Mary of Marion Isle

Chapter X A Meeting

When Andrew said that he wanted breakfast he told rather an awkward fib since some had been served on the train, enough for him at any rate, who was at no time a great eater. What he really wanted was to get away from Cavendish Square and the discussion of subjects that he found unpleasant.

Once outside the house he reflected as to what he should do next. Of course, his desire and impulse were to fly on the wings of the wind, or rather of a cab, to Red Hall, Whitechapel. Only he remembered that Rose was nearly always out in the morning, shopping he supposed, as was her father. Also it would be seemly to prepare her for his arrival, lest it should give her a shock and cause her to say something before others which afterwards she might regret.

There was a further reason. It was his duty—as may have been gathered, Andrew had a great idea of duty—to report himself at once to Somerville Black, which was easy, as he lived so near. First, however, he went to a telegraph office and despatched two wires, one addressed Watson, so that anyone could open it, and the other Josky. Their contents, with the alteration of a single word, were identical. The first ran: "Back from Egypt. Coming to tea." The second: "Back from Egypt. Coming to dinner." Both of them were signed "Andrew West" although he remembered with irritation that no longer was this his designation. Also each was exactly twelve words long, and therefore, as he reflected with satisfaction, would go for sixpence. For Andrew had already made up his mind that he would get nothing out of his inheritance and therefore must practise economy for Rose's sake. Then he walked on to Harley Street where, as it was now past eleven, he expected to find Black ready to receive his fashionable patients, who generally began to arrive to consult him at that hour.

As it happened, the butler, Tomkins, being absent for some reason, the door was opened by a maid who knew Andrew, although of her he had very vague recollections.

"Doctor in?" he asked.

"No, Sir," was the answer. "Having only returned last night he has no appointments till after lunch. He has gone out to see some special case, but I expect he will be back soon."

"All right," said Andrew, "I will wait for him," and walked straight into the consulting–room, closing the door behind him.

Here, for lack of anything better to do, he sat down at Black's desk and began to examine the case–book which lay upon the table, trying to pick up details concerning various patients with whom he had been connected before he left for Egypt. Soon he became absorbed in this research, tracing them forward from page to page, and sighing when he found entered on a certain date against the name of a young lady who had interested him—"Died. Heart failure."

So absorbed was he that he never heard the door open, or a woman enter softly. Now this room faced east and the May sun being very strong early that morning, the blinds had been drawn and not yet pulled up again, although by now the sun was off the windows. Therefore to anyone coming in from the bright light without, the place was for a little while almost dark. Thus it happened that Rose, for it was she, seeing a man seated in Dr. Black's chair engaged in the study of Dr. Black's manuscript book, concluded not unnaturally that it was Dr. Black.

"Oh! my dear," she exclaimed, "are you back already. How delightful!"

Andrew, hearing the voice which had been echoing through his dreams for months and ravished by this affectionate greeting, forgetting also that it was odd it should have been offered to him in this house and room, sprang from the chair. In the enthusiasm and rapture of the moment he did more, for seeing before him a particularly lovely and fragrant Rose, arrayed in charming summer apparel, without a word he swept her into his arms and kissed her passionately.

At what exact period in these proceedings Rose became aware of her mistake he never learned. At any rate, probably through surprise, she allowed them to go on without interruption, till he released her indeed in order to use his lips for their more common purpose of speech. Then she said, with a kind of gasp and trembling all over:

"Oh! you mustn't. Andrew, you must never do that again."

"Why—why not?" he asked blankly.

"Oh!—didn't you know? I wrote a letter to Justice Street to tell you—because—because I am married."

"Married!" he said, sinking back into the chair, which was one of the variety that wheels round. "Married! Oh, I am mad or dreaming—or in hell. What do you mean? To whom are you married?"

"To—to—Doctor Black," she gasped.

"Then you are a devil," he replied, "and a―" Here a word came to his lips which he did not utter, although she guessed it quickly enough.

"Don't, don't!" she exclaimed. "Can't you understand?"

"No," replied Andrew, "I can't. I understand nothing except that I wish I were dead."

She put her hands before her face as though to shut out the sight of his burning and indignant eyes. Thus she did not see, who from her position in the room alone could do so, the door, which was not latched, swing open and that Dr. Black, who had let himself into the house immediately after her, was standing in the doorway like a picture in a frame. Nor did she hear him, since on the thick carpet his feet were noiseless. Andrew, too, neither heard nor saw anything, for his senses seemed to be shrivelled in a flame of agony.

"You are a traitress," he went on in a heavy voice; "you have betrayed me. You have broken my heart and ruined my life, and never again shall I be able to believe in any woman. Tell me before we part, why did you do it? Did you fall in love with him, or were you forced into it? Oh! say that you were forced."

"It was such a good match for me," she murmured confusedly, "as I was unhappy at home where Arabella seems to have taken possession of my father and the whole place, and I—I confess it—I am fond of nice things such as you could never have afforded to give me, and liked to be a great lady with a position."

Andrew smiled grimly and went on:

"Thank you. I understand that. Now one other question and I will trouble you no more—for ever. Did you never care for me at all? Did your kisses and the lock of hair you gave me and all the talk of our getting married at the end of a year mean nothing? Were you all the time fonder of Doctor Black than of me? Was I just the second string to your bow?"

"No, no! You are the only man I ever had any feeling for, and oh! I have it still. I thought it would go away after I was married, but it doesn't and—I—I—hate marriage. Don't reproach me, for I can't bear it, Andrew. You see, he was so fond of me; he doted on me, as they say old men sometimes do on girls, and I thought that he had love enough for both of us. And I have told you, it was such a good match that I didn't seem able to give it up to become the wife of a struggling young doctor, who wasn't even a man of family, as you told me yourself before you went to Egypt. There, I shouldn't say these things to you, but I can't help it because I know, dear Andrew, that we shall never see each other again and it is my last chance of speaking. Don't be bitter against me and don't think I didn't care for you in my way, if you remember me at all in after life."

Andrew laughed drearily, and answered:

"It seems that we are both of us on the rocks, so it is of no use now to blame the steering. You poor girl! I wonder which of us is more to blame, I for believing, or you for deceiving. I suppose we shall know one day. Meanwhile, with ordinary luck life is a longish road and in the course of it I hope that one forgets many things. Still, it seems hard that this should have happened at its beginning, since God and I alone know how I loved you, Rose. You could never understand; you are not of that sort, if it exists. Well, I'm glad we kissed again before I found out that you were a married woman. It will be something to remember, for at any rate I shan't forget that. Good–bye, again," and he began to grope round rather blindly for his hat, for his eyes were full of tears.

Then it was that the picture came out of its frame, or in other words Dr. Black walked into the room.

"Hullo!" he said with a kind of ghastly echo of his usual joviality. "So you are back from Egypt, Lord Atterton, and looking very well, though a bit tired. Have you congratulated our friend Andrew upon his accession to rank and fortune, Rose?"

She sank into a chair, ejaculating feebly:

"I don't understand what you mean."

"Don't you, my dear? Then I'll explain. It is very simple. Andrew's cousin is dead and his uncle, the millionaire, was buried yesterday—if you read the papers you would have seen. Therefore our mutual friend, the struggling young doctor, is now Lord Atterton. So you really should congratulate him."

Rose burst into subdued weeping and began to search for a pocket–handkerchief, which she could not find.

"Hullo! what's the matter?" went on the doctor. "Take this," and he dragged from the tail pocket of his professional frock–coat, where it was mixed up with a stethoscope, an enormous yellow silk bandana with a black border, which he handed to her politely. "Look here," he went on, "I'm not given to eavesdropping as a rule; it is out of my line, who have always been a straightforward sort of party, a mere common man of no family and therefore rather primitive. But I have been fortunate enough, quite accidentally, to overhear what passed between you two."

"Oh!" ejaculated Rose, while Andrew muttered something else.

"I say fortunate enough," went on the doctor, "because it is always well to have things cleared up and to know where you are. I never could bear fogs, in which one is so apt to take wrong turnings."

"Please!" said Rose, but her husband continued remorselessly:

"First of all, allow me to express my heartfelt sympathy with you young people, and, Andrew my boy, or rather my lord, accept from me the most earnest apologies of an honest man who quite unwittingly has done you a dreadful wrong."

"I suppose you didn't know," said Andrew.

"To think that I knew, Lord Atterton, would be to offer me an insult that I should neither forget nor forgive, although as an old man of the world and a Christian, at any rate in theory, I can forgive most things. No, I did not know. Once I suspected, however, from a hint that our tow–headed friend, Sister Angelica, gave me, that there was something between you two. So I went, as I always do, to the source and asked the young lady here who, unless my ears deceived me, assured me that I was quite mistaken."

Here Rose buried her face in the yellow bandana with the appropriate black border.

"After that," proceeded Black, "being too easily persuaded, as we are all apt to be under certain circumstances, things went on as they do between doting old men who are fools enough to set their hearts upon beautiful young women, for psychological reasons with which you, Andrew, being a doctor, will be well acquainted. You see, I never expected to be loved, but it occurred to me also that I might have enough of that commodity to serve for two with careful use and suitable trimmings, nice things, you know, like jewels, and carriages and the rest."

"Don't be hard," interrupted Andrew, his face twisting for the pain he knew Rose must feel.

"No, I don't want to be. A doctor who has studied human weaknesses for thirty–five years learns to make allowances and is surprised at nothing. But there it is. And now, my dear, suppose that you go and compose yourself. Don't think that I am going to come the heavy husband over you, although I admit that the mess is one which will take a little mopping up. I have too many frailties of my own to be severe on those of others, and I think that the greatest saying ever uttered was, 'Judge not that ye be not judged!'"

Rose got up and looked wildly, first at her husband and then at Andrew.

"You must both despise me," she gasped.

Andrew shook his head and Black answered:

"Oh no, no one despises a young woman for being weak, especially if she is very pretty. Only it should be a warning to you not to try to sit on two stools at once—much better to choose one of them and plant yourself firmly in the middle, especially if the legs are fairly sound. And now I think we have had enough of this conversation, although it has its humorous side. By the way, my dear, would you kindly have my things moved back into that room in which I used to sleep before I was remarried? If you don't know which it is, the housemaid will."

"Oh!" exclaimed Rose again, and fled wringing her hands.

"Poor girl," said the doctor, as he closed the door behind her. "She has brewed a nice pot of tea for the three of us; senna instead of tea–leaves, jalap instead of sugar and the water of jealousy for milk. We are all to be pitied, but she the most of us, I think."

"I suppose so," commented Andrew.

"Now look here, my boy," went on the doctor, "what are you going to do, about her, I mean? I gather that you are much attached to her, or were."

"Yes, she was all the world to me. I fell in love with her the first time I saw her, and so I suppose I must remain. I wish that I had died instead of my cousin."

"I shouldn't take it like that if I were you. There are lots of women in the world and not so much difference between them as one imagines. Now the question is, how much does she care for you?"

"Precious little, I imagine, or she wouldn't have done what she did."

"I am not certain. Girls are queer things and to some of them an immediate temptation, like that of easily gained wealth, may divert feelings which it by no means destroys. On the whole, however, I incline to agree that Rose is not a person of deep affections. I formed that opinion during our week's honeymoon, and what I have learned to–day tends to make me believe that it is true. I hope, too, that the converse also applies and that neither is she a person of deep dislikes."

"Anyway, there is nothing to be done," said Andrew.

"Oh! yes there is, if you have the pluck and can get over scruples. I am sorry to say I am fairly healthy for my age, so it is not likely that I shall oblige you both by dying, as the superfluous husband does in a novel. But if you can get over your scruples, and hers, if she has any, and have the courage to face the business, you might take her away. Most scandals can be lived down; in fact, this one would make you both rather interesting. They'd call it a romance, and in course of time you might marry."

"No, no," said Andrew. "Leaving you and myself out of the question, I could not tarnish Rose."

"Tarnish! Ah! that suggests all sorts of questions as to the real nature of virtue, doesn't it? Also as to whether marriage is really the philosopher's stone that turns other qualities, such as love of money, into gold. However, I respect you for the sentiment and advise you, under those circumstances, to keep as clear of her as possible, since there come moments with the best of men when they don't know what they are doing and their good resolutions burn up like a bit of paper."

"I agree," said Andrew. "I shall try never to see her again. It's a pity for quite different reasons, since I hoped that we might continue our professional association, which is now made impossible."

"Yes, and so did I, that is, if a lord can remain a struggling doctor. My word! what a lot of mischief women make with their ambitions and their fancies and their passions and their jealousies. If I had the ordering of the world, I'd blot them out of it altogether, or else leave them to live in it alone and take it out of one another."

"So would I," said Andrew, with conviction.

"Yes, just at present, but who knows—one of these days you may take different views, though after all they may end in the same conclusion. There was something to be said for those old hermits, though the life must have been trying, and even they couldn't get rid of their thoughts. If the truth were known I think there is more sin in thoughts than ever there is in deeds, for in thoughts we do everything we want. No man is really good until he has conquered his thoughts, and no woman either. Something like that has been pointed out on high authority, hasn't it?"

"Which means that goodness does not exist, since no one ever conquered his thoughts."

"Quite so. That's what we are taught in the Bible, isn't it—that all men are sinners? It doesn't mention women, doubtless because that goes without saying—a foregone conclusion. Lord! how bitter we are getting—an old fool and a young one, both of us fish landed by the same fair hand."

"That wanted neither of us, but only the half–shekel in the mouth of the second, which she didn't find in the first."

"Yes, Andrew, that's about it. But you see she lacked insight and perseverance. If she had cut Number One open, she'd have found a whole shekel inside him, stamped with a coronet. It's amazing she never knew. I wonder why the others didn't tell her. Perhaps they didn't know either, though I should have thought Arabella did. However, she is an odd bird, is Arabella, who has a way of keeping information to herself and—dash it! what does it all matter? The thing's finished. Both fish are on the plate—a hot one."

For a few seconds the two men stood opposite to each other and laughed drearily at this sardonic joke. Then Andrew said:

"Well, good–bye, I feel as though I wanted something to eat—or to drink."

"Exactly. Sorry that under the circumstances I can't ask you to stop to lunch. Indeed I think I am going out myself, to give things time to settle down a bit. What are you going to do? See about your inheritance, I suppose—register the title, or whatever happens upon those occasions."

"Curse my inheritance," said Andrew with vigour, "and for the matter of that, my cousin Clara has got most of it. The old man hated me like poison and thought that I had murdered his son to get his shoes."

"Did he? Did he indeed? Well, he was an unreasonable old beast; he ought to have been a woman. But what are you going to do?"

"I don't know. Work with Watson, I think, if he will have me."

"Then you will have to settle that with Arabella, for she's top–dog there now; at least, I believe so. I don't know much about her myself, for she's in such a rage with me that I daren't go near her. She wouldn't come to the church and declines to have anything to do with those whom God has joined together. Look here, my boy, to tell you the truth, I've grown fond of you and I hope we shall meet again sometimes, although we may remind each other of what we would rather forget."

"So do I," answered Andrew, whose respect and liking for Dr. Black had somehow come to bloom in this strange atmosphere of tragi–comic events. Perhaps a sense of mutual misfortune drew them together.

"I was thinking of starting a branch practice out Bayswater way, where I have a lot of wealthy patients. Perhaps you might take charge. There'd be lots of money in it. I will let you know about it later on. Anyway, you have been elected to that little club for which I put you down, and we might meet there and dine together sometimes, for they have a strict rule against the admission of women beyond the door–mat."

"Thanks," said Andrew vaguely, for just then a new wave of wretchedness and despair seemed to blot out his intelligence. "Good–bye."

"Good–bye," said Black, wringing his hand. "Oh! what an accursed fool I was not to ask you yourself instead of that poor girl!"

Then Andrew went.

When the front door had shut behind him the burly, good–hearted doctor sat down in the chair, pretending to study the case–book which Andrew had left open on the desk. Had there been any to watch him, they would have seen his face suddenly grow old, as though all in a minute age had seized upon his health and vigour.

"I should like to make an entry in this book, of a fresh patient. James Somerville Black, aged fifty–eight. Temperament sanguine. Nature rather too human for his years. Remarks. An infernal old fool who tried to play the part of a young man, and got what he deserved."

He ceased with the ghost of one of his hearty laughs, and presently, flop, flop, there fell two drops of water upon the white page of that book.

Such was the end of Dr. Black's little romance undertaken rather late in life.