The Paying Guest

‘Never mind, dear. She’ll go to morrow, or the day after.’

‘I wish I could be sure of that.’

CHAPTER VI

Louise did not appear again that evening. Thoroughly tired, she unpacked her trunks, sat awhile by the open window, listening to a piano in a neighbouring house, and then jumped into bed. From ten o’clock to eight next morning she slept soundly.

At breakfast her behaviour was marked with excessive decorum. To the ordinary civilities of her host and hostess she replied softly, modestly, in the manner of a very young and timid girl; save when addressed, she kept silence, and sat with head inclined; a virginal freshness breathed about her; she ate very little, and that without her usual gusto, but rather as if performing a dainty ceremony. Her eyes never moved in Mumford’s direction.

The threatened letter from Mrs. Higgins had arrived; Emmeline and her husband read it before their guest came down. If Louise continued to reside with them, they entertained her with a full knowledge that no payment must be expected from Coburg Lodge. Emmeline awaited the disclosure of her guest’s project, which had more than once been alluded to yesterday; she could not dream of permitting Louise to stay for more than a day or two, whatever the suggestion offered. This morning she had again heard from her sister, Mrs. Grove, who was strongly of opinion that Miss Derrick should be sent back to her native sphere.

‘I shall always feel,’ she said to her husband, ‘that we have behaved badly. I was guilty of false pretences. Fortunately, we have the excuse of her unbearable temper. But for that, I should feel dreadfully ashamed of myself.’

Very soon after Mumford’s departure, Louise begged for a few minutes’ private talk.

‘Every time I come into this drawing-room, Mrs. Mumford, I think how pretty it is. What pains you must have taken in furnishing it! I never saw such nice curtains anywhere else. And that little screen—I am so fond of that screen!’

‘It was a wedding present from an old friend,’ Emmeline replied, complacently regarding the object, which shone with embroidery of many colours.

‘Will you help me when I furnish my drawing-room?’ Louise asked sweetly. And she added, with a direct look, ‘I don’t think it will be very long.’

‘Indeed?’

‘I am going to marry Mr. Bowling.’

Emmeline could no longer fed astonishment at anything her guest said or did. The tone, the air, with which Louise made this declaration affected her with a sense of something quite unforeseen; but, at the same time, she asked herself why she had not foreseen it. Was not this the obvious answer to the riddle? All along, Louise had wished to marry Mr. Bowling. She might or might not have consciously helped to bring about the rupture between Mr. Bowling and Miss Higgins; she might, or might not, have felt genuinely reluctant to take advantage of her half- sister’s defeat. But a struggle had been going on in the girl’s conscience, at all events. Yes, this explained everything. And, on the whole, it seemed to speak in Louise’s favour. Her ridicule of Mr. Bowling’s person and character became, in this new light, a proof of desire to resist her inclinations. She had only yielded when it was certain that Miss Higgins’s former lover had quite thrown off his old allegiance, and when no good could be done by self-sacrifice.

‘When did you make up your mind to this, Louise?’

‘Yesterday, after our horrid quarrel. No, you didn’t quarrel; it was all my abominable temper. This morning I’m going to answer Mr. Bowling’s last letter, and I shall tell him—what I’ve told you. He’ll be delighted!’

‘Then you have really wished for this from the first?’

Louise plucked at the fringe on the arm of her chair, and replied at length with maidenly frankness.

‘I always thought it would be a good marriage for me. But I never—do believe me—I never tried to cut Cissy out. The truth is I thought a good deal of the other—of Mr. Cobb. But I knew that I couldn’t marry him. It would be dreadful; we should quarrel frightfully, and he would kill me—I feel sure he would, he’s so violent in his temper. But Mr. Bowling is very nice; he couldn’t get angry if he tried. And ho has a much better position than Mr. Cobb.’

Emmeline began to waver in her conviction and to feel a natural annoyance.

‘And you think,’ she said coldly, ‘that your marriage will take place soon?’

‘That’s what I want to speak about, dear Mrs. Mumford. Did you hear from my mother this morning? Then you see what my position is. I am homeless. If I leave you, I don’t know where I shall go. When Mr. Higgins knows I’m going to marry Mr. Bowling he won’t have me in the house, even if I wanted to go back. Cissy Will be furious: she’ll come back from Margate just to keep up her father’s anger against me. If you could let me stay here just a short time, Mrs. Mumford; just a few weeks I should so like to be married from your house.’

The listener trembled with irritation, and before she could command her voice Louise added eagerly:

‘Of course, when we’re married, Mr. Bowling will pay all my debts.’

”You are quite mistaken,’ said Emmeline distantly, ‘if you think that the money matter has anything to do with—with my unreadiness to agree—’

‘Oh, I didn’t think it—not for a moment. I’m a trouble to you; I know I am. But I’ll be so quiet, dear Mrs. Mumford. You shall hardly know I’m in the house. If once it’s all settled I shall never be out of temper. Do, please, let me stay! I like you so much, and how wretched it would be if I had to be married from a lodging-house.’

‘I’m afraid, Louise—I’m really afraid—’

‘Of my temper?’ the girl interrupted. ‘If ever I say an angry word you shall turn me out that very moment. Dear Mrs. Mumford! Oh! what shall I do if you won’t be kind to me? What will become of me? I have no home, and everybody hates me.’