CHAPTER II. MAKING AN ENEMY
It was characteristic of Pemberton Bryce that he always walked into aroom as if its occupant were asleep and he was afraid of waking him.He had a gentle step which was soft without being stealthy, and quietmovements which brought him suddenly to anybody's side before hispresence was noticed. He was by Ransford's desk ere Ransford knew he wasin the surgery--and Ransford's sudden realization of his presenceroused a certain feeling of irritation in his mind, which he instantlyendeavoured to suppress--it was no use getting cross with a man of whomyou were about to rid yourself, he said to himself. And for the moment,after replying to his assistant's greeting--a greeting as quiet as hisentrance--he went on reading his letters, and Bryce turned off to thatpart of the surgery in which the drugs were kept, and busied himselfin making up some prescription. Ten minutes went by in silence; thenRansford pushed his correspondence aside, laid a paper-weight on it, andtwisting his chair round, looked at the man to whom he was going to saysome unpleasant things. Within himself he was revolving a question--howwould Bryce take it?
He had never liked this assistant of his, although he had then had himin employment for nearly two years. There was something about PembertonBryce which he did not understand and could not fathom. He had come tohim with excellent testimonials and good recommendations; he was well upto his work, successful with patients, thoroughly capable as ageneral practitioner--there was no fault to be found with him onany professional grounds. But to Ransford his personality wasobjectionable--why, he was not quite sure. Outwardly, Bryce was rathermore than presentable--a tall, good-looking man of twenty-eight orthirty, whom some people--women especially--would call handsome; he wasthe sort of young man who knows the value of good clothes and a smartappearance, and his professional manner was all that could be desired.But Ransford could not help distinguishing between Bryce the doctorand Bryce the man--and Bryce the man he did not like. Outside theprofessional part of him, Bryce seemed to him to be undoubtedly deep,sly, cunning--he conveyed the impression of being one of those men whoseears are always on the stretch, who take everything in and give littleout. There was a curious air of watchfulness and of secrecy about himin private matters which was as repellent--to Ransford's thinking--asit was hard to explain. Anyway, in private affairs, he did not like hisassistant, and he liked him less than ever as he glanced at him on thisparticular occasion.
"I want a word with you," he said curtly. "I'd better say it now."
Bryce, who was slowly pouring some liquid from one bottle into another,looked quietly across the room and did not interrupt himself in hiswork. Ransford knew that he must have recognized a certain significancein the words just addressed to him--but he showed no outward sign of it,and the liquid went on trickling from one bottle to the other with thesame uniform steadiness.
"Yes?" said Bryce inquiringly. "One moment."
He finished his task calmly, put the corks in the bottles, labelled one,restored the other to a shelf, and turned round. Not a man to be easilystartled--not easily turned from a purpose, this, thought Ransford ashe glanced at Bryce's eyes, which had a trick of fastening their gaze onpeople with an odd, disconcerting persistency.
"I'm sorry to say what I must say," he began. "But--you've brought it onyourself. I gave you a hint some time ago that your attentions were notwelcome to Miss Bewery."
Bryce made no immediate response. Instead, leaning almost carelessly andindifferently against the table at which he had been busy with drugsand bottles, he took a small file from his waistcoat pocket and began topolish his carefully cut nails.
"Yes?" he said, after a pause. "Well?"
"In spite of it," continued Ransford, "you've since addressed her againon the matter--not merely once, but twice."
Bryce put his file away, and thrusting his hands in his pockets,crossed his feet as he leaned back against the table--his whole attitudesuggesting, whether meaningly or not, that he was very much at his ease.
"There's a great deal to be said on a point like this," he observed. "Ifa man wishes a certain young woman to become his wife, what right hasany other man--or the young woman herself, for that matter to say thathe mustn't express his desires to her?"
"None," said Ransford, "provided he only does it once--and takes theanswer he gets as final."
"I disagree with you entirely," retorted Bryce. "On the last particular,at any rate. A man who considers any word of a woman's as being final isa fool. What a woman thinks on Monday she's almost dead certain not tothink on Tuesday. The whole history of human relationship is on my sidethere. It's no opinion--it's a fact."
Ransford stared at this frank remark, and Bryce went on, coolly andimperturbably, as if he had been discussing a medical problem.
"A man who takes a woman's first answer as final," he continued, "is, Irepeat, a fool. There are lots of reasons why a woman shouldn't knowher own mind at the first time of asking. She may be too surprised. Shemayn't be quite decided. She may say one thing when she really meansanother. That often happens. She isn't much better equipped at thesecond time of asking. And there are women--young ones--who aren'treally certain of themselves at the third time. All that's commonsense."
"I'll tell you what it is!" suddenly exclaimed Ransford, after remainingsilent for a moment under this flow of philosophy. "I'm not going todiscuss theories and ideas. I know one young woman, at any rate, whois certain of herself. Miss Bewery does not feel any inclination toyou--now, nor at any time to be! She's told you so three times. And--youshould take her answer and behave yourself accordingly!"
Bryce favoured his senior with a searching look.
"How does Miss Bewery know that she mayn't be inclined to--in thefuture?" he asked. "She may come to regard me with favour."
"No, she won't!" declared Ransford. "Better hear the truth, and be donewith it. She doesn't like you--and she doesn't want to, either. Whycan't you take your answer like a man?"
"What's your conception of a man?" asked Bryce.
"That!--and a good one," exclaimed Ransford.
"May satisfy you--but not me," said Bryce. "Mine's different. Myconception of a man is of a being who's got some perseverance. You canget anything in this world--anything!--by pegging away for it."
"You're not going to get my ward," suddenly said Ransford. "That's flat!She doesn't want you--and she's now said so three times. And--I supporther."
"What have you against me?" asked Bryce calmly. "If, as you say, yousupport her in her resolution not to listen to my proposals, you musthave something against me. What is it?"
"That's a question you've no right to put," replied Ransford, "for it'sutterly unnecessary. So I'm not going to answer it. I've nothing againstyou as regards your work--nothing! I'm willing to give you an excellenttestimonial."
"Oh!" remarked Bryce quietly. "That means--you wish me to go away?"
"I certainly think it would be best," said Ransford.
"In that case," continued Bryce, more coolly than ever, "I shallcertainly want to know what you have against me--or what Miss Bewery hasagainst me. Why am I objected to as a suitor? You, at any rate, knowwho I am--you know that my father is of our own profession, and a manof reputation and standing, and that I myself came to you on highrecommendation. Looked at from my standpoint, I'm a thoroughly eligibleyoung man. And there's a point you forget--there's no mystery about me!"
Ransford turned sharply in his chair as he noticed the emphasis whichBryce put on his last word.
"What do you mean?" he demanded.
"What I've just said," replied Bryce. "There's no mystery attaching tome. Any question about me can be answered. Now, you can't say that asregards your ward. That's a fact, Dr. Ransford."
Ransford, in years gone by, had practised himself in the art ofrestraining his temper--naturally a somewhat quick one. And he madea strong effort in that direction now, recognizing that there wassomething behind his assistant's last remark, and that Bryce meant himto know it was there.
"I'll repeat what I've just sai
d," he answered. "What do you mean bythat?"
"I hear things," said Bryce. "People will talk--even a doctor can'trefuse to hear what gossiping and garrulous patients say. Since shecame to you from school, a year ago, Wrychester people have been muchinterested in Miss Bewery, and in her brother, too. And there are a goodmany residents of the Close--you know their nice, inquisitive ways!--whowant to know who the sister and brother really are--and what yourrelationship is to them!"
"Confound their impudence!" growled Ransford.
"By all means," agreed Bryce. "And--for all I care--let them beconfounded, too. But if you imagine that the choice and select coteriesof a cathedral town, consisting mainly of the relicts of deceaseddeans, canons, prebendaries and the like, and of maiden aunts, elderlyspinsters, and tea-table-haunting curates, are free from gossip--why,you're a singularly innocent person!"
"They'd better not begin gossiping about my affairs," said Ransford."Otherwise--"
"You can't stop them from gossiping about your affairs," interruptedBryce cheerfully. "Of course they gossip about your affairs; havegossiped about them; will continue to gossip about them. It's humannature!"
"You've heard them?" asked Ransford, who was too vexed to keep back hiscuriosity. "You yourself?"
"As you are aware, I am often asked out to tea," replied Bryce, "andto garden-parties, and tennis-parties, and choice and cosy functionspatronized by curates and associated with crumpets. I have heard--withthese ears. I can even repeat the sort of thing I have heard.'That dear, delightful Miss Bewery--what a charming girl! And thatgood-looking boy, her brother--quite a dear! Now I wonder who theyreally are? Wards of Dr. Ransford, of course! Really, how veryromantic!--and just a little--eh?--unusual? Such a comparatively youngman to have such a really charming girl as his ward! Can't be more thanforty-five himself, and she's twenty--how very, very romantic! Really,one would think there ought to be a chaperon!'"
"Damn!" said Ransford under his breath.
"Just so," agreed Bryce. "But--that's the sort of thing. Do you wantmore? I can supply an unlimited quantity in the piece if you like. Butit's all according to sample."
"So--in addition to your other qualities," remarked Ransford, "you're agossiper?"
Bryce smiled slowly and shook his head.
"No," he replied. "I'm a listener. A good one, too. But do you see mypoint? I say--there's no mystery about me. If Miss Bewery will honourme with her hand, she'll get a man whose antecedents will bear thestrictest investigation."
"Are you inferring that hers won't?" demanded Ransford.
"I'm not inferring anything," said Bryce. "I am speaking for myself, ofmyself. Pressing my own claim, if you like, on you, the guardian. Youmight do much worse than support my claims, Dr. Ransford."
"Claims, man!" retorted Ransford. "You've got no claims! What are youtalking about? Claims!"
"My pretensions, then," answered Bryce. "If there is a mystery--asWrychester people say there is--about Miss Bewery, it would be safe withme. Whatever you may think, I'm a thoroughly dependable man--when it'sin my own interest."
"And--when it isn't?" asked Ransford. "What are you then?--as you're socandid."
"I could be a very bad enemy," replied Bryce.
There was a moment's silence, during which the two men lookedattentively at each other.
"I've told you the truth," said Ransford at last. "Miss Bewery flatlyrefuses to entertain any idea whatever of ever marrying you. Sheearnestly hopes that that eventuality may never be mentioned to heragain. Will you give me your word of honour to respect her wishes?"
"No!" answered Bryce. "I won't!"
"Why not?" asked Ransford, with a faint show of anger. "A woman'swishes!"
"Because I may consider that I see signs of a changed mind in her," saidBryce. "That's why."
"You'll never see any change of mind," declared Ransford. "That'scertain. Is that your fixed determination?"
"It is," answered Bryce. "I'm not the sort of man who is easilyrepelled."
"Then, in that case," said Ransford, "we had better part company." Herose from his desk, and going over to a safe which stood in a corner,unlocked it and took some papers from an inside drawer. He consultedone of these and turned to Bryce. "You remember our agreement?" hecontinued. "Your engagement was to be determined by a three months'notice on either side, or, at my will, at any time by payment of threemonths' salary?"
"Quite right," agreed Bryce. "I remember, of course."
"Then I'll give you a cheque for three months' salary--now," saidRansford, and sat down again at his desk. "That will settle mattersdefinitely--and, I hope, agreeably."
Bryce made no reply. He remained leaning against the table, watchingRansford write the cheque. And when Ransford laid the cheque down at theedge of the desk he made no movement towards it.
"You must see," remarked Ransford, half apologetically, "that it's theonly thing I can do. I can't have any man who's not--not welcome toher, to put it plainly--causing any annoyance to my ward. I repeat,Bryce--you must see it!"
"I have nothing to do with what you see," answered Bryce. "Your opinionsare not mine, and mine aren't yours. You're really turning me away--asif I were a dishonest foreman!--because in my opinion it would be a veryexcellent thing for her and for myself if Miss Bewery would consent tomarry me. That's the plain truth."
Ransford allowed himself to take a long and steady look at Bryce. Thething was done now, and his dismissed assistant seemed to be taking itquietly--and Ransford's curiosity was aroused.
"I can't make you out!" he exclaimed. "I don't know whether you're themost cynical young man I ever met, or whether you're the most obtuse--"
"Not the last, anyway," interrupted Bryce. "I assure you of that!"
"Can't you see for yourself, then, man, that the girl doesn't want you!"said Ransford. "Hang it!--for anything you know to the contrary, she mayhave--might have--other ideas!"
Bryce, who had been staring out of a side window for the last minute ortwo, suddenly laughed, and, lifting a hand, pointed into the garden. AndRansford turned--and saw Mary Bewery walking there with a tall lad, whomhe recognized as one Sackville Bonham, stepson of Mr. Folliot, a wealthyresident of the Close. The two young people were laughing and chattingtogether with evident great friendliness.
"Perhaps," remarked Bryce quietly, "her ideas run in--that direction? Inwhich case, Dr. Ransford, you'll have trouble. For Mrs. Folliot, motherof yonder callow youth, who's the apple of her eye, is one of theinquisitive ladies of whom I've just told you, and if her son uniteshimself with anybody, she'll want to know exactly who that anybody is.You'd far better have supported me as an aspirant! However--I supposethere's no more to say."
"Nothing!" answered Ransford. "Except to say good-day--and good-bye toyou. You needn't remain--I'll see to everything. And I'm going out now.I think you'd better not exchange any farewells with any one."
Bryce nodded silently, and Ransford, picking up his hat and gloves, leftthe surgery by the side door. A moment later, Bryce saw him crossing theClose.