THE MILLIONAIRE
On the Thursday following my father’s departure for London Lady
Naselton sent her carriage for me, and a note marked urgent. It
contained only a few lines, evidently written in a hurry.
“Naselton, _Thursday_.
“My Dear Girl,--Put on your calling-frock, and come up to tea at
once. The Romneys and a few other people are coming over, and Fred
brought a most interesting man down from town this morning. I
want you to know him. He is quite delightful to talk to, and is a
millionaire! Come and help me entertain him.
“Yours ever,
“Amy Naselton.”
I laughed as I went upstairs to change my things. Lady Naselton was
famed throughout the county as an inveterate matchmaker. Without a
doubt the millionaire who was delightful to talk to was already in
her mind as the most suitable match for a poor country clergyman’s
daughter who had the misfortune to possess ambitions. I could tell
by the fussy manner in which she greeted me that she considered the
matter already almost settled. The room was full of people, but my
particular victim was sitting alone in a recess. Evidently he had been
kept back for my behoof. Lady Naselton, as though suddenly remembering
his presence, brought him over and introduced him at once.
“Mr. Berdenstein,” she said--”Miss Ffolliot. Will you see that Miss
Ffolliot has some tea?” she added, smiling upon him blandly. “My
servants all seem so stupid to-day.”
I sat down and looked at him while he attended to my wants. At the
first glance I disliked him. He was tall and dark, with sallow face
and regular features of somewhat Jewish type. There was too much
unction about his manner. He smiled continually, and showed his teeth
too often. I found myself wondering whether he had made his million
in a shop. I was forced to talk to him, however, and I settled myself
down to be bored.
“You have not been in England long?” I asked.
“About three days,” he answered.
His voice was not so bad. I looked at him again. His face was not a
pleasant one, and he seemed to be scarcely at his ease, added to which
something in his bearing indistinctly suggested a limited acquaintance
with drawing rooms such as Lady Naselton’s. Yet it was possible that
he was clever. His forehead was well shaped, and his mouth determined.
“Mr. Fred Naselton was the first man I saw in London,” he went on. “It
was a very odd thing to run against him before I was well off the
ship.”
“He was an old friend of yours?” I continued, purely for the sake of
keeping up the conversation.
“Not very. Oh, no! Scarcely friend at all,” he disclaimed. “I did him
a turn in Rio last month. Nothing to speak of, but he was grateful.”
“Where?” I asked, abruptly.
“Rio,” he repeated. “Rio Janeiro--you know, capital of South America.”
I turned and faced him suddenly. His eyes had been fixed on my
face. He had been watching me furtively. My heart beat suddenly
faster. I drew a little breath, I could not trust myself to speak for
a moment. After a brief pause he continued--
“I’ve been out there a good many years. Long enough to get jolly well
sick of the place and people and everything connected with it. I’m
thankful to say that I’ve finished with it.”
“You are not going back, then,” I remarked, indifferently.
“Not I,” he declared. “I only went to make money, and I’ve made it--a
good deal. Now I’m going to enjoy it, here, in the old country. Marry
and settle down, and all that sort of thing, you know, Miss Ffolliot.”
His keen, black eyes were fixed upon my face. I felt a slight flush
of color in my cheeks. At that moment I hated Lady Naselton. She had
been talking to this odious man about me, and he had been quick enough
to understand her aright. I should have liked to have got up but for
a certain reason. He had come from South America. He had arrived in
London about the 15th. So I sat there and suffered.
“A most praiseworthy ambition,” I remarked, with a sarcasm which I
strove vainly to keep to myself. “I am sure I wish you every success.”
“That is very good of you,” he answered, slowly. “Wishes count for a
good deal sometimes. I am very thankful for yours.”
“Wishes cost little,” I answered, coldly, “and I am afraid that mine
are practically valueless. Have you been away from England long?”
“For many years,” he answered, after a slight hesitation.
“It seems odd,” I remarked, “that your first visit should be at the
house of a comparative stranger. Have you no relations or old friends
to welcome you back?”
A slight and peculiar smile hovered upon his lips.
“I have some old friends,” he said, quietly; “I do not know whether
they will welcome me home again. Soon I shall know. I am not far away
from them.”
“Do they know of your return?” I asked.
“Some of them. One of them I should say,” he answered. “The one about
whom I care does not know.”
“You are going to surprise him?” I remarked.
“I am going to surprise her,” he corrected.
There was a short silence. I had no more doubt in my mind. Chance had
brought me face to face with the writer of that letter to my father,
the man to find whom he was even now in London. Perhaps they had
already met; I stole a glance at him; he was furtively watching me all
the while.
“I have also,” he said, “a sister of whom I am very fond. She lives in
Paris. I have written to her to come to me--not here, of course, to
London.”
I turned a little in my chair and faced him.
“I wonder,” I said, “if amongst those friends of whom you speak there
is any one whom I know.”
His lips parted, and he showed all his glistening white teeth.
“Somehow,” he said, softly, under his breath, “I thought you knew. Has
your father sent you here? Have you any message for me? If so, let me
have it, we may be disturbed.”
I shook my head.
“My father is in London,” I told him. “He left the morning he had your
letter.”
“When is he coming back?” he asked, eagerly.
“On Friday, I believe,” I answered. “I am not quite sure. At any rate,
he will be here by Sunday.”
An odd look flashed for a moment across the man’s face. It gave me an
uneasy sensation.
“Have you seen him in London?” I asked, quickly.
“Certainly not,” he answered; “I have seen no one. I have only been
in England for a day or two. I shall look forward,” he added, “to the
pleasure of seeing your father on Sunday.”
“And Mr. Bruce Deville?” I inquired.
He looked at me suspiciously. He was wondering how much I knew.
“Mr. Bruce Deville?” he said, slowly. “I have not seen him lately;
they tell me he has altered a great deal.”
“I have only known him a week, and so I cannot tell,” I answered.
Again he fixed his little dark eyes upon me; he was evidently
completely puzzled.
“You have only known him a week, and yet you know that--that he and I
are not strangers?”
“I learned it by accident,” I answered.
Obviously he did not believe me; he hesitated for a moment to put his
disbelief into words, and in the meantime I made a bold stroke.
“Have you seen Adelaide Fortress yet?” I asked.
His face changed. He looked at me half in wonder, half eagerly; his
whole expression had softened.
“Not yet,” he said; “I am waiting to know where she is; I would go to
her to-day--if only I dared--if only I dared!”
His dark eyes were lit with passion; a pale shade seemed to have crept
in upon the sallowness of his cheeks.
“When you talk of her,” he said, speaking rapidly, and with his
voice thick with some manner of agitation, “you make me forget
everything! You make me forget who you are, who she is, where we
are! I remember only that she exists! Oh, my God!”
I laid my hand upon his coat sleeve.
“Be careful,” I whispered. “People will notice you; speak lower.”
His voice sank; it was still, however, hoarse with passion.
“I shall know soon,” he said, “very soon, whether the years have
made her any kinder; whether the dream, the wild dream of my life,
is any nearer completion. Oh, you may start!” he added, looking into
my white, puzzled face; “you and your father, and Deville, and the
whole world may know it. I love her still! I am going to regain her
or die! There! You see it is to be no secret war; go and tell your
father if you like, tell them all, bid them prepare. If they stand in
my way they must suffer. Soon I am going to her. I am going to stand
before her and point to my grey hairs, and say, ‘Every one of them is
a thought of you; every day of my life has been moulded towards the
winning of you.’ And when I tell her that, and point to the past, she
will be mine again.”
“You are very sure of her,” I murmured.
His face fell.
“Alas! no,” he cried, “I cannot say that; only it is my hope and my
passion which are so strong. They run away with me; I picture it to
myself--this blessed thing--and I forget. Listen!” he added, with
sudden emphasis, “you must promise me something. I have let my tongue
go too fast. I have talked to you as my other self; you must promise
me one thing.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“You must promise me that you will not speak of my presence here to
her. In a day or two--well, we shall see. I shall go to her then; I
shall risk everything. But at present, no! She must be ignorant of my
return until I myself declare it. You will promise me this?”
I promised. I scarcely dared do otherwise if I wished to avoid a
scene, for already the agitation and occasional excitement of his
speech were attracting attention. But, having promised, I asked him a
question.
“Will not Mr. Deville tell her--or my father?”
“It is just possible that Mr. Deville might,” he said, with the air of
one who had well considered the matter. “But I do not think it likely;
there are certain reasons which would probably keep him silent.”
“And my father?” I asked.
Again there was an odd look in his face. Somehow it filled me with
vague alarm; I could not imagine what it meant.
“I do not think,” he answered, “that your father will tell her; I am
nearly sure that he will not. No, I myself shall announce my return. I
shall stand face to face with her before she has learned to school her
countenance. I shall see in the light or in the darkness how she holds
me. It will be a test--a glorious test.”
Lady Naselton came rustling up to us with beaming face. “My dear
girl,” she said, “I am so sorry to disturb you, you both look
so interested. Whatever you have found to talk about I can’t
imagine. Lady Romney is going; she would so like to know you. Would
you mind coming to speak to her?”
“With pleasure,” I declared, rising at once to my feet; “I must be
going too. Good afternoon, Mr. Berdenstein.”
He held out his hand, but I had no intention of shaking hands with
him. I bowed coldly, and turned to follow Lady Naselton.
“Perhaps it is best,” he murmured, leaning a little forward. “We
cannot possibly be friends; no doubt you hate me; we are on opposite
sides. Good afternoon, Miss Ffolliot.”
I followed Lady Naselton, but before we had reached the Romneys I
stopped her.
“Lady Naselton, who is that man?” I asked her. “What do you know of
him?”
“My dear child,” she answered, “from the confidential manner in which
you have been talking all this time, I should have imagined that
he had told you his history from childhood. Frankly, I don’t know
anything about him at all. He was very good to Fred in South America,
and he has made a lot of money, that is really all I know. Fred met
him in town, and brought him down without notice. I hope,” she added,
looking at my pale face, “that he has been behaving himself properly.”
“I have no fault to find with him,” I answered. “I was curious, that
is all.”
“I am so glad, dear,” she answered, smiling. “For a millionaire you
know, I don’t consider him at all unpresentable, do you?”
I smiled faintly. Poor Lady Naselton!
“He did not strike me as being remarkably objectionable,” I
answered. “He is a little awkward, and very confidential.”
Lady Naselton piloted me across the room towards the Romneys, with her
arm linked in mine.
“We must make a few allowances, my dear,” she whispered,
confidentially. “One cannot have everything nowadays. He is really not
so bad, and the money is quite safe. In diamonds, or something, Fred
says. It is quite a million.”
I glanced back to him as I stood talking with the Romneys. He was
sitting quietly where I had left him, watching me covertly. His black
eyebrows were drawn together, and a certain look of anxiety seemed
to have sharpened his sallow features. His eyes fell at once before
mine. I felt that I would have given everything I possessed in the
world to have known who he was.