A Millionaire of Yesterday [77]
them."
"Have you tried to find her?" she asked.
He looked steadily at her for a moment, but her parasol had dropped a little upon his side and he could not see her face.
"Yes, I have tried," he said slowly, "and I have suffered a great disappointment. She knows quite well that I am searching for her, and she prefers to remain undiscovered."
"That sounds strange," she remarked, with her eyes fixed upon the distant Surrey hills. "Do you know her reason?"
"I am afraid," he said deliberately, "that there can be only one. It's a miserable thing to believe of any woman, and I'd be glad - "
He hesitated. She kept her eyes turned away from him, but her manner denoted impatience.
"Over on this side," he continued, "it seems that Monty was a gentleman in his day, and his people were - well, of your order! There was an Earl I believe in the family, and no doubt they are highly respectable. He went wrong once, and of course they never gave him another chance. It isn't their way - that sort of people! I'll admit he was pretty low down when I came across him, but I reckon that was the fault of those who sent him adrift - and after all there was good in him even then. I am going to tell you something now, Miss Wendermott, which I've often wanted to - that is, if you're interested enough to care to hear it!"
All the time she was asking herself how much he knew. She motioned him to proceed.
"Monty had few things left in the world worth possessing, but there was one which he had never parted with, which he carried with him always. It was the picture of his little girl, as she had been when his trouble happened."
He stooped a little as though to see over the white rails, but she was too adroit. Her face remained hidden from him by that little cloud of white lace.
"It is an odd thing about that picture," he went on slowly, "but he showed it to me once or twice, and I too got very fond of it! It was just a little girl's face, very bright and very winsome, and over there we were lonely, and it got to mean a good deal to both of us. And one night Monty would gamble - it was one of his faults, poor chap - and he had nothing left but his picture, and I played him for it - and won!"
"Brute!" she murmured in an odd, choked tone.
"Sounds so, doesn't it? But I wanted that picture. Afterwards came our terrible journey back to the Coast, when I carried the poor old chap on my back day by day, and stood over him at night potting those black beasts when they crept up too close - for they were on our track all the time. I wouldn't tell you the whole story of those days, Miss Wendermott for it would keep you awake at night; but I've a fancy for telling you this. I'd like you to believe it, for it's gospel truth. I didn't leave him until I felt absolutely and actually certain that he couldn't live an hour. He was passing into unconsciousness, and a crowd of those natives were close upon our heels. So I left him and took the picture with me - and I think since then that it has meant almost as much to me as ever it had been to him."
"That," she remarked, "sounds a little far-fetched - not to say impossible."
"Some day," he answered boldly, "I shall speak to you of this again, and I shall try to convince you that it is truth!"
He could not see her face, but he knew very well in some occult manner that she had parted with some at least of her usual composure. As a matter of fact she was nervous and ill-at-ease.
"You have not yet told me," she said abruptly, "what you imagine can be this girl's reasons for remaining unknown."
"I can only guess them," he said gravely; "I can only suppose that she is ashamed of her father and declines to meet any one connected with him. It is very wrong and very narrow of her. If I could talk to her for ten minutes and tell her how the poor old chap used to dream about her and kiss her picture, I can't think but she'd be sorry."
"Try and think," she said, looking still away from him, "that she must have another reason. You say that you liked her picture!
"Have you tried to find her?" she asked.
He looked steadily at her for a moment, but her parasol had dropped a little upon his side and he could not see her face.
"Yes, I have tried," he said slowly, "and I have suffered a great disappointment. She knows quite well that I am searching for her, and she prefers to remain undiscovered."
"That sounds strange," she remarked, with her eyes fixed upon the distant Surrey hills. "Do you know her reason?"
"I am afraid," he said deliberately, "that there can be only one. It's a miserable thing to believe of any woman, and I'd be glad - "
He hesitated. She kept her eyes turned away from him, but her manner denoted impatience.
"Over on this side," he continued, "it seems that Monty was a gentleman in his day, and his people were - well, of your order! There was an Earl I believe in the family, and no doubt they are highly respectable. He went wrong once, and of course they never gave him another chance. It isn't their way - that sort of people! I'll admit he was pretty low down when I came across him, but I reckon that was the fault of those who sent him adrift - and after all there was good in him even then. I am going to tell you something now, Miss Wendermott, which I've often wanted to - that is, if you're interested enough to care to hear it!"
All the time she was asking herself how much he knew. She motioned him to proceed.
"Monty had few things left in the world worth possessing, but there was one which he had never parted with, which he carried with him always. It was the picture of his little girl, as she had been when his trouble happened."
He stooped a little as though to see over the white rails, but she was too adroit. Her face remained hidden from him by that little cloud of white lace.
"It is an odd thing about that picture," he went on slowly, "but he showed it to me once or twice, and I too got very fond of it! It was just a little girl's face, very bright and very winsome, and over there we were lonely, and it got to mean a good deal to both of us. And one night Monty would gamble - it was one of his faults, poor chap - and he had nothing left but his picture, and I played him for it - and won!"
"Brute!" she murmured in an odd, choked tone.
"Sounds so, doesn't it? But I wanted that picture. Afterwards came our terrible journey back to the Coast, when I carried the poor old chap on my back day by day, and stood over him at night potting those black beasts when they crept up too close - for they were on our track all the time. I wouldn't tell you the whole story of those days, Miss Wendermott for it would keep you awake at night; but I've a fancy for telling you this. I'd like you to believe it, for it's gospel truth. I didn't leave him until I felt absolutely and actually certain that he couldn't live an hour. He was passing into unconsciousness, and a crowd of those natives were close upon our heels. So I left him and took the picture with me - and I think since then that it has meant almost as much to me as ever it had been to him."
"That," she remarked, "sounds a little far-fetched - not to say impossible."
"Some day," he answered boldly, "I shall speak to you of this again, and I shall try to convince you that it is truth!"
He could not see her face, but he knew very well in some occult manner that she had parted with some at least of her usual composure. As a matter of fact she was nervous and ill-at-ease.
"You have not yet told me," she said abruptly, "what you imagine can be this girl's reasons for remaining unknown."
"I can only guess them," he said gravely; "I can only suppose that she is ashamed of her father and declines to meet any one connected with him. It is very wrong and very narrow of her. If I could talk to her for ten minutes and tell her how the poor old chap used to dream about her and kiss her picture, I can't think but she'd be sorry."
"Try and think," she said, looking still away from him, "that she must have another reason. You say that you liked her picture!