As he replaced the glass Annie Marble rose. She knew the role it was necessary for her to assume, and by some strange freak of mental poise she did it perfectly. Her dim mind had never fully realized the grim peril in which lay the fortunes of her husband and herself; nothing that Marble could say—and he said little—would force it home to her as long as she could go on obtaining credit at the shops; but she knew they were in some trouble, and that Marble was intending that this young nephew of his should help them out. It behoved her therefore to do her best, quite apart from the fact that her negative personality responded in small actions to every whim of her husband, just as he wished.
“I think I shall go to bed, Will,” she said rising a little wearily from the uncomfortable bentwood chair. “I’ve got a bit of a headache.”
Mr. Marble was greatly concerned.
“Really, dear?” he said, rising. “That’s bad luck. Have a nightcap before you go up?” And he nodded towards the decanter.
But even as he nodded, with his face away from Medland, there was a little scowl between his eyebrows that gave Mrs. Marble her cue.
“No, dear, thank you,” she said, “I’ll just go straight up and it will be better in the morning.”
“Just as you like,” said Mr. Marble.
Mrs. Marble moved across to Medland.
“Good night, er—Jim,” she said, shaking hands.
“Good night. I hope it will really be better tomorrow.”
“Good night, dear,” said Mr. Marble, “I won’t disturb you when I come up if I can help it. I expect I shall be a bit late.”
He pecked her on her cold cheek—a typical marital kiss. But Mr. Marble was not in the habit of kissing his wife good night at all, and he never worried in the least about disturbing her when he came to bed. However, it gave the scene that calm domestic atmosphere that Mr. Marble’s subconscious mind, which had him in full control, had decided was necessary to the occasion.
Mrs. Marble had gone, and they heard the dragging steps on the floor of the room above.
“No need for hurry, I suppose, seeing that you’re a gay young bachelor,” said Mr. Marble.
“None at all,” replied Medland, and regretted saying it the instant it was said. He had really no desire to go on being bored for a further interminable period. But his answer had committed him to another half-hour at the very least, and he endeavoured to reconcile himself to it.
Just for a brief space Mr. Marble regained full control over himself, and he made a brief and unavailing struggle against the inevitable which a stronger power within him was forcing upon him. He began to talk again on the subject of Medland’s money—the subject on which his lack of decent reticence had already annoyed his guest.
“So you’re quite a well-off young man now, it seems?” he said, with exasperating joviality.
“I suppose so,” was the curt reply.
“A good bit to spare for investments, I suppose?”
It was a blundering way of putting it, and it failed. Even on the voyage over more than one man had come to Medland with get-rich-quick schemes, and he had contrived to see through them. And so many people had borrowed money from him that the process was both familiar and annoying to him. Medland determined to stop this attempt once and for all. It might be awkward for a bit, but it would save endless trouble in the future. He looked straight into Marble’s eyes.
“No,” he said, “I haven’t any to invest. I’m quite satisfied with the arrangement that my father made before he died. I’ve got just enough, and no more. And I put up with it.”
That settled the matter definitely enough for anyone, but, to Medland’s surprise, Marble showed no sign of discomfiture. Medland did not know it, but at a bound the lurking power within his uncle had regained possession of him, and had at once begun to smooth the way for the inevitable.
“A good thing too,” said Marble, and his manner of saying it left Medland seriously in doubt as to whether his former question had really been a feeler for a loan. “The market’s in a rotten state at present. I shouldn’t like to buy at all just now, not gilt-edged. Sit tight and hang on to what you’ve got, that’s my motto all the time nowadays.”
He said it in all sincerity, and Medland actually felt himself warming towards him. At that time Medland was in serious danger of falling into the delusion that so often attacks men of wealth who have had their wealth from boyhood and have been “stung” too often by the unscrupulous—he was in danger of imagining that everyone with whom he came into contact was seeking profit at his expense. The surest way to his heart was to convince him of the contrary, and that Mr. Marble, in those few instants, had nearly succeeded in doing.
The conversation swung easily into discussion of the investment market, and that without the personal note that Medland so much resented. Somewhere within him Marble possessed a clever turn for finance, which hitherto he had been unable, as well as too lazy, to exert. Medland, with a hard head for business inherited from his shipbroking father, recognized a surprisingly kindred spirit. For the first time that evening he really began to enjoy himself. He drained his glass almost without thinking of it—enthusiasm succeeded in overcoming his
