The Last Hope

  CHAPTER XXXVI

  MRS. ST. PIERRE LAWRENCE DOES NOT UNDERSTAND

  It was early in November that the report took wing in Paris that JohnTurner's bank was, after all, going to weather the storm. Dormer Colvillewas among the first to hear this news, and strangely enough he did not atonce impart it to Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence.

  All through the year, John Turner had kept his client supplied with readymoney. He had, moreover, made no change in his own mode of living. Whichthings are a mystery to all who have no money of their own nor the goodfortune to handle other people's. There is no doubt some explanation ofthe fact that bankers and other financiers seem to fail, and even becomebankrupt, without tangible effect upon their daily comfort, but theunfinancial cannot expect to understand it.

  There had, as a matter of fact, been no question of discomfort for Mrs.St. Pierre Lawrence either.

  "Can I spend as much as I like?" she had asked Turner, and his reply hadbeen in the affirmative.

  "No use in saving?"

  "None whatever," he replied. To which Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence madeanswer that she did not understand things at all.

  "It is no use collecting straws against a flood," the banker answered,sleepily.

  There was, of course, no question now of supplying the necessary funds tothe Marquis de Gemosac and Albert de Chantonnay, who, it was understood,were raising the money, not without difficulty, elsewhere. Mrs. St.Pierre Lawrence had indeed heard little or nothing of her Royalistfriends in the west. Human nature is the same, it would appear, all theworld over, but the upper crust is always the hardest.

  When Colville was informed of the rumour, he remembered that he had neverquarrelled with John Turner. He had, of course, said some hard things inthe heat of the moment, but Turner had not retorted. There was noquarrel. Colville, therefore, took an early opportunity of lunching atthe club then reputed to have the best chef in Paris. He went late andfound that the majority of members had finished dejeuner and were takingcoffee in one or other of the smoking-rooms.

  After a quick and simple meal, Colville lighted a cigarette and wentupstairs. There were two or three small rooms where members smoked orplayed cards or read the newspapers, and in the quietest of these JohnTurner was alone, asleep. Colville walked backward into the room, talkingloudly as he did so with a friend in the passage. When well over thethreshold he turned. John Turner, whose slumbers had been rudelydisturbed, was sitting up rubbing his eyes. The surprise was of coursemutual, and for a moment there was an awkward pause; then, with a smileof frank good-fellowship, Colville advanced, holding out his hand.

  "I hope we have known each other too many years, old fellow," he said,"to bear any lasting ill-will for words spoken in the heat of anger ordisappointment, eh?"

  He stood in front of the banker frankly holding out the hand offorgiveness, his head a little on one side, that melancholy smile oftoleration for poor human weakness in his eyes.

  "Well," admitted Turner, "we've certainly known each other a good manyyears."

  He somewhat laboriously hoisted himself up, his head emerging from histumbled collar like the head of a tortoise aroused from sleep, and gaveinto Colville's affectionate grasp a limp and nerveless hand.

  "No one could feel for you more sincerely than I do," Colville assuredhim, drawing forward a chair,--"more than I have done all through thesetrying months."

  "Very kind, I'm sure," murmured Turner, looking drowsily at his friend'snecktie. One must look somewhere, and Turner always gazed at the necktieof any one who sat straight in front of him, which usually induced anuneasy fingering of that ornament and an early consultation of thenearest mirror. "Have a cigar."

  There was the faint suggestion of a twinkle beneath the banker's heavylids as Colville accepted this peace-offering. It was barely twenty-fourhours since he had himself launched in Colville's direction the rumourwhich had brought about this reconciliation.

  "And I'm sure," continued the other, turning to cut the end of the cigar,"that no one would be better pleased to hear that better times arecoming--eh? What did you say?"

  "Nothing. Didn't speak," was the reply to this vague interrogation. Thenthey talked of other things. There was no lack of topics for conversationat this time in France; indeed, the whole country was in a buzz of talk.But Turner was not, it seemed, in a talkative mood. Only once did herouse himself to take more than a passing interest in the subject touchedupon by his easy-going companion.

  "Yes," he admitted, "he may be the best cook in Paris, but he is not whathe was. It is this Revision of the Constitution which is upsetting thewhole country, especially the lower classes. The man's hand is shaky. Ican see it from his way of pouring the mayonnaise over a salad."

  After touching upon each fresh topic, Colville seemed to returnunconsciously to that which must of necessity be foremost in hiscompanion's thoughts--the possibility of saving Turner's bank fromfailure. And each time he learnt a little more. At last, with thatsympathetic spontaneity which was his chief charm, Dormer Colville laidhis hand confidentially on Turner's sleeve.

  "Frankly, old fellow," he said, "are you going to pull it through?"

  "Frankly, old fellow, I am," was the reply, which made Colville glancehastily at the clock.

  "Gad!" he exclaimed, "look at the time. You have kept me gossiping thewhole afternoon. Must be off. Nobody will be better pleased than I am tohear the good news. But of course I am mum. Not a word will they hearfrom me. I _am_ glad. Good-bye."

  "I dare say you are," murmured Turner to the closed door.

  Dormer Colville was that which is known as an opportunist. It was a dullgrey afternoon. He would be sure to find Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence athome. She had taken an apartment in the Rue de Lille in the St. Germainquarter. His way was past the flower-shop, where he sometimes bestowed afickle custom. He went in and bought a carnation for his buttonhole.

  It is to be presumed that John Turner devoted the afternoon to hisaffairs. It was at all events evening before he also bent his stepstoward the Rue de Lille.

  Yes, the servant told him, Madame was at home and would assuredly seehim. Madame was not alone. No. It was, however, only Monsieur Colville,who was so frequent a visitor.

  Turner followed the servant along the corridor. The stairs had rathertried one who had to elevate such a weight at each step; he breathedhard, but placidly.

  Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence received him with an unusual _empressement_.Dormer Colville, who was discovered sitting as far from her as the sizeof the room allowed, was less eager, but he brought forward a chair forthe banker and glanced sharply at his face as he sat down.

  "So glad to see you," the hostess explained. "It is really kind of you tocome and cheer one up on such a dull afternoon. Dormer and I--won't youtake off your coat? No, let _me_ put it aside for you. Dormer and I werejust--just saying how dull it was. Weren't we?"

  She looked from one to the other with a rather unnatural laugh. One wouldhave thought that she was engaged in carrying off a difficult situationand, for so practised a woman of the world, not doing it very well. Hercheeks were flushed, which made her look younger, and a subtleuncertainty in her voice and manner added to this illusion charmingly.For a young girl's most precious possession is her inexperience. Mrs. St.Pierre Lawrence, for the first time in her life, was not sure of herself.

  "Now I hope you have not come on business," she added, drawing forwardher own chair and passing a quick hand over her hair. "Bother business!Do not let us think about it."

  "Not exactly," replied Turner, recovering his breath. "Quite agree withyou. Let us say, 'Bother business,' and not think of it. Though, for anold man who is getting stout, there is nothing much left but business andhis dinner, eh?"

  "No. Do not say that," cried the lady. "Never say that. It is time enoughto think that years hence when we are all white-haired. But I used tothink that myself once, you know. When I first had my money. Do youremember? I was so pleased to have all that wealth that I determined tolearn all about cheque-books an
d things and manage it myself. So youtaught me, and at last you admitted that I was an excellent man ofbusiness. I know I thought I was myself. And I suppose I lapsed into aregular business woman and only thought of money and how to increase it.How horrid you must have thought me!"

  "Never did that," protested Turner, stoutly.

  "But I know I learnt to think much too much about it," Mrs. St. PierreLawrence went on eagerly. "And now that it is all gone, I do not care_that_ for it."

  She snapped her finger and thumb and laughed gaily.

  "Not that," she repeated. She turned and glanced at Dormer Colville,raising her eyebrows in some mute interrogation only comprehensible tohim. "Shall I tell him?" she asked, with a laugh of happiness not veryfar removed from tears. Then she turned to the banker again.

  "Listen," she said. "I am going to tell you something which no one elsein the world can tell you. Dormer and I are going to be married. I daresay lots of people will say that they have expected it for a long time.They can say what they like. We don't care. And I am glad that you arethe first person to hear it. We have only just settled it, so you are thevery first to be told. And I am glad to tell you before anybody elsebecause you have been so kind to me always. You have been my best friend,I think. And the kindest thing you ever did for me was to lose my money,for if you had not lost it, Dormer never would have asked me to marryhim. He has just said so himself. And I suppose all men feel that. Allthe nice ones, I mean. It is one of the drawbacks of being rich, is itnot?"

  "I suppose it is," answered Turner, stolidly, without turning an eyelashin the direction of Colville. "Perhaps that is why no one has ever askedme to marry them."

  Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence laughed jerkily at this witticism. She laughedagain when John Turner rose from his chair to congratulate her, but thelaugh suddenly ceased when he raised her hand to his lips with a courtesywhich was even in those days dying out of the world, and turned away fromhim hastily. She stood with her back toward them for a minute or twolooking at some flowers on a side table. Then she came back into themiddle of the room, all smiles, replacing her handkerchief in her pocket.

  "So that is the news I have to tell you," she said.

  John Turner had placidly resumed his chair after shaking hands withDormer Colville for the second time since luncheon.

  "Yes," he answered, "it is news indeed. And I have a little news to giveyou. I do not say that it is quite free from the taint of business, butat all events it is news. Like yours, it has the merit of being at firsthand, and you are the first to hear it. No one else could tell it toyou."

  He broke off and rubbed his chin while he looked apathetically atColville's necktie.

  "It has another merit, rare enough," he went on. "It is good news. Ithink, in fact I may say I am sure, that we shall pull through now andyour money will be safely returned to you."

  "I am so glad," said Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence, with a glance at DormerColville. "I cannot tell you how glad I am."

  She looked at the banker with bright eyes and the flush still in hercheeks that made her look younger and less sure of herself.

  "Not only for my own sake, you know. For yours, because I am sure youmust be relieved, and for--well, for everybody's sake. Tell me all aboutit, please." And she pushed her chair sideways nearer to Colville's.

  John Turner bit the first joint of his thumb reflectively. It is so rarethat one can tell any one all about anything.

  "Tell me first," Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence suggested, "whether MiriamListon's money is all safe as well."

  "Miriam's money never was in danger," he replied. "Miriam is my ward; youare only my client. There is no chance of Miriam being able to make ducksand drakes of her money."

  "That sounds as if I had been trying to do that with mine.

  "Well," admitted the banker, with a placid laugh, "if it had not been formy failure--"

  "Don't call it hard names," put in Dormer Colville, generously. "It wasnot a failure."

  "Call it a temporary suspension of payment, then," agreed the banker,imperturbably. "If it had not been for that, half your fortune would havebeen goodness knows where by now. You wanted to put it into some bigspeculation in this country, if I remember aright. And big speculationsin France are the very devil just now. Whereas, now, you see, it is allsafe and you can invest it in the beginning of next year in some goodEnglish securities. It seems providential, does it not?"

  He rose as he spoke and held out his hand to say good-bye. He asked thequestion of Colville's necktie, apparently, for he smiled stupidly at it.

  "Well, I do not understand business after all, I admit that," Mrs. St.Pierre Lawrence called out gaily to him as he went toward the door. "I donot understand things at all."

  "No, and I don't suppose you ever will," Turner replied as he followedthe servant into the corridor.