‘At all events, you won’t do any more work to-night,’ said Dora.
‘No; I shall read a page of something or other over a glass of whisky, and seek the sleep of a man who has done his duty.’
‘Why the whisky?’ asked Maud.
‘Do you grudge me such poor solace?’
‘I don’t see the need of it.’
‘Nonsense, Maud!’ exclaimed her sister. ‘He needs a little stimulant when he works so hard.’
Each of the girls gave Marian’s hand a significant pressure as she took leave of them, and begged her to come again as soon as she had a free evening. There was gratitude in her eyes.
The evening was clear, and not very cold.
‘It’s rather late for you to go home,’ said Jasper, as they left the house. ‘May I walk part of the way with you?’
Marian replied with a low ‘Thank you.’
‘I think you get on pretty well with the girls, don’t you?’
‘I hope they are as glad of my friendship as I am of theirs.’
‘Pity to see them in a place like that, isn’t it? They ought to have a good house, with plenty of servants. It’s bad enough for a civilised man to have to rough it, but I hate to see women living in a sordid way. Don’t you think they could both play their part in a drawing-room, with a little experience?’
‘Surely there’s no doubt of it.’
‘Maud would look really superb if she were handsomely dressed. She hasn’t a common face, by any means. And Dora is pretty, I think. Well, they shall go and see some people before long. The difficulty is, one doesn’t like it to be known that they live in such a crib; but I daren’t advise them to go in for expense. One can’t be sure that it would repay them, though— Now, in my own case, if I could get hold of a few thousand pounds I should know how to use it with the certainty of return; it would save me, probably, a clear ten years of life; I mean, I should go at a jump to what I shall be ten years hence without the help of money. But they have such a miserable little bit of capital, and everything is still so uncertain. One daren’t speculate under the circumstances.’
Marian made no reply.
‘You think I talk of nothing but money?’ Jasper said suddenly, looking down into her face.
‘I know too well what it means to be without money.’
‘Yes, but—you do just a little despise me?’
‘Indeed, I don’t, Mr Milvain.’
‘If that is sincere, I’m very glad. I take it in a friendly sense. I am rather despicable, you know; it’s part of my business to be so. But a friend needn’t regard that. There is the man apart from his necessities.’
The silence was then unbroken till they came to the lower end of Park Street, the junction of roads which lead to Hampstead, to Highgate, and to Holloway.
‘Shall you take an omnibus?’ Jasper asked.
She hesitated.
‘Or will you give me the pleasure of walking on with you? You are tired, perhaps?’
‘Not the least.’
For the rest of her answer she moved forward, and they crossed into the obscurity of Camden Road.
‘Shall I be doing wrong, Mr Milvain,’ Marian began in a very low voice, ‘if I ask you about the authorship of something in this month’s Current?’
‘I’m afraid I know what you refer to. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t answer a question of the kind.’
‘It was Mr Fadge himself who reviewed my father’s book?’
‘It was—confound him! I don’t know another man who could have done the thing so vilely well.’
‘I suppose he was only replying to my father’s attack upon him and his friends.’
‘Your father’s attack is honest and straightforward and justifiable and well put. I read that chapter of his book with huge satisfaction. But has anyone suggested that another than Fadge was capable of that masterpiece?’
‘Yes. I am told that Mr Jedwood, the publisher, has somehow made a mistake.’
‘Jedwood? And what mistake?’
‘Father heard that you were the writer.’
‘I?’ Jasper stopped short. They were in the rays of a street-lamp, and could see each other’s faces. ‘And he believes that?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘And you believe—believed it?’
‘Not for a moment.’
‘I shall write a note to Mr Yule.’
Marian was silent a while, then said:
