WITHOUT the house the wind was blusteringly bringing down the few leaves that remained on the trees skirting the north side of the park, and occasionally beating in a solid mass against the sides and windows of the house, or playing with undulating shrieks round the chimney-pots. The air was filled with a mighty rustling that drowned the distant rumble of traffic, never ceasing in this our city. Without the house the air was grey with twilight, and hazy yellow high up around the street lamps. The year was reluctantly tottering through its last sixth of life, and the boisterous winds shrieked in derision at its decline. But within the house calm was on everything, even the sound of the wind without hardly made itself heard, and certainly did not drown the tick of the great old Dutch-cased clock in the passage. In the drawing-room all was darkness and quiet save where the coals cast a glow on to the red tilework of the open fireplace. A young girl, standing before the fire with her elbows on her hands, was gazing at the dim reflection of her face, lit up by the red fire below, in the great glass over the mantelpiece — gazing with the lazy satisfaction of one who feels happy in her connections with the world in general, cosy in her immediate surroundings, and contented with the occasional glimpses that she caught of her face in the glass when jets of flame stole out from the red mass of coal, causing a little more light for an instant. And the tenor of her thoughts was this: —

‘Yes, I do think I’m really pretty — at least by this light I seem quite beautiful — but it may be the light that does it, and I suppose I
am
apt to look at myself with an indulgent eye, and only from the side of my face which looks best. I know sometimes when I am getting up in the morning, before I am quite dressed, and I happen to catch a glimpse of my face in the glass, from the left-hand side at the top, it quite makes my heart fall for a moment when I see how hard my face looks, and then I spend some minutes until I get the best position, where it looks
really
pretty, and I think to myself I will always keep that side of my face towards people when I am speaking to them; but somehow, when I
do
see somebody, I always forget about it. But, oh dear! how dreadfully vain I am getting. Only, I do wish I knew whether people think I’m handsome or not — that is, I don’t care so much about
people
, other people, it’s Clem really I mean. I hope
he
thinks I’m pretty; at any rate he says he does, and I don’t think he’d do that unless he meant it. Oh dear! I wish I was a man! Men don’t need to bother about their looks; at least it doesn’t go for so much as it does with us — like Clem, now. He isn’t so
very
handsome, though he is, too, but it’s more in his expression or — No, it’s not that that makes me love him so. It’s — well, I don’t know what it is exactly. I wonder why he loves me, unless he thinks me really pretty — it can’t be for money, because I haven’t got any. He has it all; in fact I sometimes wish he weren’t so rich, because it looks as if I were scheming to catch him. But I’m sure it isn’t so; at least, of course, I do
want
him, but it isn’t for his money. I wonder why he doesn’t come. I’ve never known him to be so late before. There’s six striking. That must be a cab stopping at the door. I hope it’s him. Oh dear! I wish I was sure it was, then I’d go down and open the door, but it might be a stranger. I can’t understand why it is that I always feel on edge when he’s coming, it’s just as if I didn’t believe he loved me. Oh, here’s Martha — what a time she’s been!’

The servant passed the drawing-room, and the girl sank into a chair in an ecstasy of expectation, listening with all her body. The maid’s step went along the passage, and then there was a second’s pause before the click of the lock. A great burst of sound swept the tumult from without into the house. The gas in the hall flickered wildly, and the pictures on the passage wall flung violently upwards and outwards with a series of crashes that seemed to threaten immediate destruction to their frames and glasses. The sound died away at the closing of the door as suddenly as it had arisen, and in the silence that ensued the girl heard a voice that made her heart leap say: ‘Miss Ryland in?’ and the servant answer demurely, ‘Yes, sir; she’s in the drawing-room.’

Then a moment’s pause as he took off his overcoat, and the door was pushed open from its position on the jar.

A man’s figure, standing out silhouette-wise against the brightness of the passage behind. His eyes were unaccustomed to the darkness, and the girl was sitting outside the circle of the fire’s red glow.

‘Are you here, Edith?’ he asked; but Edith made no answer, being for the moment in a teasing mood. ‘I suppose she’ll be coming in a minute,’ he continued aloud to himself, and he sat down on the sofa, for he knew the position of the furniture in the room, even though it was very dark. For some moments silence reigned supreme; but suddenly the fire shifted — a blaze of flame shot upwards. By its light the girl became plainly visible.

‘Why, you
were
there,’ the man said, and she laughed, merry at the success of her little trick.

‘Well, you
are
a lover,’ she said. ‘Why, anyone else would have said that my eyes were like stars, and that they felt my presence on the air.’

‘Oh, as to that,’ he answered, with a smile, ‘I wouldn’t compliment the stars by naming them in the same breath with your eyes — and as for feeling your presence on the air, I am always dreaming of you, and so I couldn’t really tell you were here, don’t you see?’

‘No, I don’t,’ she answered. ‘But I won’t have any explanations. I’m deeply offended. I’m going to take you severely to task for coming so late on my birthday — and you never even wished me many happy returns of the day.’

‘Well, but my dear little girl you never gave me time.’

‘Oh, nonsense,’ she answered. ‘I don’t believe you remembered about it at all — you shut yourself up in your horrid laboratory, and never come and see me more than twice a day, and then you’ve generally burnt an eyebrow off and turned one of your hands blue, and you
always
smell of tobacco and sulphuretted hydrogen. I believe you care a great deal more if one of your old experiments goes wrong than if you make me angry.’

‘You really are a stupid little chatterbox,’ he retorted, ‘and I’ve a good mind not to give you the present I’ve brought you if—’

‘Oh, have you got me a present? How nice; do let me see it.’

‘You’d better light a candle,’ he said. ‘How is it you’re all in the dark?’

‘Well, you see, that’s all your fault. I’ve been waiting for you ever since three o’clock, and somehow I’ve not been in the mood for practising, or anything, and I just sat still and waited, so you see you’ve wasted my whole afternoon.’

‘I don’t see what
I
had to do with your not practising, at all events.’

‘Well, firstly, I wasn’t in the right mood, and then I couldn’t set to and practise when you might be coming in and interrupting me at any moment, don’t you see? I can’t find any matches, and you haven’t got any, of course, when they’re wanted. I shall have to light it at the fire, then it’ll get all smutty.’ When the candle threw a little light on the scene she came towards him.

‘Now, let me look at your present,’ she said.

He drew a small object from his pocket and handed it to her. She held it to the light. It was a little bottle full of some dark fluid, and it had on it a great ‘Poison’ label.

‘Why, whatever is it?’ she asked, too startled to believe her eyes.

‘That is the result of five years’ constant experimenting and research. You are the only person in the world who possesses a drop of it,’ he answered as sententiously as he could.

‘But what
is
it?’ she asked again.

‘Oh, well, I’m not going to tell you just what it’s made of, because you are quite sure to go and tell someone, and then I should lose all the credit of the discovery. It is a vegetable poison as a matter of fact.’

‘But what a frightful thing to give me for a present!’

‘It’s one of the most powerful there is going, you know,’ he said conciliatorily.

‘It’s too horrible!’ was all she replied.’ Why, Professor Webb said, only this afternoon, that he considered you a most fortunate young lady to possess such a unique specimen. You know how old Webb speaks. He said, “Well, Hollebone, you are to be congratulated. I always did consider you my best pupil, though I don’t altogether approve of some of your work — but still, on the whole — on the whole I am satisfied with you, and I certainly will make you my assistant professor when my present one leaves, which will not be for some years, I am afraid — but if you are still then of the same mind you shall have the post, and when I die you will have the professorship, if
I
have any influence in the university, though I can’t see what a rich young fellow like you can want with a professorship. However, I suppose it’s your hobby, and you must have something to keep you employed.” So, you see, there is at least someone who can see the merits of my discovery. But you seem rather disappointed with my present.’

‘Oh, no, I’m not,’ she said, with a little sigh of resignation that belied her words, ‘only a poison is such a nasty thing to think of. It’s just as if you wanted me to commit suicide. However, of course, it’s awfully clever of you to have discovered it, and I’m very proud of you — only, a poison is hardly worth the trouble.’

He smiled.

‘Ah, I thought you wouldn’t appreciate my talents, and so it was best to be on the safe side. Just go out into the hall and bring in the parcel that’s there for you.’

She did so, and returned carrying a violin case in her hand.

‘Why, it must be a fiddle,’ she said.

‘Open it and you’ll see,’ he answered.

She did so, and after having unswathed the silk handkerchief that covered it, displayed a violin.

‘Oh, my goodness, what a beauty it looks!’ she said delightedly. ‘Who is it by, I wonder?’ and she took it to the light and peered into the inside for the mark. Her eyes dilated with wonder a second after.

‘Why, Clem,’ she said, ‘it can’t be a
real
Strad?’

‘I don’t know what else it can be, then,’ was Clem’s answer. ‘Here’s its pedigree for you from the very day it was made.’

‘Oh, but, Clem,’ she said, ‘it’s like a dream. But you must have ruined yourself to get it. Oh, you are a dear boy — only, I don’t know how to thank you.’

‘Why, Edie, you needn’t thank me — it’s I that shall have the pleasure when you play to me, don’t you see, so I’m really selfish — and as to expense, why, I don’t spend a tenth of my income, and what’s the use of money if one doesn’t spend it.’

Just then a knock came at the street door and cut short the conversation.

‘That must be Julia come back,’ she said.

‘Where has she been?’ he asked.

‘Oh, I don’t know. She was going out to see about a concert dress for our tour. You know what a tease she is. She said she was going to be in to lunch, in order not to let us be alone for a moment, just because she knows I’ve got such a lot of private things to say to you. That is certainly one of the drawbacks of setting up housekeeping with another girl if she’s a tease.’

‘Well, but what have you got so very private to tell me? I haven’t heard any of it as yet.’

‘Oh, it’s just things,’ she answered. ‘Here’s Martha come to answer the door.’

In a moment the lady called Julia entered. She seemed as if she brought some of the breeze from outside into the quietness of the room as she came in.

‘Oh, here you are, Mr Hollebone.’ she said; ‘seems an age since I saw you last — must be quite twenty-four hours. Edie’s been fretting so, you can’t think. She thought you’d deserted her. Now, when I have a young man I make him come round five times a day as long as his money lasts, and then I jilt him — don’t I, Edie?’

‘Sure I don’t know, Jujube. I never saw any of your young men so I can’t say,’ she answered.

‘Well, I tell you what, Idiot — by-the-bye that’s a new pun — Edie-ot, don’t you see? Just suits you!’

BOOK: Delphi Works of Ford Madox Ford (Illustrated)

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