Mr. Manners, the great contractor, sitting in his study at a table
spread with legal documents and papers relating to his vast
transactions, was informed by a man-servant that a stranger wished to
see him.
"Who is he?" inquired Mr. Manners.
"I don't know, sir."
"Did he not give you his name?"
"I asked him for it, sir, and he said you did not know him, but that
he came on very particular business, and must see you."
"Must!"
"That is what he said, sir."
Mr. Manners considered a moment. He had finished the writing upon
which he had been engaged, and had a few minutes' leisure.
"What kind of man?"
"Neither one kind nor another, sir."
"What do you mean?"
"That he might be a gentleman, sir, and mightn't. It's hard to say."
"It generally is nowadays. Show him in."
The servant retired, and, ushering in Mr. Loveday, left the room.
"Well, sir?" said Mr. Manners. The contractor did not speak uncivilly,
for the appearance of Mr. Loveday, who was fairly well attired, was in
his favor; he might be a smaller contractor, or an inventor, or
anything that was respectable.
"I have ventured to visit you, sir," said Mr. Loveday, without first
seeking an introduction, "upon a matter of importance."
"My servant said upon particular business."
"He was scarcely correct, sir. I can hardly call my errand business,
but it is no less important than the most important business."
"It is usual to send in a card, or a name."
"My name you will probably recognize, and I did not give it to the
servant from fear that you might have refused to see me."
"This sounds like an intrusion. What may be your name?"
"Loveday, sir."
Mr. Manners did not start or betray agitation, but he looked keenly at
his visitor. He was a man of method, and had on all occasions complete
control over his passions. He recognized the name, the moment it was
uttered, as that of the girl for whom his son had deserted him.
Therefore, the name of an enemy; undoubtedly the name of an intruder.
"It is a name with which you suppose me to be familiar?"
"Yes, sir."
"I ask the question simply because there are coincidences, and I make
it a rule to avoid mistakes. If you come from my son--"
"I do not, sir."
"But you are in association with him? You know him?"
"Only indirectly, sir. I have never seen your son."
"I refuse to take part in mysteries. You are related to the young
woman for whom my son threw over his duty to me."
"I am the young lady's uncle."
"And your visit is in furtherance of an appeal from her or on her
behalf?"
"On her behalf, but not from her. I did not inform her that I was
coming."
"The information is of no interest to me. The appeal you speak of is
of the usual kind. It is superfluous to ask if you are rich."
"I am not, sir."
"Poor?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very poor?"
"Very poor."
His frankness, his bearing, his aspect compelled a certain amount of
respect, and it did not soften Mr. Manners to be made to feel this.
"Had you any hand in this marriage?" demanded Mr. Manners.
"None, sir. Had my advice been solicited, I should have been strongly
against it. I am not going too far to say that I should not have
sanctioned it, and should have thrown in what small amount of
authority I possessed to prevent it, if your consent had not been
first asked and obtained."
This view of the matter appeared to strike Mr. Manners, and he
regarded his visitor with closer attention; but presently he frowned;
it was as though the honor of the alliance was on Nansie's side
instead of Kingsley's.
"I will not inquire into your reasons," he said, "except in so far as
to ask whether your brother, the young woman's father, who, I
understand, is dead--"
"Yes, sir, he is dead."
"Whether he made any effort to prevent the marriage? I speak of it as
a marriage, although I have my reasons for doubting whether it could
have been legally entered into."
"Sir!" exclaimed Mr. Loveday, much astonished.
"I decline discussion," said Mr. Manners. "I am not an idle speaker,
and I know what I mean. We will call it a marriage. It does not affect
the conduct of my son towards me. You heard my question. If you have
an objection to answer it I shall not complain."
"I have no objection, sir. My brother knew nothing whatever of it
until it was too late to interfere. The young people acted for
themselves, without consulting a single person. It was a secret
marriage."
Mr. Manners smiled. "Exactly. But my question is still not answered."
"My brother would have felt as I feel, sir. Without your sanction he
would have withheld his consent, and would doubtless have succeeded in
preventing the union."
"It would have been well if it had not taken place."
"I agree with you, sir."
Mr. Manners frowned again. His visitor was taking high ground.
"Come to the precise object of your visit," he said.
"The lamentable severance of the affectionate relations which existed
between you and your son has been productive of much suffering. The
young people have been driven hard--so hard that in the endeavor made
by your son to obtain some sort of position which would hold out the
hope of his being able to support her, they were compelled to
separate. Your son went abroad and left his wife here in England,
doubly orphaned, friendless, penniless, and unprotected. She appealed
to me for shelter and temporary support, and I received her willingly,
gladly. I will not indulge in sentiment, for I know you by repute to
be a practical man, and it may be not only distasteful to you, but it
may place me in a false light--as making a lame effort to influence
you by means of which you may be suspicious; but it is due to my niece
that I should declare in your presence that a sweeter, purer, more
lovable woman does not breathe the breath of life. She is a lady,
well-educated, gentle, and refined; and whatever value you may place
upon my statement--which I solemnly avow to be true--you must agree
that it is to the credit of your son that if he chose for his mate a
lady who was poor, he at least chose one who, if fortune placed her in
a high position, would be fitted to occupy it. Of this it is in your
power to assure yourself, and you would then be able to judge whether
I speak falsely or truly. Your son has been absent from England now
for many months, and from his letters to his wife it may be gathered
that he has been disappointed in his hopes and expectations, and it is
certain that he has not benefited pecuniarily by the effort he made."
"He is reaping the fruits of his disobedience," said Mr. Manners.
Mr. Loveday made no comment on the interruption, but proceeded. "The
consequence is that he has been unable to send his wife the smallest
remittance. Until to-day this has been of no importance, as I was in a
position to discharge the obligation I took upon myself when I
received her into my home. Your son's affairs abroad became so
desperate (and, in one vague sense, possibly compromising) that it was
decided yesterday between my niece and myself to send him money to
bring him home, in order that he might make another effort here to
obtain a livelihood. I am speaking quite plainly, sir, and without
ornament of any kind, and you will see to what straits your son is
reduced."
"He is justly served," said Mr. Manners.
"It was but a small sum of money that was required," continued Mr.
Loveday, "but I did not possess it. I had, however, books which I could
sell--I am a bookseller by trade, sir--and last evening I left my
house and place of business to negotiate the sale. Meanwhile my niece
wrote to your son that I would supply her with the means for his
return home, and that she would send him the money to-day. Upon my
return, two or three hours later, I found my house in flames. The
account of the fire, with my name, is in this morning's papers, and
you may verify my statement. I was not insured, and nothing was saved.
I am a beggar."
"It is, after all, then," said Mr. Manners, with a certain air of
triumph, "on your own behalf that you are making this appeal to me."
"No, sir," replied Mr. Loveday, "I want nothing for myself; I shall rub
along somehow, and hope to lift my head once more above adverse
circumstance. My appeal is on behalf of your son's wife. I am unable
to fulfil the promise I made to furnish her with the small sum
required to bring your son home. I ask you respectfully and humbly to
give it to me or to send it to her direct to this address." He laid a
piece of paper, with writing on it, on the table. "If you would prefer
to hand it to her personally she will call upon you for the purpose."
"You have spoken temperately," said Mr. Manners, with cold malice in
his tones. "What is the amount you require?"
"Ten pounds, sir," replied Mr. Loveday, animated by a sudden and
unexpected hope.
Mr. Manners touched a bell on his table. A servant appeared.
"Show this person to the door," he said.
"Is that your answer, sir?" asked Mr. Loveday, sadly.
"Show this person to the door," repeated Mr. Manners to the servant.
"I implore you," said Mr. Loveday, strongly agitated. "When I tell you
that you have a grandchild but a few weeks old; that the poor lady,
your son's wife, is in a delicate state of health--"
"Did you hear what I ordered?" said Mr. Manners to the servant, and
repeated again: "Show this person to the door."