practical man, and I shall keep clear of dangers. These days of holiday idleness put all sorts of nonsense into one’s head.’
Dora kept her eyes down, and smiled ambiguously.
‘You must act as you think fit,’ she remarked at length.
‘Exactly. Now I’ll turn back. You’ll be with us at dinner?’
They parted. But Jasper did not keep to the straight way home. First of all, he loitered to watch a reaping- machine at work; then he turned into a lane which led up the hill on which was John Yule’s house. Even if he had purposed making a farewell call, it was still far too early; all he wanted to do was to pass an hour of the morning, which threatened to lie heavy on his hands. So he rambled on, and went past the house, and took the field-path which would lead him circuitously home again.
His mother desired to speak to him. She was in the dining-room; in the parlour Maud was practising music.
‘I think I ought to tell you of something I did yesterday, Jasper,’ Mrs Milvain began. ‘You see, my dear, we have been rather straitened lately, and my health, you know, grows so uncertain, and, all things considered, I have been feeling very anxious about the girls. So I wrote to your uncle William, and told him that I must positively have that money. I must think of my own children before his.’
The matter referred to was this. The deceased Mr Milvain had a brother who was a struggling shopkeeper in a Midland town. Some ten years ago, William Milvain, on the point of bankruptcy, had borrowed a hundred and seventy pounds from his brother in Wattleborough, and this debt was still unpaid; for on the death of Jasper’s father repayment of the loan was impossible for William, and since then it had seemed hopeless that the sum would ever be recovered. The poor shopkeeper had a large family, and Mrs Milvain, notwithstanding her own position, had never felt able to press him; her relative, however, often spoke of the business, and declared his intention of paying whenever he could.
‘You can’t recover by law now, you know,’ said Jasper.
‘But we have a right to the money, law or no law. He must pay it.’
‘He will simply refuse—and be justified. Poverty doesn’t allow of honourable feeling, any more than of compassion. I’m sorry you wrote like that. You won’t get anything, and you might as well have enjoyed the reputation of forbearance.’
Mrs Milvain was not able to appreciate this characteristic remark. Anxiety weighed upon her, and she became irritable.
‘I am obliged to say, Jasper, that you seem rather thoughtless. If it were only myself I would make any sacrifice for you; but you must remember—’
‘Now listen, mother,’ he interrupted, laying a hand on her shoulder; ‘I have been thinking about all this, and the fact of the matter is, I shall do my best to ask you for no more money. It may or may not be practicable, but I’ll have a try. So don’t worry. If uncle writes that he can’t pay, just explain why you wrote, and keep him gently in mind of the thing, that’s all. One doesn’t like to do brutal things if one can avoid them, you know.’
The young man went to the parlour and listened to Maud’s music for awhile. But restlessness again drove him forth. Towards eleven o’clock he was again ascending in the direction of John Yule’s house. Again he had no intention of calling, but when he reached the iron gates he lingered.
‘I will, by Jove!’ he said within himself at last. ‘Just to prove I have complete command of myself. It’s to be a display of strength, not weakness.’
At the house door he inquired for Mr Alfred Yule. That gentleman had gone in the carriage to Wattleborough, half an hour ago, with his brother.
‘Miss Yule?’
Yes, she was within. Jasper entered the sitting-room, waited a few moments, and Marian appeared. She wore a dress in which Milvain had not yet seen her, and it had the effect of making him regard her attentively. The smile with which she had come towards him passed from her face, which was perchance a little warmer of hue than commonly.
‘I’m sorry your father is away, Miss Yule,’ Jasper began, in an animated voice. ‘I wanted to say good-bye to him. I return to London in a few hours.’
‘You are going sooner than you intended?’
‘Yes, I feel I mustn’t waste any more time. I think the country air is doing you good; you certainly look better than when I passed you that first day.’
‘I feel better, much.’
‘My sisters are anxious to see you again. I shouldn’t wonder if they come up this afternoon.’
Marian had seated herself on the sofa, and her hands were linked upon her lap in the same way as when Jasper spoke with her here before, the palms downward. The beautiful outline of her bent head was relieved against a broad strip of sunlight on the wall behind her.
‘They deplore,’ he continued in a moment, ‘that they should come to know you only to lose you again so soon.
‘I have quite as much reason to be sorry,’ she answered, looking at him with the slightest possible smile. ‘But perhaps they will let me write to them, and hear from them now and then.’
‘They would think it an honour. Country girls are not often invited to correspond with literary ladies in London.’
He said it with as much jocoseness as civility allowed, then at once rose.
‘Father will be very sorry,’ Marian began, with one quick glance towards the window and then another towards the door. ‘Perhaps he might possibly be able to see you before you go?’
Jasper stood in hesitation. There was a look on the girl’s face which, under other circumstances, would have suggested a ready answer.
