New Grub Street (40 page)

'I advise you to possess your soul in patience,' Jasper said to
her, as they talked one day on the sea-shore. 'You are not to blame
that you live without conventional protection, but it necessitates
your being very careful. These people you are getting to know are
not rigid about social observances, and they won't exactly despise
you for poverty; all the same, their charity mustn't be tested too
severely. Be very quiet for the present; let it be seen that you
understand that your position isn't quite regular—I mean, of
course, do so in a modest and nice way. As soon as ever it's
possible, we'll arrange for you to live with someone who will
preserve appearances. All this is contemptible, of course; but we
belong to a contemptible society, and can't help ourselves. For
Heaven's sake, don't spoil your chances by rashness; be content to
wait a little, till some more money comes in.'

Midway in October, about half-past eight one evening, Jasper
received an unexpected visit from Dora. He was in his sitting-room,
smoking and reading a novel.

'Anything wrong?' he asked, as his sister entered.

'No; but I'm alone this evening, and I thought I would see if
you were in.

'Where's Maud, then?'

'She went to see the Lanes this afternoon, and Mrs Lane invited
her to go to the Gaiety to-night; she said a friend whom she had
invited couldn't come, and the ticket would be wasted. Maud went
back to dine with them. She'll come home in a cab.'

'Why is Mrs Lane so affectionate all at once? Take your things
off; I have nothing to do.'

'Miss Radway was going as well.'

'Who's Miss Radway?'

'Don't you know her? She's staying with the Lanes. Maud says she
writes for The West End.'

'And will that fellow Lane be with them?'

'I think not.'

Jasper mused, contemplating the bowl of his pipe.

'I suppose she was in rare excitement?'

'Pretty well. She has wanted to go to the Gaiety for a long
time. There's no harm, is there?'

Dora asked the question with that absent air which girls are
wont to assume when they touch on doubtful subjects.

'Harm, no. Idiocy and lively music, that's all. It's too late,
or I'd have taken you, for the joke of the thing. Confound it! she
ought to have better dresses.'

'Oh, she looked very nice, in that best.'

'Pooh! But I don't care for her to be running about with the
Lanes. Lane is too big a blackguard; it reflects upon his wife to a
certain extent.'

They gossiped for half an hour, then a tap at the door
interrupted them; it was the landlady.

'Mr Whelpdale has called to see you, sir. I mentioned as Miss
Milvain was here, so he said he wouldn't come up unless you sent to
ask him.'

Jasper smiled at Dora, and said in a low voice.

'What do you say? Shall he come up? He can behave himself.'

'Just as you please, Jasper.'

'Ask him to come up, Mrs Thompson, please.'

Mr Whelpdale presented himself. He entered with much more
ceremony than when Milvain was alone; on his visage was a grave
respectfulness, his step was light, his whole bearing expressed
diffidence and pleasurable anticipation.

'My younger sister, Whelpdale,' said Jasper, with subdued
amusement.

The dealer in literary advice made a bow which did him no
discredit, and began to speak in a low, reverential tone not at all
disagreeable to the ear. His breeding, in truth, had been that of a
gentleman, and it was only of late years that he had fallen into
the hungry region of New Grub Street.

'How's the "Manual" going off?' Milvain inquired.

'Excellently! We have sold nearly six hundred.'

'My sister is one of your readers. I believe she has studied the
book with much conscientiousness.'

'Really? You have really read it, Miss Milvain?'

Dora assured him that she had, and his delight knew no
bounds.

'It isn't all rubbish, by any means,' said Jasper, graciously.
'In the chapter on writing for magazines, there are one or two very
good hints. What a pity you can't apply your own advice,
Whelpdale!'

'Now that's horribly unkind of you!' protested the other. 'You
might have spared me this evening. But unfortunately it's quite
true, Miss Milvain. I point the way, but I haven't been able to
travel it myself. You mustn't think I have never succeeded in
getting things published; but I can't keep it up as a
profession.

Your brother is the successful man. A marvellous facility! I
envy him. Few men at present writing have such talent.'

'Please don't make him more conceited than he naturally is,'
interposed Dora.

'What news of Biffen?' asked Jasper, presently.

'He says he shall finish "Mr Bailey, Grocer," in about a month.
He read me one of the later chapters the other night. It's really
very fine; most remarkable writing, it seems to me. It will be
scandalous if he can't get it published; it will, indeed.'

'I do hope he may!' said Dora, laughing. 'I have heard so much
of "Mr Bailey," that it will be a great disappointment if I am
never to read it.'

'I'm afraid it would give you very little pleasure,' Whelpdale
replied, hesitatingly. 'The matter is so very gross.'

'And the hero grocer!' shouted Jasper, mirthfully. 'Oh, but it's
quite decent; only rather depressing. The decently ignoble—or, the
ignobly decent? Which is Biffen's formula? I saw him a week ago,
and he looked hungrier than ever.'

'Ah, but poor Reardon! I passed him at King's Cross not long
ago.

He didn't see me—walks with his eyes on the ground always—and I
hadn't the courage to stop him. He's the ghost of his old self He
can't live long.'

Dora and her brother exchanged a glance. It was a long time
since Jasper had spoken to his sisters about the Reardons; nowadays
he seldom heard either of husband or wife.

The conversation that went on was so agreeable to Whelpdale,
that he lost consciousness of time. It was past eleven o'clock when
Jasper felt obliged to remind him.

'Dora, I think I must be taking you home.'

The visitor at once made ready for departure, and his
leave-taking was as respectful as his entrance had been. Though he
might not say what he thought, there was very legible upon his
countenance a hope that he would again be privileged to meet Miss
Dora Milvain.

'Not a bad fellow, in his way,' said Jasper, when Dora and he
were alone again.

'Not at all.'

She had heard the story of Whelpdale's hapless wooing half a
year ago, and her recollection of it explained the smile with which
she spoke.

'Never get on, I'm afraid,' Jasper pursued. 'He has his
allowance of twenty pounds a year, and makes perhaps fifty or sixty
more. If I were in his position, I should go in for some kind of
regular business; he has people who could help him. Good-natured
fellow; but what's the use of that if you've no money?'

They set out together, and walked to the girls' lodgings. Dora
was about to use her latch-key, but Jasper checked her. 'No.
There's a light in the kitchen still; better knock, as we're so
late.'

'But why?'

'Never mind; do as I tell you.'

The landlady admitted them, and Jasper spoke a word or two with
her, explaining that he would wait until his elder sister's return;
the darkness of the second-floor windows had shown that Maud was
not yet back.

'What strange fancies you have!' remarked Dora, when they were
upstairs.

'So have people in general, unfortunately.'

A letter lay on the table. It was addressed to Maud, and Dora
recognised the handwriting as that of a Wattleborough friend.

'There must be some news here,' she said. 'Mrs Haynes wouldn't
write unless she had something special to say.

Just upon midnight, a cab drew up before the house. Dora ran
down to open the door to her sister, who came in with very bright
eyes and more colour than usual on her cheeks.

'How late for you to be here!' she exclaimed, on entering the
sitting-room and seeing Jasper.

'I shouldn't have felt comfortable till I knew that you were
back all right.'

'What fear was there?'

She threw off her wraps, laughing.

'Well, have you enjoyed yourself?'

'Oh yes!' she replied, carelessly. 'This letter for me? What has
Mrs Haynes got to say, I wonder?'

She opened the envelope, and began to glance hurriedly over the
sheet of paper. Then her face changed.

'What do you think? Mr Yule is dead!'

Dora uttered an exclamation; Jasper displayed the keenest
interest.

'He died yesterday—no, it would be the day before yesterday. He
had a fit of some kind at a public meeting, was taken to the
hospital because it was nearest, and died in a few hours. So that
has come, at last! Now what'll be the result of it, I wonder?'

'When shall you be seeing Marian?' asked her brother.

'She might come to-morrow evening.'

'But won't she go to the funeral?' suggested Dora.

'Perhaps; there's no saying. I suppose her father will, at all
events. The day before yesterday? Then the funeral will be on
Saturday, I should think.'

'Ought I to write to Marian?' asked Dora.

'No; I wouldn't,' was Jasper's reply. 'Better wait till she lets
you hear. That's sure to be soon. She may have gone to
Wattleborough this afternoon, or be going to-morrow morning.'

The letter from Mrs Haynes was passed from hand to hand.
'Everybody feels sure,' it said, 'that a great deal of his money
will be left for public purposes. The ground for the park being
already purchased, he is sure to have made provision for carrying
out his plans connected with it. But I hope your friends in London
may benefit.'

It was some time before Jasper could put an end to the
speculative conversation and betake himself homewards. And even on
getting back to his lodgings he was little disposed to go to bed.
This event of John Yule's death had been constantly in his mind,
but there was always a fear that it might not happen for long
enough; the sudden announcement excited him almost as much as if he
were a relative of the deceased.

'Confound his public purposes!' was the thought upon which he at
length slept.

Since the domestic incidents connected with that unpleasant
review in The Current, the relations between Alfred Yule and his
daughter had suffered a permanent change, though not in a degree
noticeable by any one but the two concerned. To all appearances,
they worked together and conversed very much as they had been wont
to do; but Marian was made to feel in many subtle ways that her
father no longer had complete confidence in her, no longer took the
same pleasure as formerly in the skill and conscientiousness of her
work, and Yule on his side perceived too clearly that the girl was
preoccupied with something other than her old wish to aid and
satisfy him, that she had a new life of her own alien to, and in
some respects irreconcilable with, the existence in which he
desired to confirm her. There was no renewal of open disagreement,
but their conversations frequently ended by tacit mutual consent,
at a point which threatened divergence; and in Yule's case every
such warning was a cause of intense irritation. He feared to
provoke Marian, and this fear was again a torture to his pride.

Beyond the fact that his daughter was in constant communication
with the Miss Milvains, he knew, and could discover, nothing of the
terms on which she stood with the girls' brother, and this
ignorance was harder to bear than full assurance of a disagreeable
fact would have been. That a man like Jasper Milvain, whose name
was every now and then forced upon his notice as a rising
periodicalist and a faithful henchman of the unspeakable Fadge—that
a young fellow of such excellent prospects should seriously attach
himself to a girl like Marian seemed to him highly improbable,
save, indeed, for the one consideration, that Milvain, who
assuredly had a very keen eye to chances, might regard the girl as
a niece of old John Yule, and therefore worth holding in view until
it was decided whether or not she would benefit by her uncle's
decease. Fixed in his antipathy to the young man, he would not
allow himself to admit any but a base motive on Milvain's side, if,
indeed, Marian and Jasper were more to each other than slight
acquaintances; and he persuaded himself that anxiety for the girl's
welfare was at least as strong a motive with him as mere prejudice
against the ally of Fadge, and, it might be, the reviewer of
'English Prose.' Milvain was quite capable of playing fast and
loose with a girl, and Marian, owing to the peculiar circumstances
of her position, would easily be misled by the pretence of a clever
speculator.

That she had never spoken again about the review in The Current
might receive several explanations. Perhaps she had not been able
to convince herself either for or against Milvain's authorship;
perhaps she had reason to suspect that the young man was the
author; perhaps she merely shrank from reviving a discussion in
which she might betray what she desired to keep secret. This last
was the truth. Finding that her father did not recur to the
subject, Marian concluded that he had found himself to be
misinformed. But Yule, though he heard the original rumour denied
by people whom in other matters he would have trusted, would not
lay aside the doubt that flattered his prejudices. If Milvain were
not the writer of the review, he very well might have been; and
what certainty could be arrived at in matters of literary
gossip?

There was an element of jealousy in the father's feeling. If he
did not love Marian with all the warmth of which a parent is
capable, at least he had more affection for her than for any other
person, and of this he became strongly aware now that the girl
seemed to be turning from him. If he lost Marian, he would indeed
be a lonely man, for he considered his wife of no account.