"Oh, by the way, dear," she said, when Dora had sipped her coffee and
nibbled a few mouthfuls of bread and butter, "some more presents have
come for you."
"Oh!" said Dora, indifferently
"They are on the hall table--shall I get them for you?"
"If you like. I am in no hurry."
But H. R. had recognised Jim's writing on one parcel, and wanted to
watch her sister's face when Dora opened the packet. Jim, it should be
added had placed the presents from Koko and himself on the hall table
very late on the previous night.
H. R. left the breakfast-room, and presently returned bearing three
parcels in her arms.
"I think there must be one from Frank, too; he was wrapping up something
very mysteriously before he went to school this morning."
Dora turned over the three parcels which H. R. set down on the table
before her. After scrutinising the writing on each, she opened that
addressed to her in Frank's irregular round-hand. Frank's present
proved to be a volume of Tennyson's works in a handsome morocco leather
cover.
"Dear Frank! what a nice present!" cried Dora. "He must have saved up
his pocket-money for months!"
"He gets a good many tips," said H. R., drily.
"Pretty girls' brothers generally do," observed a harsh voice at the
door.
Following the remark came Miss Bird herself. The maiden lady duly
admired the Tennyson.
"The other two presents," said H. R., "are from Mr Somers and Dr
Mortimer, and Dora _won't_ open them because she knows I'm burning to
see them."
"And make nasty remarks about them when you've seen them?" suggested
Miss Bird.
Before H. R. could think of a suitable retort, Dora had drawn Koko's
present from its enclosing wrappers.
"A _work-box_--full of things!" she said, laughing; "everything I can
possibly want, even down to matches!"
The three ladies all agreed that it was a very nice work-box.
"And now for the third parcel," said H. R., meaningly.
"It is a fan," said Dora, quietly opening Jim's parcel--"an ivory one."
She passed it on to Miss Bird.
"A beautiful present, my dear," said that lady. "I admire Dr Mortimer's
taste."
"And look!" cried H. R., who next inspected the fan; "it has a sprig of
rosemary upon it. How very sentimental! That means remembrance,
doesn't it? Dora, I do believe Dr Mortimer likes you more than he cares
to admit."
"Please don't talk such nonsense, H. R.," said Dora, holding out her
hand for the fan.
"Come, now," said H. R., spreading out the fan and peeping over it,
"tell me! Don't you think I'm right?"
"Right about what?" asked Dora, with trembling lips. "Oh, please give
me my fan!"
"Give the child her fan and don't tease her," rasped out Miss Bird, who
saw through the deliberate malice of H. R.'s question.
"Why doesn't she answer, then?" said H. R., examining the sprig of
rosemary with renewed interest; "anybody would think that she liked
_him_ by the way she goes on."
The blood rushed into Dora's face.
"See how she is blushing!" added H. R., unsparingly.
"I'm not blushing," cried Dora, whose cheeks sadly belied her words.
"You are--I believe you _do_ like him!"
Dora rose from her chair. The blood had died out of her face, and she
was very white.
"And why," she demanded, her eyes flashing ominously, "_shouldn't_ I
like him? Is there any sin in it? When he came you all condemned him,
but he has been quite patient and nice and gentlemanly all the time, in
spite of the things that have been said to him. Yes, I _do_ like him,
and I shall always value this present from him. Please give it to me."
H. R. handed her the fan. "In _that_ case, Dora, dear," she said,
cuttingly, "it seems a pity that you are marrying Mr Jefferson
to-morrow."
Dora closed the fan and held it tightly to her bosom. Her sister's
final remark had brought the blood surging into her face again. "Oh,"
she cried, "how I _hate_ you, H. R.--yes, _hate_ you!"
And with that she gave a piteous little cry and ran out of the room.
For a few moments there was silence, and then Miss Bird turned her
stern, lined face towards the elder sister. "Miss Maybury," she said,
"I am ashamed of you."
"Your opinion of me," said H. R., with a forced lightness of tone, "does
not concern me at all."
"To think," Miss Bird went on, "that you should taunt that poor child
with a fact that has been patent to every woman in this house for
_weeks_ past! You have seen it--you know it. I repeat, I am heartily
ashamed of you."
"Please spare me your lectures, Miss Bird."
"I will spare you nothing. I tell you to your face that you are a
cruel, jealous woman. Dora is much younger than you, but is being
married before you, and that is rankling in your mind. And so you bully
her and tax her with liking Dr Mortimer when you _know_ she likes
him--ay, likes him far better than she likes the man she is marrying."
"But," interrupted H. R.; "Mr Jefferson happens to be very well off, and
so our dear little innocent Dora does not see her way to give him up."
Miss Bird rose from her seat and walked up to where H. R. was sitting.
"Do you really _know_ why Dora is marrying this young stockbroker?" she
said.
"Because she is tired of working in the post-office, and wants to have a
good time, I suppose," replied H. R.
"Oh! you suppose that! Well, I will tell you why. She is marrying him
because she wishes to make your father's position secure in the
Jeffersons' office, and, if possible, to improve it. She is
deliberately marrying young Mr Jefferson with that object in view."
"Then she is very silly," said H. R., scornfully.
"_Silly_! Yes, she _is_ silly! But how old is she?--_nineteen_! And
at nineteen aren't many girls _very_ silly--aren't their heads full of
romantic ideas of self-sacrifice, and other nonsense! Yes, she _is_
silly! If she were your age--twenty-eight--she would be marrying Mr
Jefferson for her own sake, but she is only nineteen, and so she is
marrying him for her father's sake. Now you understand!"
"I simply don't believe you," said H. R.
"It matters little whether you believe me or not. I have told you the
truth. I am a very much older woman than you, and it has been my
recreation all my life--for want of a better--to watch the people round
me and dissect their motives. Old maids are good judges of character.
You yourself will find you are a better judge of character in a few
years' time than you are now."
Then, with this final lash from her tongue, Miss Bird stalked out of the
room, while Miss H. R. Maybury, feeling considerably crestfallen, made
her way downstairs to commence her household duties.
Somehow or other Dora got through this miserable day. At lunch and tea
and dinner she hardly spoke a word, but she brightened up when her
father got home from the office, where he had been working later than
usual in order to be free the next day. He had brought an evening paper
with him, and read out the latest bulletin concerning the Earl of
Lingfield's health.
"So," added the ex-merchant, "our friend Dr Mortimer was not sent for
merely to assist. According to this bulletin he actually performed the
operation--a very perilous one, I am told."
"It will make him," said Miss Bird, laying down her knitting needles.
"Yes," agreed Mr Maybury, "a man possessed of his nerve and skill will
be in great demand. I am sorry in one way, because it will mean that he
will leave us."
"I hope this success won't turn his head and drive him back to his
vicious courses," said Mrs Maybury, somewhat severely.
Mr Cleave was scanning the new number of his favourite weekly.
"I should not be surprised," he conjectured, in his quavering tenor, "if
alcohol proved Mortimer's stumbling-block in life. There is a sad case
in the _Abstainer's_ list this week of a young naval doctor who has
lately lost his post on account of his habitual drunkenness."
Miss Bird cast a lowering eye on her fellow-boarder, but before she
could make any remark the door was opened with unexpected suddenness,
and Mary came in.
"Oh, if you please, mum," she said, addressing Mrs Maybury, "there's
some policemen at the door, and Mr Somers, and they've brought Dr
Mortimer----"
But here the little maid broke down and burst into tears. Fortunately
Koko appeared at this juncture to complete the announcement.
"Jim has been hurt by Hooligans," he said, quietly. "At first I wanted
to take him to a hospital, but he told me he would like to be brought
here."
"Is he badly hurt?" asked Mr Maybury.
"Yes," said Koko, "very seriously hurt. The police fetched a
doctor----"
He paused, for he noticed that Dora had risen to her feet, and, white as
death, was awaiting the doctor's verdict.
"The doctor pronounced him to be suffering from concussion of the brain
and a fracture of the spine."
Mr Maybury walked out of the room, closing the door after him. The
police ambulance containing Jim's unconscious form had been set down in
the hall. By the ambulance stood Dr Taplow's representative--the
bearded man.
"Please follow me," said Mr Maybury, and those in the drawing-room could
hear ominously heavy footsteps on the stairs as the policemen bore their
burden up to Jim's little room on the second landing. Koko slipped out
of the drawing-room after giving Mrs Maybury and the others further
details concerning the affair. Dora made as if to follow him.
"You had better stay in here, dear," said Mrs Maybury; "anybody else
will only be in the way, at present."
"I am only going into the dining-room," said Dora.
How long she waited in the dining-room, Dora never knew. It seemed like
a lifetime. She heard the police go out and shut the front door after
them, and later she heard the front door opened and closed again, and
yet again. At length, after what seemed an interminable period, Mr
Maybury came into the dining-room. His face was very grave.
"Father--tell me the truth!"
Dora was looking at him with beseeching eyes that would brook no
subterfuge.
"The doctor says," replied Mr Maybury, "that he will not live more than
twenty-four hours."
Dora hid her face on his shoulder.
"Oh, father, father," she sobbed, "if he dies my heart will break!"
Mr. Maybury gently disengaged himself from her embrace, and looked
steadily into her face.
"Dora, tell me! do you love him?"
She buried her face again in the kind shoulder.
"Yes," she said, "with all my heart."
For a long, tense minute no word was spoken. Then Mr Maybury broke the
silence.
"If that is so," he said, "you must not marry Mr Jefferson, and I must
go and tell him so."
Dora raised her head. Her eyes shone like stars because of the great
love she bore for Jim Mortimer.
"Go, then," she said, "and I promise you I will be brave--now, and until
the end."
*CHAPTER XXVIII.*
*A DELICATE MISSION.*
Mr Harold Jefferson lived in the Albany, where a long succession of
well-to-do bachelors, good and bad, have occupied chambers since the
days of the later Georges. The bachelor nests in the Temple--so beloved
of young Bar students fresh from the 'Varsity--wax insignificant in
comparison with the lofty, depressing spaciousness which characterises
Albany chambers. The rents, too, differ widely, for whereas a man may
cut quite a tenemental dash in the Temple for fifty or sixty pounds a
year, in the Albany one's rental may run into anything between a hundred
and forty and four hundred per annum.
A quaint nook is this Albany. As one paces the stone-flagged footway in
the contemplative stillness which broods over the place, it is an easy
feat of the imagination to put the clock back a hundred years, to people
the lettered houses with bucks and bloods in Regency attire, and, with
the fall of night, to set the gaunt old quarter ablaze with candles, and
listen to the flick and rattle of cards and dice, the popping of corks,
and the sound of those old-fashioned oaths which it was thought fit that
gentlemen should use freely in the days when Byron and Macaulay lived in
this aristocratic bachelor precinct.
But new times bring new men, and Harold Jefferson was of the newest. He
lived in the Albany for the same reason that he drove a motor-car,
ploughed the Thames in a steam launch, and frequented fashionable
restaurants at fashionable hours--because it was expensive.
On this particular night--the eve of his wedding day--Jefferson was
superintending the packing of his various possessions. This was his
last night in the Albany, so much had to be done. Albert, his valet,
was moving here and there with dapper, noiseless steps, folding,
arranging, pressing down, strapping, and locking. Albert was, on the
whole, a good valet. He was punctual, obsequious, diplomatic, and only
stole odd sixpences and shillings--for his was a mean little nature,
content with little thefts.
Albert put up with abuse that no honest man would have listened to in
silence. Therefore he suited Jefferson. True, he had no respect
whatever for his master, but Jefferson paid him more liberally than,
say, a military gentleman would have done, so he stayed on with
Jefferson, wore his left-off suits, annexed his small change, and was
quite contented with himself in his negative, unambitious way.
Harold, this evening, was in a high good-humour. Everything had fallen
out as he had desired that it should do. He was marrying a lovely girl,
and would be envied for his prize far and wide. He would dress her in
the prettiest attire obtainable for money, deck her out in costly
jewels, and constantly bask in the reflected glory of her beauty. When
they came back, he promised himself he would take precious good care she
didn't pay many calls at No. 9, or have her starveling relations to see
her more than twice a year.
At ten o'clock Albert, having completed his tasks, left the Albany. At
eleven Jefferson was due at a farewell supper party which was to be
given in his honour that night by some of his bachelor friends at the
famous Whittingham restaurant, where they charge you eighteen-pence
simply for hanging your hat up. The price of food and wine, reckoned on
a similar scale, may be imagined. But then, Mr Jefferson and his
friends set little store by a meal that did not cost them about six
times more than it was worth.
Harold had adjusted his tie and put on his overcoat, preparatory to
sallying forth, when there came a knock at his door. Albert having
departed, he was obliged to answer the summons himself.
"Mr Maybury!"
Harold's tone smacked more of surprise than cordiality.
"Yes, I am sorry to disturb you, Mr Jefferson, but my errand is an
important one. May I come in?"
"Of course, of course! I am afraid I cannot ask you to stay very long,
as I have to be at the Whittingham at eleven. Some of my friends are
giving me a send-off. Will you have a glass of champagne?"
"No, thank you."
"A cigar, then?"
"Again, no, thank you. Such things would not harmonise with my errand,
for I have come, Mr Jefferson, to break some very unpleasant news to
you."
"I hope nothing is wrong with Dora?"
"My visit concerns Dora. To come to the point at once, I am afraid that
this marriage arranged for to-morrow cannot take place."
Jefferson stared at him aghast.
"In the name of goodness--_why_ not?"
Jefferson had seated himself on the table, one slippered foot just
touching the floor. Mr Maybury walked up to him.
"I am exceedingly sorry to have to bring you this news. Believe me, I
feel for your position. The truth of the matter is, Dora loves another
man, and therefore it would be most wrong on my part to allow your
marriage with her to take place."