FACE TO FACE
"You are getting on," Connie cried, "after a time you will become a
Radical. Already you are fast forgetting the caste of Vere de Vere,
especially after your visit to the pawnbroker's yesterday. Tell me,
did you feel very much afraid?"
"Well, no, I didn't," Mary laughed. "It was not such a dreadful
experience after all. You see, I had the face of our landlady before
my eyes. I tried to think of nothing but the fact that we had another
night out of doors before us. I don't believe I even trembled as I
placed a diamond ring on the counter and asked a loan of five pounds
on it. Perhaps I was just a little afraid of being given in custody on
a charge of dealing with stolen goods. Ah! the glow of satisfaction
when I found that money in my pocket! Will you believe me, Connie
dear, I was thinking nothing about myself, but about you and Grace.
And when I got back here and saw your faces it was the happiest moment
in my life."
Connie kissed the speaker affectionately. She was genuinely touched,
though she did not care to own it. She pointed to the brushes and
paints on the table.
"Well, don't be prodigal," she said. "I've managed to get you five
hundred cards to paint and they will take you a whole week. And now
I'll go and find some fresh work to do. Thanks to Mrs. Speed's exit, I
have lost my _Wheezer_ job. As the drawings were not on time I've been
told that I need not ask for any more work. It is such a pity, because
it was such regular, steady employment."
Connie spoke lightly, but Mary could see she felt it. She painted on
at her cards till nearly luncheon-time, until her back ached and her
fingers were almost too stiff to hold a brush. But there was peace and
contentment in her heart, a feeling of happiness and gladness that she
had never felt before. She took a glass of milk and a bun presently,
and then put on her hat to go as far as Mrs. Speed's. Though the
promised telegram had been sent, the necessary boxes had not turned up
yet. And Mary was getting anxious. She would go and fetch the boxes;
in the circumstances, the luxury of a cab would be justified.
Mary swung along the street with a free step and a sense of joyful
elation. She had not gone far before somebody touched her lightly on
the shoulder. She started and turned to find herself face to face with
Ralph Darnley. He looked bronzed and well. The tan on his handsome
face brought with it a whiff of the country. There was no mistaking
the genuine pleasure that shone in his eyes as he held Mary's hand in
his.
"I called at your rooms," he said, "and they told me that you had just
gone out. I followed quickly with wonderful luck. Where are you
going?"
"Off to the wilds of North London," Mary laughed. She felt a strange
sense of gladness in the presence of Ralph; a certain shy happiness
possessed her. "Our late landlady went off with our boxes. We had to
sleep out the night before last."
"So Lady Dashwood told me," Ralph replied. "It must have been a
dreadful experience. And yet you look very well and happy, Mary."
The girl laughed in a shy kind of way.
"I really believe I am," she confessed. "Mind you, it was very
dreadful at first. I felt so utterly lost and sad that I very nearly
came back and proclaimed my defeat."
"At the expense of the family pride?" Ralph laughed.
"Yes," Mary said quietly with a flush on her face. "I am coming to the
conclusion that the family pride is a great mistake. It made me so
cold and self-contained. I never seemed to know what it was to have
sympathy for anybody. To be a Dashwood is a great thing, of course.
But there are far higher and nobler aims. Those two girls I live with
made me thoroughly ashamed of myself. They are ladies who get their
own living by art work--but, of course, you know all about Connie
Colam. What a nature she has!"
"One of the noblest in the world," Ralph said quietly. "Mary, I hoped
that you would grow like her. I hoped that her example would be a
benefit to you. With your beauty and her disposition, you would be one
of the most perfect women that God ever made. Ah, the man will be
lucky indeed who calls Connie Colam his wife."
Mary assented warmly enough, and yet at the same time she was
conscious of just a tinge of passing jealousy at the high praise of
her friend. Ralph had told her all along that he loved her, that there
was no other girl in the world for him. Had her coldness killed that
love? Then she told herself that it did not matter, seeing that the
affection was not returned in the way that Ralph meant. All the same,
she could not rid herself of the impression that such a thing would
take all the light out of her life, and leave her alone and desolate
indeed.
"Connie thinks very highly of you," she said shyly.
"That is very good of her," Ralph replied with something like a sigh,
"but we are too good friends ever to care for each other in any other
way. Still, she is doing you good, Mary. There is something about you
that I can't describe, some subtle change for the better. I never
noticed till now that you had such a sweet and tender smile and there
is a thrill in your voice that makes you pure and womanly. My
experiment has been a success."
"What experiment is that?" Mary asked innocently.
"What am I saying?" Ralph laughed. "I have a confession to make later,
but it is not the time to go into that. It is good to be by your side
again, listening to your voice. Now, tell me all that you are doing."
Mary did not need to be asked. She fairly bubbled over with delight.
The deep thrill that Ralph had noticed in her voice touched him and
caused a chord to throb in response. It seemed almost impossible to
believe that this was the Mary of the old days, the proud, distant
creature whose head was in the clouds contemplating the glory of the
family. She was tender and warm and confiding, and the flush on her
face gave the one thing needed to make her fair and radiant beauty
complete. _This_ was the girl that Ralph loved, the woman of his
fondest dreams. He felt as if he could walk by her side for ever.
"But you will think me conceited," she said presently; "I have talked
of nothing but myself for half an hour or more. Please do not laugh at
me."
"Certainly not," Ralph said indignantly. "I have no intention of
laughing at you, Mary. It is a positive joy to me to hear you talking
like this! And so there are better, truer things than the Dashwood
pride and the family pedigree. You have seen what noble womanhood can
do for itself, what a dignified thing honest labour is. Do you
remember what I said to you the night that you came to London, Mary?"
"I recollect," Mary whispered softly. "You prophesied for me. You said
that I should be better and purer for the sacrifice. You said that I
should see life as it is, and learn what a poor thing the family glory
was by the side of humanity. And I have learned the lesson, Ralph, I
am quite content now to work for my living; I am trying to forget
Dashwood and all its glories. Why, I have even become accustomed to
London bread and butter."
The girl burst into a merry laugh in which Ralph joined from pure
sympathy. Here was the model wife for which he had been looking.
"That is important," he said, "but there is another lesson that I am
anxious about. You have become a child of the people now, a recruit in
the great army of labour. But with your new womanhood has there not
come another and sweeter dream to you, Mary? Have you not pictured
someone by your side to help in the struggle?"
The girl's face flushed crimson, but she bravely met Ralph's eyes.
"Yes," she said frankly, "we were only talking about it last night.
Oh, I have gone a long way indeed since I saw you last."
"That is good to hear. And when the right man comes along you will not
refuse him simply because he does not have a long pedigree?"
"Please do not say too much about it," Mary pleaded. "If you only knew
how dreadfully ashamed you make me feel! As if it mattered, as if
anything mattered, so long as the woman loved the man and he was
worthy of her affection. There, Ralph, do you need me to say any more
than that! A man does not need a long pedigree or a fine estate to be
a gentleman. But, really, you are making me false to my creed, and I
shall not tell you anything else till I have seen Mrs. Speed. This is
the house. Will you wait outside?"
"Certainly not," Ralph said, "I have something to say to Mrs. Speed as
well as you. You will perhaps be surprised to hear that she is an old
friend of my father's. Come along."
Mrs. Speed came up from the kitchen very hot and very red, and
inclined to be angry at being disturbed at this time of the day. She
began to explain volubly to Mary why the boxes had not yet been sent
off. In the hall a man was calling for the landlady. She broke off in
her exclamations and stared at Ralph. She seemed terribly agitated,
her face grew white, her eyes astonished, as Ralph held out his hand.
"A ghost!" she said, "a ghost from the grave. And yet it could not be;
after all these years, it is impossible that the form of--well, what
is it?"
The man in the hall came swaggering into the room. He glanced at
Ralph, and would have vanished had not the latter detained him.
"This is an unexpected meeting," he said. "I did not expect to see you
here so far away from home, Sir Vincent Dashwood."
"Sir Vincent Dashwood!" Mrs. Speed cried. "Then who, sir, are _you_,
I'd like to know?"