New Grub Street [183]
our troubles in this way.'
'Am I to plead in vain?'
'I regret very much that I can't possibly do as you wish. It is all between Amy and myself. Interference by other people cannot do any good.'
'I am sorry you should use such a word as "interference,"' replied Mrs Yule, bridling a little. 'Very sorry, indeed. I confess it didn't occur to me that my good-will to you could be seen in that light.'
'Believe me that I didn't use the word offensively.'
'Then you refuse to take any step towards a restoration of good feeling?'
'I am obliged to, and Amy would understand perfectly why I say so.'
His earnestness was so unmistakable that Mrs Yule had no choice but to rise and bring the interview to an end. She commanded herself sufficiently to offer a regretful hand.
'I can only say that my daughter is very, very unfortunate.'
Reardon lingered a little after her departure, then left the hospital and walked at a rapid pace in no particular direction.
Ah! if this had happened in the first year of his marriage, what more blessed man than he would have walked the earth! But it came after irreparable harm. No amount of wealth could undo the ruin caused by poverty.
It was natural for him, as soon as he could think with deliberation, to turn towards his only friend. But on calling at the house in Clipstone Street he found the garret empty, and no one could tell him when its occupant was likely to be back. He left a note, and made his way back to Islington. The evening had to be spent at the hospital, but on his return Biffen sat waiting for him.
'You called about twelve, didn't you?' the visitor inquired.
'Half-past.'
'I was at the police-court. Odd thing--but it always happens so-- that I should have spoken of Sykes the other night. Last night I came upon a crowd in Oxford Street, and the nucleus of it was no other than Sykes himself very drunk and disorderly, in the grip of two policemen. Nothing could be done for him; I was useless as bail; he e'en had to sleep in the cell. But I went this morning to see what would become of him. Such a spectacle when they brought him forward! It was only five shillings fine, and to my astonishment he produced the money. I joined him outside--it required a little courage--and had a long talk with him. He's writing a London Letter for some provincial daily, and the first payment had thrown him off his balance.'
Reardon laughed gaily, and made inquiries about the eccentric gentleman. Only when the subject was exhausted did he speak of his own concerns, relating quietly what he had learnt from Mrs Yule. Biffen's eyes widened.
'So,' Reardon cried with exultation, 'there is the last burden off my mind! Henceforth I haven't a care! The only thing that still troubled me was my inability to give Amy enough to live upon. Now she is provided for in secula seculorum. Isn't this grand news?'
'Decidedly. But if she is provided for, so are you.'
'Biffen, you know me better. Could I accept a farthing of her money? This has made our coming together again for ever impossible, unless--unless dead things can come to life. I know the value of money, but I can't take it from Amy.'
The other kept silence.
'No! But now everything is well. She has her child, and can devote herself to bringing the boy up. And I--but I shall be rich on my own account. A hundred and fifty a year; it would be a farce to offer Amy her share of it. By all the gods of Olympus, we will go to Greece together, you and I!'
'Pooh!'
'I swear it! Let me save for a couple of years, and then get a good month's holiday, or more if possible, and, as Pallas Athene liveth! we shall find ourselves at Marseilles, going aboard some boat of the Messageries. I can't believe yet that this is true. Come, we will have a supper to-night. Come out into Upper Street, and let us eat, drink, and be merry!'
'You are beside yourself. But never mind; let us rejoice by all means. There's every reason.'
'That poor girl! Now, at last, she'll be at ease.'
'Who?'
'Amy, of course! I'm delighted on her account.
'Am I to plead in vain?'
'I regret very much that I can't possibly do as you wish. It is all between Amy and myself. Interference by other people cannot do any good.'
'I am sorry you should use such a word as "interference,"' replied Mrs Yule, bridling a little. 'Very sorry, indeed. I confess it didn't occur to me that my good-will to you could be seen in that light.'
'Believe me that I didn't use the word offensively.'
'Then you refuse to take any step towards a restoration of good feeling?'
'I am obliged to, and Amy would understand perfectly why I say so.'
His earnestness was so unmistakable that Mrs Yule had no choice but to rise and bring the interview to an end. She commanded herself sufficiently to offer a regretful hand.
'I can only say that my daughter is very, very unfortunate.'
Reardon lingered a little after her departure, then left the hospital and walked at a rapid pace in no particular direction.
Ah! if this had happened in the first year of his marriage, what more blessed man than he would have walked the earth! But it came after irreparable harm. No amount of wealth could undo the ruin caused by poverty.
It was natural for him, as soon as he could think with deliberation, to turn towards his only friend. But on calling at the house in Clipstone Street he found the garret empty, and no one could tell him when its occupant was likely to be back. He left a note, and made his way back to Islington. The evening had to be spent at the hospital, but on his return Biffen sat waiting for him.
'You called about twelve, didn't you?' the visitor inquired.
'Half-past.'
'I was at the police-court. Odd thing--but it always happens so-- that I should have spoken of Sykes the other night. Last night I came upon a crowd in Oxford Street, and the nucleus of it was no other than Sykes himself very drunk and disorderly, in the grip of two policemen. Nothing could be done for him; I was useless as bail; he e'en had to sleep in the cell. But I went this morning to see what would become of him. Such a spectacle when they brought him forward! It was only five shillings fine, and to my astonishment he produced the money. I joined him outside--it required a little courage--and had a long talk with him. He's writing a London Letter for some provincial daily, and the first payment had thrown him off his balance.'
Reardon laughed gaily, and made inquiries about the eccentric gentleman. Only when the subject was exhausted did he speak of his own concerns, relating quietly what he had learnt from Mrs Yule. Biffen's eyes widened.
'So,' Reardon cried with exultation, 'there is the last burden off my mind! Henceforth I haven't a care! The only thing that still troubled me was my inability to give Amy enough to live upon. Now she is provided for in secula seculorum. Isn't this grand news?'
'Decidedly. But if she is provided for, so are you.'
'Biffen, you know me better. Could I accept a farthing of her money? This has made our coming together again for ever impossible, unless--unless dead things can come to life. I know the value of money, but I can't take it from Amy.'
The other kept silence.
'No! But now everything is well. She has her child, and can devote herself to bringing the boy up. And I--but I shall be rich on my own account. A hundred and fifty a year; it would be a farce to offer Amy her share of it. By all the gods of Olympus, we will go to Greece together, you and I!'
'Pooh!'
'I swear it! Let me save for a couple of years, and then get a good month's holiday, or more if possible, and, as Pallas Athene liveth! we shall find ourselves at Marseilles, going aboard some boat of the Messageries. I can't believe yet that this is true. Come, we will have a supper to-night. Come out into Upper Street, and let us eat, drink, and be merry!'
'You are beside yourself. But never mind; let us rejoice by all means. There's every reason.'
'That poor girl! Now, at last, she'll be at ease.'
'Who?'
'Amy, of course! I'm delighted on her account.