"If she's really ill," said the girl, "don't tell him anything about the key. He can hear it all, later on. And n.o.body at Praed Street knows anything about the affair."

Bulpert declined to escort Miss Rabbit to her omnibus, and, in spite of hints from Mrs. Mills, remained when all the other guests had departed.

He took opportunity to criticize the management of the evening, and to deplore the fact that his services had not been utilized. Making an estimate of the total cost, he again referred to his suggestion in regard to a series of similar entertainments later on.

"If you find you can afford it," agreed Gertie.

"If I can afford it!" he echoed surprisedly. "There's no question of me affording it. Why don't you talk sense? You'll be earning the same good salary after we're spliced as you're earning at the present moment."

"No!" she answered definitely. "When I'm married I give up work at Great t.i.tchfield Street."

"Why, of course," agreed Mrs. Mills. "She'll have her home duties to attend to."

Bulpert stared at the two separately. Then he rose, pulled at his waistcoat, and went without speaking a word.

"He's took the precaution," remarked Sarah, coming in to clear, as a bang sounded below, "to shut the door after him."

Mrs. Mills, reviewing the party, and expressing the hope that all had enjoyed themselves, mentioned that Miss Rabbit in the course of the evening made a statement to her which had, apparently, been weighing on the lady's mind. Miss Rabbit reproached herself for giving wrong information in regard to the stability of the firm of Hilbert, and begged Mrs. Mills would explain. In her own phrase she tried to out Gertie, and as this had not come off, her suggestion was that bygones should be considered as bygones, and nothing more said about the matter.

"It isn't such a bad world," decided Mrs. Mills, "if you only come to look at it in a good light."

CHAPTER X.

Gertie's sympathy with the invalid of Morden Place found itself slightly diminished on Monday morning. The front room had not yet been restored to its normal state, and Mrs. Mills, before rising to start the boy with his delivery of morning newspapers, had given a brief lecture on the drawback of excessive ambition, the advisability of not going on to Land's End when you but held a ticket for Westbourne Park.

Ten minutes later she brought upstairs an important-looking envelope that bore her name and address in handwriting which left just the s.p.a.ce for the stamp, and Mrs. Mills speculated on the probable contents of the communication until Gertie made the useful suggestion that the envelope should be opened. Mrs. Mills, after reading the letter, flung herself upon the bed and, her head resting on the pillow, sobbed hysterically.

Lady Dougla.s.s wrote near the telegram instructions "Private," and, to ensure perfect secrecy, underlined the word three times. Nevertheless, Gertie read it without hesitation, and her first impression was one of regard for the writer's ingenuity. Lady Dougla.s.s feared some rumours might have reached Praed Street concerning the behaviour of Miss Higham during the brief stay at Ewelme; unable to rid her mind of this, she was sending a note to a.s.sure Mrs. Mills that no grounds whatever existed for the statements. She, herself, had taken great trouble to keep the incident quiet, and could not understand how it had become public property. She hoped Mrs. Mills would believe that Miss Higham had been guilty of nothing more than a want of discretion, natural enough in a girl of her age, and, if Lady Dougla.s.s might be allowed to say so, her position in life. Lady Dougla.s.s felt it only right to send this note, and hoped her motives would be understood.

"Her motives are clear enough," agreed Gertie. "What I can't quite make out is why she should take so much trouble in going for me. I'm out of her way, and I shan't get into her way again. What more does she want?"

"I'd no idea," wailed her aunt, "that there'd been anything amiss. Of course, I knew you came back Sunday night instead of Monday morning, but you hinted that was because of Clarence. What are the facts, dear?"

Particulars given, Mrs. Mills changed her att.i.tude, both of body and of mind, and announced an intention of starting at once to have it out with her ladyship. A good straight talking to, that was what my lady required, with plain language which included selection of home truths, and Mrs. Mills flattered herself she was the very woman to undertake the task. To this Gertie offered several determined objections.

First, Henry's sister-in-law was ill; second, she had endured trouble, and was not perhaps quite herself; third, the incident was ended, and there would be nothing useful in raking up the past. Mrs. Mills listened to the arguments, and agreed to subst.i.tute a new resolution--namely, that a reply was to be written couched in terms which could not be charged with the defect of ambiguity.

"I shan't help you with the spelling," declared the girl.

"Somehow or other," complained Mrs. Mills, "you always seem to manage to get everything your own way."

"Not always."

One gratifying result of the evening party came in the fact that Bulpert decreased his visits. For two or three weeks he absented himself from Praed Street; and Mrs. Mills approved this, mentioning as one of the reasons, that it was not wise for an engaged couple to have too much of each other's company. When he did call, Mrs. Mills reported of him that he appeared to have something on his mind; he left before Gertie arrived, and without disclosing the nature of the burden.

As a rule, it happened at Great t.i.tchfield Street that one good contract was followed by a slack period, when the difficulty was to find sufficient work to keep all hands going. But here and now, a high authority ordered some alteration in the uniform of certain of His Majesty's officers of the army, and either Madame or Miss Higham was called frequently to Pall Mall; and, in a brief period, all the outworkers were again busy: Great t.i.tchfield Street found itself so fully occupied that the girls had no time to recall songs learned at the second house of their favourite music hall. Into the hum and activity of this busy hive came, one evening, Madame's husband, making his way to the office where Madame and Miss Higham faced each other at sloping desks. He began to shout; it was clear that on the way from King's Road he had been taking refreshment to encourage determination.

When he raised his fist, Gertie stepped forward.

"Miss Higham," said Madame calmly, "I wish you would just run downstairs and fetch a policeman."

Madame's husband instantly showed a diminution of aggressiveness. All he wanted was fair play and reasonable treatment. If there did not happen to be a five-pound note handy, gold would do; failing gold, he must, of course, be content with silver.

"You will go out of this place at once," ordered Madame, in an even voice; "and as a punishment for disobeying my orders, I shall not give you a single penny all this week. I know very well what you want money for. I know what you do with money when I give it to you."

"Impossible to discuss these matt'rs with you," he said, with an effort at haughtiness. "Purely private 'fairs."

"If it wasn't for the business here," she went on, "I think you'd succeed in driving me mad. This just saves me. I'm not going to allow you to interfere with it, and if you dare to come here again, I shall most certainly lock you up. Now be off with you."

Mr. Digby Jacks wept, and, at the doorway, threatened to drown himself in the Thames. In the Thames, just to the right of Cleopatra's Needle.

"I wish you would."

"Shan't, now," he retorted sulkily, "just in order to dis'point you.

You're cruel woman, and some day you'll realize it and be sorry. Goo'

night, and be hanged to you."

Gertie congratulated Madame upon her firmness, and the other admitted the situation was one not easy to handle. For if, she explained, money had been given, then he would have absented himself from Jubilee Place for a week; as it was, he would be absent for a s.p.a.ce of two or three days. Gertie expressed surprise at this behaviour, and Madame said it was almost bound to happen where the wife earned an income, and the husband gained none. By rights, it should be the other way about, and then there was a fair prospect of happiness. Madame counselled the girl to be careful not to imitate the example; Gertie replied that she had long since made up her mind on this point.

"But why don't you get rid of him?" she inquired.

"Because I've left it too long. Besides, I'm too old to get anybody else."

"Surely you'd be better off alone?"

"No, I shouldn't," answered Madame promptly. "What do you make the proper total, my dear, of that account Miss Rabbit made a muddle of?"

Within her experience it had sometimes happened that Gertie, on the way home, found herself spoken to by a stranger; this rarely occurred, because she walked with briskness, and refrained from glancing at other pedestrians. (Generally the intruder was a youth anxious to make or sustain a reputation for gallantry, and he accepted the sharp rebuff with docility.) But news came from Miss Loriner that Lady Dougla.s.s, after years of the luxury of imagining herself in delicate health, was now genuinely ill, and Henry went down from town each evening by a late train to make inquiries, returning in the morning. Miss Loriner added that some of Lady Dougla.s.s's indisposition might be due to the fact that the executors were hinting at the eventual necessity of taking out probate in regard to Sir Mark's will; this done, a considerable change in affairs was inevitable. In consequence of the information, Gertie could not avoid looking about her in the vague hope of encountering Henry; she wanted to see him, although she knew a meeting would only disturb and confuse. She waited outside the street door after business was over, gazing up and down before making a start for home, and it occurred frequently that a short man of middle age moved a few steps towards her, and stopped; later, in turning out of Portland Place, she observed he was following. Once he came so close that she expected to hear a whining voice complain of s.p.a.ce of time since the last meal, and having the superst.i.tion that casual charity appeased the G.o.ds, she found some coppers; but he fell back, and did not speak. It was at the close of a trying day when the representative of a firm had called, in Madame's absence, to have what he described in a preface as a jolly, thundering good row, which finished by an endeavour on his part to indicate apology by stroking Miss Higham's hand--on this night, Gertie, less composed than usual, again caught sight, in crossing Great Portland Street, of the short man. He turned. She, also turning, met him in the centre of the roadway.

"Do you want to speak to me?" she demanded sharply.

"Not specially," he answered, in a husky voice.

"Then why do you so often follow me about?"

"I hope I don't cause you any ill convenience; if so be as I do, I'll stop it at once."

"That's all right," said Gertie, impressed by his deferential manner.

"Only it seemed to me rather odd. And just now my nerves are somewhat jerky." He touched his cap, and was shuffling off, when she recalled him. "Stroll along with me, and let's have a talk. What do you do for a living?"

"Sure you don't mind being seen with me?" he asked.

"We'll go up Great Portland Street, and you can say 'good-bye' when we reach the underground station."

He b.u.t.toned his well-worn frock coat, gave himself a brisk punch on the chest, and with every indication of pride, accompanied her, keeping, however, slightly to the rear. Gertie repeated her question, and he replied it was not easy to explain how he gained a livelihood; odd jobs, was perhaps the best answer he could give. Warning her not to be frightened, he gave the information that he had spent fifteen years of his life in prison. Did he begin young, then? No, that was the curious part about it. He had little thought of starting the game until, in one week, he lost his wife and, through the failure of a firm, his employment. Then it seemed to him nothing mattered, and another out-of-work made a suggestion, and he fell into it, was caught, and his friend managed to get away.

"When I came out," he went on, "I found I'd lost all respect for myself, and I a.s.sumed everybody else had lost all respect for me. I tell you, it isn't a hard task to go down in this world. I've no business to complain, but there it is; plenty can help you in that direction, but there's very few capable of a.s.sisting you to pick yourself up."

"It's not too late to make a change."