New Grub Street (17 page)

'So young Milvain has joined Fadge's hopeful standard,' he
remarked, a day or two later, at breakfast. 'They say his paper is
remarkably clever; I could wish it had appeared anywhere else.

Evil communications, &c.'

'But I shouldn't think there's any personal connection,' said
Marian.

'Very likely not. But Milvain has been invited to contribute,
you see.

'Do you think he ought to have refused?'

'Oh no. It's nothing to me; nothing whatever.'

Mrs Yule glanced at her daughter, but Marian seemed unconcerned.
The subject was dismissed. In introducing it Yule had had his
purpose; there had always been an unnatural avoidance of Milvain's
name in conversation, and he wished to have an end of this.
Hitherto he had felt a troublesome uncertainty regarding his
position in the matter. From what his wife had told him it seemed
pretty certain that Marian was disappointed by the abrupt closing
of her brief acquaintance with the young man, and Yule's affection
for his daughter caused him to feel uneasy in the thought that
perhaps he had deprived her of a chance of happiness. His
conscience readily took hold of an excuse for justifying the course
he had followed. Milvain had gone over to the enemy. Whether or not
the young man understood how relentless the hostility was between
Yule and Fadge mattered little; the probability was that he knew
all about it. In any case intimate relations with him could not
have survived this alliance with Fadge, so that, after all, there
had been wisdom in letting the acquaintance lapse. To be sure,
nothing could have come of it. Milvain was the kind of man who
weighed opportunities; every step he took would be regulated by
considerations of advantage; at all events that was the impression
his character had made upon Yule. Any hopes that Marian might have
been induced to form would assuredly have ended in disappointment.
It was kindness to interpose before things had gone so far.

Henceforth, if Milvain's name was unavoidable, it should be
mentioned just like that of any other literary man. It seemed very
unlikely indeed that Marian would continue to think of him with any
special and personal interest. The fact of her having got into
correspondence with his sisters was unfortunate, but this kind of
thing rarely went on for very long.

Yule spoke of the matter with his wife that evening.

'By-the-bye, has Marian heard from those girls at Finden
lately?'

'She had a letter one afternoon last week.'

'Do you see these letters?'

'No; she told me what was in them at first, but now she
doesn't.'

'She hasn't spoken to you again of Milvain?'

'Not a word.'

'Well, I understood what I was about,' Yule remarked, with the
confident air of one who doesn't wish to remember that he had ever
felt doubtful. 'There was no good in having the fellow here.

He has got in with a set that I don't at all care for. If she
ever says anything—you understand—you can just let me know.'

Marian had already procured a copy of The Current, and read it
privately. Of the cleverness of Milvain's contribution there could
be no two opinions; it drew the attention of the public, and all
notices of the new magazine made special reference to this article.
With keen interest Marian sought after comments of the press; when
it was possible she cut them out and put them carefully away.

January passed, and February. She saw nothing of Jasper. A
letter from Dora in the first week of March made announcement that
the 'Child's History of the English Parliament' would be published
very shortly; it told her, too, that Mrs Milvain had been very ill
indeed, but that she seemed to recover a little strength as the
weather improved. Of Jasper there was no mention.

A week later came the news that Mrs Milvain had suddenly
died.

This letter was received at breakfast-time. The envelope was an
ordinary one, and so little did Marian anticipate the nature of its
contents that at the first sight of the words she uttered an
exclamation of pain. Her father, who had turned from the table to
the fireside with his newspaper, looked round and asked what was
the matter.

'Mrs Milvain died the day before yesterday.'

'Indeed!'

He averted his face again and seemed disposed to say no more.
But in a few moments he inquired:

'What are her daughters likely to do?'

'I have no idea.'

'Do you know anything of their circumstances?'

'I believe they will have to depend upon themselves.'

Nothing more was said. Afterwards Mrs Yule made a few
sympathetic inquiries, but Marian was very brief in her
replies.

Ten days after that, on a Sunday afternoon when Marian and her
mother were alone in the sitting-room, they heard the knock of a
visitor at the front door. Yule was out, and there was no
likelihood of the visitor's wishing to see anyone but him. They
listened; the servant went to the door, and, after a murmur of
voices, came to speak to her mistress.

'It's a gentleman called Mr Milvain,' the girl reported, in a
way that proved how seldom callers presented themselves. 'He asked
for Mr Yule, and when I said he was out, then he asked for Miss
Yule.' Mother and daughter looked anxiously at each other. Mrs Yule
was nervous and helpless.

'Show Mr Milvain into the study,' said Marian, with sudden
decision.

'Are you going to see him there?' asked her mother in a hurried
whisper.

'I thought you would prefer that to his coming in here.'

'Yes—yes. But suppose father comes back before he's gone?'

'What will it matter? You forget that he asked for father
first.'

'Oh yes! Then don't wait.'

Marian, scarcely less agitated than her mother, was just leaving
the room, when she turned back again.

'If father comes in, you will tell him before he goes into the
study?'

'Yes, I will.'

The fire in the study was on the point of extinction; this was
the first thing Marian's eye perceived on entering, and it gave her
assurance that her father would not be back for some hours.
Evidently he had intended it to go out; small economies of this
kind, unintelligible to people who have always lived at ease, had
been the life-long rule with him. With a sensation of gladness at
having free time before her, Marian turned to where Milvain was
standing, in front of one of the bookcases. He wore no symbol of
mourning, but his countenance was far graver than usual, and rather
paler. They shook hands in silence.

'I am so grieved—' Marian began with broken voice.

'Thank you. I know the girls have told you all about it. We knew
for the last month that it must come before long, though there was
a deceptive improvement just before the end.'

'Please to sit down, Mr Milvain. Father went out not long ago,
and I don't think he will be back very soon.'

'It was not really Mr Yule I wished to see,' said Jasper,
frankly. 'If he had been at home I should have spoken with him
about what I have in mind, but if you will kindly give me a few
minutes it will be much better.'

Marian glanced at the expiring fire. Her curiosity as to what
Milvain had to say was mingled with an anxious doubt whether it was
not too late to put on fresh coals; already the room was growing
very chill, and this appearance of inhospitality troubled her.

'Do you wish to save it?' Jasper asked, understanding her look
and movement.

'I'm afraid it has got too low.'

'I think not. Life in lodgings has made me skilful at this kind
of thing; let me try my hand.'

He took the tongs and carefully disposed small pieces of coal
upon the glow that remained. Marian stood apart with a feeling of
shame and annoyance. But it is so seldom that situations in life
arrange themselves with dramatic propriety; and, after all, this
vulgar necessity made the beginning of the conversation easier.

'That will be all right now,' said Jasper at length, as little
tongues of flame began to shoot here and there.

Marian said nothing, but seated herself and waited.

'I came up to town yesterday,' Jasper began. 'Of course we have
had a great deal to do and think about. Miss Harrow has been very
kind indeed to the girls; so have several of our old friends in
Wattleborough. It was necessary to decide at once what Maud and
Dora are going to do, and it is on their account that I have come
to see you.

The listener kept silence, with a face of sympathetic
attention.

'We have made up our minds that they may as well come to London.
It's a bold step; I'm by no means sure that the result will justify
it. But I think they are perhaps right in wishing to try it.'

'They will go on with literary work?'

'Well, it's our hope that they may be able to. Of course there's
no chance of their earning enough to live upon for some time. But
the matter stands like this. They have a trifling sum of money, on
which, at a pinch, they could live in London for perhaps a year and
a half. In that time they may find their way to a sort of income;
at all events, the chances are that a year and a half hence I shall
be able to help them to keep body and soul together.'

The money of which he spoke was the debt owed to their father by
William Milvain. In consequence of Mrs Milvain's pressing
application, half of this sum had at length been paid and the
remainder was promised in a year's time, greatly to Jasper's
astonishment. In addition, there would be the trifle realised by
the sale of furniture, though most of this might have to go in
payment of rent unless the house could be relet immediately.

'They have made a good beginning,' said Marian.

She spoke mechanically, for it was impossible to keep her
thoughts under control. If Maud and Dora came to live in London it
might bring about a most important change in her life; she could
scarcely imagine the happiness of having two such friends always
near. On the other hand, how would it be regarded by her father?
She was at a loss amid conflicting emotions.

'It's better than if they had done nothing at all,' Jasper
replied to her remark. 'And the way they knocked that trifle
together promises well. They did it very quickly, and in a far more
workmanlike way than I should have thought possible.'

'No doubt they share your own talent.'

'Perhaps so. Of course I know that I have talent of a kind,
though I don't rate it very high. We shall have to see whether they
can do anything more than mere booksellers' work; they are both
very young, you know. I think they may be able to write something
that'll do for The English Girl, and no doubt I can hit upon a
second idea that will appeal to Jolly and Monk. At all events,
they'll have books within reach, and better opportunities every way
than at Finden.'

'How do their friends in the country think of it?'

'Very dubiously; but then what else was to be expected? Of
course, the respectable and intelligible path marked out for both
of them points to a lifetime of governessing. But the girls have no
relish for that; they'd rather do almost anything. We talked over
all the aspects of the situation seriously enough—it is desperately
serious, no doubt of that. I told them fairly all the hardships
they would have to face—described the typical London lodgings, and
so on. Still, there's an adventurous vein in them, and they decided
for the risk. If it came to the worst I suppose they could still
find governess work.'

'Let us hope better things.'

'Yes. But now, I should have felt far more reluctant to let them
come here in this way hadn't it been that they regard you as a
friend. To-morrow morning you will probably hear from one or both
of them. Perhaps it would have been better if I had left them to
tell you all this, but I felt I should like to see you and—put it
in my own way. I think you'll understand this feeling, Miss Yule. I
wanted, in fact, to hear from yourself that you would be a friend
to the poor girls.'

'Oh, you already know that! I shall be so very glad to see them
often.'

Marian's voice lent itself very naturally and sweetly to the
expression of warm feeling. Emphasis was not her habit; it only
needed that she should put off her ordinary reserve, utter quietly
the emotional thought which so seldom might declare itself, and her
tones had an exquisite womanliness.

Jasper looked full into her face.

'In that case they won't miss the comfort of home so much. Of
course they will have to go into very modest lodgings indeed. I
have already been looking about. I should like to find rooms for
them somewhere near my own place; it's a decent neighbourhood, and
the park is at hand, and then they wouldn't be very far from you.
They thought it might be possible to make a joint establishment
with me, but I'm afraid that's out of the question.

The lodgings we should want in that case, everything considered,
would cost more than the sum of our expenses if we live apart.
Besides, there's no harm in saying that I don't think we should get
along very well together. We're all of us rather quarrelsome, to
tell the truth, and we try each other's tempers.'

Marian smiled and looked puzzled.

'Shouldn't you have thought that?'

'I have seen no signs of quarrelsomeness.'

'I'm not sure that the worst fault is on my side. Why should one
condemn oneself against conscience? Maud is perhaps the hardest to
get along with. She has a sort of arrogance, an exaggeration of
something I am quite aware of in myself. You have noticed that
trait in me?'

'Arrogance—I think not. You have self-confidence.'

'Which goes into extremes now and then. But, putting myself
aside, I feel pretty sure that the girls won't seem quarrelsome to
you; they would have to be very fractious indeed before that were
possible.'

'We shall continue to be friends, I am sure.'