.) I envy you your peaceful sojourn amidst summer'sscenic splendours. (Not so bad! 'summer's scenic splendours.') Tied asI am to the Juggernaut of commerce, I can, however, but look and long.(I wouldn't live in a place like that for thirty thousand a year.)

  "Your affectionate guardian,

  "JOHN ASH."

  "I think that'll do. It will, at any rate, prevent her writing againto-morrow to know if I am ill."

  While he was examining, with a certain satisfaction, this example ofpolite correspondence, a voice was heard inquiring for him in theoffice without: "Mr. Ash in?"

  When Mr. Ash heard the voice, an acidulated expression appeared uponhis countenance.

  "Ely! What does the fool want here? It's not so very long ago since Ivery nearly had to hurt his head."

  "All right; you needn't trouble him. I'll show myself in."

  The owner of the voice did show himself in. He was a dapper littleman, with fair hair and a little fair moustache, the ends of whichwere arranged with the utmost nicety, and a pair of rather washed-outblue eyes, which could, however, look keen enough when they pleased.He was what might be described as a bandbox sort of man. Beautifulgrey trousers fitted over exquisite patent shoes. A spotless whitewaistcoat relieved an irreproachable black coat. His necktie wasarranged in an absolutely perfect little bow. His hat gleamed asthough it had just that moment left the manufacturer's hands. Hecarried a metal pencil-case, and one of those long, thin note-bookswhich gentlemen of the Stock Exchange use to enter their bargains in.A diamond ring sparkled on the little finger of his left hand, and inthe button-hole of his coat, backed by a sprig of maiden-hair, was asweet blush-rose.

  This beautiful little gentleman seemed to be satisfied with himselfand all the world.

  "Surprised to see me, I daresay."

  His rather metallic voice did not altogether accord with the radiancyof his appearance. One expected flute-like notes to come from him. Hisactual tones were sharp and shrill.

  "I am; considering that last time I had the privilege of yourconversation you were good enough to say I was a thief."

  The dapper little man stood before the empty stove picking hisbeautiful white teeth with his metal pencil-case.

  "Well, Ash, business is business, and no man likes to be robbed, youknow."

  "Is that what you have come to tell me? Because, if so, you can impartthe information equally well while I am pitching you through thewindow."

  The little man did not seem at all annoyed. He did not even seemamused. He appeared to be quite accustomed to that sort of speech. Heseemed to take it for granted, at any rate.

  "Well, no--quite the other way. Fact is, I'm looking for a wife."

  "A what?"

  "A wife."

  "The deuce you are! And do you think I've a selection on view here?"

  "Not a selection. You've got one."

  "What the dickens do you mean?"

  "Come, Ash, you know. It's your ward, Miss Truscott."

  Mr. Ash gave a loud whistle of surprise. Then he turned in his chairand stared at the dapper little man. The dapper little man went on, inthe calmest, matter-of-fact sort of way--

  "The fact is, I'm sick of chambers, and I'm sick of dining at theclub. I want a house, and I don't care to take a house unless I take awife. Why shouldn't it be Miss Truscott, Ash?"

  He paused as if for a reply. But if he did, none came.

  "There's another thing. You know Rosenbaum?"

  Mr. Ash signified assent.

  "He wants to plant one of his girls on me. All six of them, so far asI can see. He's always shying them at my head. Besides, he's beenhammered twice. If he went again, where should I be, I'd like to know.Not to mention that the whole six of them have got carbuncles insteadof noses, and moustaches quite as good as mine."

  "I did hear that you were engaged to a Miss Rosenbaum."

  "Then you heard wrong; I ain't. Why shouldn't it be Miss Truscott,Ash? I've got something and she's got something. I tell you fairly, ifshe hadn't it wouldn't do. And if we pulled together, you and I, wemight put something in each other's way."

  He winked at Mr. Ash. Mr. Ash grinned, and turned aside. He regardedthe letter on his desk.

  "Have you spoken to her yet?"

  "Not a word. I wanted first to have things clear with you. I'll rundown to-morrow if it's all serene."

  Mr. Ash appeared to be turning the matter over in his mind. "There'sno man in England that girl need ask to marry her."

  "I'm sure I never said there was."

  "Ah, I daresay if you were to take nine men out of ten and heap themin a crowd, she might take her pick out of the lot!"

  "If it comes to that, I might take my pick out of a few. FredericEly's a man who never need go begging."

  Mr. Ash smiled. His smile was scarcely flattering to his friend. Hecontinued to turn the matter over in his mind. Suddenly he got up.

  "Ely, I like you. We've had our differences, but as you say, that'sbecause we're both men of business, and like to see the entries on theright side of the ledger."

  That was not exactly what Mr. Ely had said but no matter.

/>   "Lily Truscott's a girl in a thousand--in million, sir. I know her--Iknow her well. There's nothing in that girl's heart which is hiddenfrom me, and that girl's heart's all good, and that's something to sayof a girl at this time of day. If she were my daughter, and I were herfather, there's no man to whom I should be more willing to give her,sir, than you. Take her, sir; take her! and I wish you joy!"

  He turned away, but whether it was to hide a tear or even some deepersign of heartfelt emotion, is a difficult thing to say. Mr. Ely didnot appear much touched.

  "That's the time of day, old man. You send her along a line to say I'mon the road; prepare her mind, you know."

  If Mr. Ash did not know, at least Mr. Ely winked.

  "I'll be up in time. If you write to her now, she'll get it the firstthing in the morning, and she'll have time to settle herself before Icome. Ta, ta! See you in the house!"

  Mr. Ely moved towards the door. Mr. Ash spoke to him just as hereached it.

  "How about that Erie syndicate?"

  Mr. Ely paused. He stared steadily at Mr. Ash's back.

  For some reason Mr. Ash continued with his back turned away.

  "You help me with this and I'll help you with that. I can't say fairerthan that, my boy."

  Apparently Mr. Ash did not seem to think he could, for when Mr. Elywas gone, and the door was closed, he indulged in a little quietlaughter. He reseated himself in his chair and began to nurse hisknee.

  "I think--yes--I think that will do. Ely's a curious combination; inbusiness matters one of the shrewdest men I know, out of them one ofthe greatest idiots on earth. However, I think that it will do. I'lljust add a postscript to that letter of mine."

  He drew the letter towards him, and to the end of it tagged thefollowing--

  "P.S.--By the way, a friend of yours--Mr. Frederic Ely--will be withyou to-morrow morning--perhaps almost as soon as you get this. He is agentleman for whose character I have the greatest respect. He will askmy dear Lily a question in which both he and I are deeply interested.I earnestly trust that my dear Lily's heart will answer 'Yes.'"

  He scanned the P.S. with admiring eyes.

  "I call that neat but not gaudy. None of the awful guardian there.And, upon my word, I don't see why she shouldn't have him; one idiot'sas good as another, and if he chooses he can be as good as a hundredthousand pounds to me."

  Folding the letter, he placed it in an envelope and addressed it:"Miss Truscott, The Cliff, Shanklin, Isle of Wight." While he wasstill engaged in this proceeding, the clear, ringing tones of a man'svoice was heard in the outer office, and for the second time thatmorning the door of Mr. Ash's sanctum was unceremoniously opened, and,again unannounced, a second visitor came in.