“You’re quizzing now, I know. But don’t you feel now, really, that City money is always very chancy? It comes and goes so quick.”
“As regards the going, I think that’s the same with all money,” said Johnny.
“Not with land, or the funds. Mamma has every shilling laid out in a first-class mortgage on land at four percent. That does make one feel so secure! The land can’t run away.”
“But you think poor Broughton’s money may?”
“It’s all speculation, you know. I don’t believe she minds it; I don’t, indeed. She lives that kind of fevered life now that she likes excitement. Of course we all know that Mr. Dobbs Broughton is not what we can call an educated gentleman. His manners are against him, and he is very ignorant. Even dear Maria would admit that.”
“One would perhaps let that pass without asking her opinion at all.”
“She has acknowledged it to me, twenty times. But he is very good-natured, and lets her do pretty nearly anything that she likes. I only hope she won’t trespass on his good-nature. I do, indeed.”
“You mean, spend too much money?”
“No; I didn’t mean that exactly. Of course she ought to be moderate, and I hope she is. To that kind of fevered existence profuse expenditure is perhaps necessary. But I was thinking of something else. I fear she is a little giddy.”
“Dear me! I should have thought she was too—too—too—”
“You mean too old for anything of that kind. Maria Broughton must be thirty-three if she’s a day.”
“That would make you just twenty-five,” said Johnny, feeling perfectly sure as he said so that the lady whom he was addressing was at any rate past thirty!
“Never mind my age, Mr. Eames; whether I am twenty-five, or a hundred-and-five, has nothing to do with poor Maria Clutterbuck. But now I’ll tell you why I mention all this to you. You must have seen how foolish she is about your friend Mr. Dalrymple?”
“Upon my word, I haven’t.”
“Nonsense, Mr. Eames; you have. If she were your wife, would you like her to call a man Conway? Of course you would not. I don’t mean to say that there’s anything in it. I know Maria’s principles too well to suspect that. It’s merely because she’s flighty and fevered.”
“That fevered existence accounts for it all,” said Johnny.
“No doubt it does,” said Miss Demolines, with a nod of her head, which was intended to show that she was willing to give her friend the full benefit of any excuse which could be offered for her. “But don’t you think you could do something, Mr. Eames?”
“I do something?”
“Yes, you. You and Mr. Dalrymple are such friends! If you were just to point out to him you know—”
“Point out what? Tell him that he oughtn’t to be called Conway? Because, after all, I suppose that’s the worst of it. If you mean to say that Dalrymple is in love with Mrs. Broughton, you never made a greater mistake in your life.”
“Oh, no; not in love. That would be terrible, you know.” And Miss Demolines shook her head sadly. “But there may be so much mischief done without anything of that kind! Thoughtlessness, you know, Mr. Eames—pure thoughtlessness! Think of what I have said, and if you can speak a word to your friend, do. And now I want to ask you something else. I’m so glad you are come, because circumstances have seemed to make it necessary that you and I should know each other. We may be of so much use if we put our heads together.” Johnny bowed when he heard this, but made no immediate reply. “Have you heard anything about a certain picture that is being planned?” Johnny did not wish to answer this question, but Miss Demolines paused so long, and looked so earnestly into his face, that he found himself forced to say something.
“What picture?”
“A certain picture that is—, or, perhaps, that is not to be, painted by Mr. Dalrymple?”
“I hear so much about Dalrymple’s pictures! You don’t mean the portrait of Lady Glencora Palliser? That is nearly finished, and will be in the Exhibition this year.”
“I don’t mean that at all. I mean a picture that has not yet been begun.”
“A portrait, I suppose?”
“As to that I cannot quite say. It is at any rate to be a likeness. I am sure you have heard of it. Come, Mr. Eames; it would be better that we should be candid with each other. You remember Miss Van Siever, of course?”
“I remember that she dined at the Broughtons’.”
“And you have heard of Jael, I suppose, and Sisera?”
“Yes; in a general way—in the Bible.”
“And now will you tell me whether you have not heard the names of Jael and Miss Van Siever coupled together? I see you know all about it.”
“I have heard of it, certainly.”
“Of course you have. So have I, as you perceive. Now, Mr. Eames,”—and Miss Demolines’ voice became tremulously eager as she addressed him—“it is your duty, and it is my duty, to take care that that picture shall never be painted.”
“But why should it not be painted?”
“You don’t know Miss Van Siever, yet.”
“Not in the least.”
“Nor Mrs. Van Siever.”
“I never spoke a word to her.”
“I do. I know them both—well.” There was something almost grandly tragic in Miss Demolines’ voice as she thus spoke. “Yes, Mr. Eames, I know them well. If that scheme be continued, it will work terrible mischief. You and I must prevent it.”
“But I don’t see what harm it will do.”
“Think of Conway Dalrymple passing so many hours in Maria’s sitting-room upstairs! The picture is to be painted there, you know.”
“But Miss Van Siever will be present. Won’t that make it all right? What is there wrong about Miss Van Siever?”
“I won’t deny that Clara Van Siever has a certain beauty of her own. To me she is certainly the most unattractive woman that I ever came near. She is simply repulsive!” Hereupon Miss Demolines held up her hand as though she
