Hetty and I spent a quiet Sunday together. She was much better, and she
looked very pretty in the warm, softly-coloured dressing-jacket which
mother had sent her. She told me her little story, which was simple as
story could be. She had no parents, nor any near relatives living.
Even a distant cousin, who had paid for her education, had died two
years previously. She thought herself very lucky when she secured the
post of English teacher at Miss West's Select Seminary for young ladies.
She made Jack's acquaintance early in the spring; no one else had ever
been specially kind to her, and when he asked her to marry him, she said
"Yes," in a burst of delight and gratitude.
"I didn't know he was so grand as he has turned out to be, miss," said
Hetty, in conclusion.
"Now, Hetty, what did I say about miss?"
"It seems so queer and forward to say Rose," she answered. "I never had
any one to love until Jack married me. Oh, don't I love him just, and
don't I love you--_Rose_!"
"I know you do," I said, "and when you see my mother you will love her.
We will try to be good to you, poor little Hetty, and you will try to
learn to be a real lady for my mother's sake."
"And for Jack's sake," she answered, an eager flush coming into her
cheeks.
"Yes," I replied.
"Will you show me how to be a lady, Rose?"
"Oh, Hetty, no one can show you. You must find out the way yourself.
You will, too, if you are in earnest, and if you love my mother as she
deserves to be loved. Hetty, my mother is the gentlest of women, and
yet no queen could be more dignified, more ladylike."
"Would she frighten me awfully?" whispered Hetty.
"Oh, you poor child! There, I won't talk any more. Wait until you see
her!"
Hetty was rather under than over educated for her station; but there was
a certain sweetness, and even refined charm about her, which gave me a
sense of almost pain as I looked at her. Was Jack worthy of this
passionate, loving heart?
Sunday passed peacefully, but I did not forget what lay before me on
Monday morning. The real crucial turn in Jack's affairs would come
then.
I went early to town, and saw Mr Chillingfleet, the head of Jack's
firm, about eleven o'clock. Jack had told me that twelve was the hour
when the money was generally collected and sent to the bank. I don't
know how I managed to inveigle a young clerk to coax Mr Chillingfleet
to see me, but I did, and at eleven o'clock I stood before him.
I looked into his face. I knew that a great deal hung upon that
interview; I knew that my mother's future happiness in life, that all
poor Hetty's bliss or undoing depended on what sort of face Mr
Chillingfleet possessed. I was a good reader of physiognomy, and I
studied his with an eager flash.
It was a firm face: the lips thin, the chin both long and square, the
check-bones high; the eyes, however, were kind, honest, straightforward.
I looked into Mr Chillingfleet's eyes, and took courage.
"You want to see me, young lady?" said the chief of the great house.
"I do, sir," I said, "I have come about my brother Jack."
"Young Lindley--you are young Lindley's sister? I am sorry he is ill."
Mr Chillingfleet's tone was kind, but not enthusiastic. The young
clerk's services were evidently not greatly missed.
"I have a story to tell you," I said. And then I began to speak.
My tone was eager, but I saw at once that I did not make a deep
impression. Mr Chillingfleet was only languidly attentive. I could
read his face, and I was absolutely certain that the thought expressed
on it was the earnest hope that my story would be brief. I felt certain
that he considered me a worry, that he felt it truly unreasonable of the
sisters of sick clerks to come to worry him before noon on Monday
morning.
He was a true gentleman, however, and as such could not bring himself to
be rude to a woman.
"I can give you ten minutes," he said, in a courteous tone.
All this time I had been toying with my subject. I now looked in agony
at a boy clerk who was perched on a high stool by a desk at the other
end of the room.
"If I could see you by yourself," I said, almost in a whisper.
"Dawson, you can go," said Mr Chillingfleet.
The boy glided off the high stool, and vanished. The moment the door
was shut I took out my purse, and removing four five-pound notes, laid
them on the desk beside the chief of the great house.
"Good gracious, young lady, what do you mean by that?" said Mr
Chillingfleet.
"Those four five-pound notes are yours," I said. "I have brought them
back to you."
"Miss Lindley, you must explain yourself."
Mr Chillingfleet's tone was no longer languid in its interest.
Then I gulped down a great lump in my throat, and told the story. It
does not matter how I told it. I cannot recall the words I used. I
don't know whether I spoke eloquently or badly. I know I did not cry,
but I am firmly convinced that my face was ashy pale, for it felt so
queer and stiff and cold.
At last I had finished. The story of the young clerk's temptation and
disgrace was known to his chief. Now I waited for the fiat to go forth.
Suppose Mr Chillingfleet refused to receive back the twenty pounds I
brought him? Suppose he thought it good for the interests of business
that the young thief--the wicked, brazen young thief--should be made an
example of?
I gazed into the kind and honourable eyes. I watched with agony the
firm, the hard, the almost cruel mouth.
"Oh, sir," I said, suddenly, "take back the money! Jack's mother is
alive, and perhaps your mother, too, lives, sir. Take back the money,
and be merciful, for her sake."
Mr Chillingfleet shut his eyes twice, very quickly. Then he spoke.
"You must not try to come over me with sentiment," he said. "This is
not the time. A principle is involved, and I must be guided by a sense
of duty. I am particularly busy at this moment, but I will give you my
decision before you go. Can you wait for half an hour?"
"Yes, sir."
Mr Chillingfleet sounded an office gong by his side.
"Dawson," he said, when the boy appeared, "show this lady into the
waiting-room."
The boy preceded me into a dismal little back room, furnished me with a
copy of the day's _Times_, and left me. I could not read a word. I
felt more and more hopeless as the moments went by.
It was nearly one o'clock before I was summoned back into Mr
Chillingfleet's presence.
"Sit down," he said, in a much more kind tone than he had used when I
left him. "You are a good girl, Miss Lindley," he began. "You have
acted in a very straightforward and honourable manner. Your mother must
be a good woman, for she has brought up a worthy daughter. However, to
the point. I will accept the notes you have just brought me in lieu of
those stolen by your brother. I will not prosecute him for theft."
"Oh, sir, God bless you?"
"Stay, you must hear me out. I don't forgive absolutely; I should not
think it right. Lindley has proved himself unworthy of trust, and he no
longer holds a situation in this house. He may redeem his character
some day, but the uphill path will be difficult for him, for the simple
reason that I shall find it impossible to give him a recommendation
which will enable him to obtain another situation."
"Oh, sir--Mr Chillingfleet--his young wife!"
"Precisely so, Miss Lindley, but society must be protected. When a man
does something which destroys his character, he must bear the
consequences. There, I am sorry for you, but I can do no more. I must
be just. Good-morning."
Mr Chillingfleet touched my fingers, bowed to me, and I withdrew.
I pulled my veil down over my face; I did not look to right or left as I
walked out of the office.