DAISY'S RECANTATION.
There was no doubt about it, Paul was very ill indeed. The doctor, when
he came, pronounced the young man to be in a very critical state, and
gave it as his opinion that an attack of brain-fever was impending.
This confidence was given to George, for whom Paul's landlady had sent
at once, immediately on her lodger being brought home. The doctor--who
was no other than little Doctor Prater, the well-known West-End
physician, who is looked upon, and not without reason, as the medical
_ami des artistes_--took George aside, and probably without knowing
it, put to him as regards Paul the same question which Doctor Turton
asked Oliver Goldsmith, "Whether there was anything on his mind?" The
response was pretty much the same in both cases. George shook his head
and shrugged his shoulders, and admitted that his friend had been
"rather upset lately."
"Ah, my dear sir," said the little doctor, "not my wish to pry into
these matters; man of the world, see so much of this sort of thing
in the pursuance of a large practice, could tell at once that our
poor friend had some mental shock. Lady, I suppose? Ah well, must not
inquire; generally is at his time of life; later, digestion impaired,
bank broken; but in youth generally a lady. I am afraid he is going
to be very bad; at present _agrotat animo magis quam corpore_, as the
Latin poet says; but he will be very bad, I have not the least doubt."
"It's a bad business," said George dolefully, "a very bad business. He
ought to be nursed, of course; and though I have heard him speak of the
woman of the house as kind and attentive and all that, I don't know
that one could expect her to give her time to attend to a sick man."
"Our young friend will require a good deal of attention, my dear sir,"
said the little doctor; "for night-work, at all events, he must have
some professional person. What did you say our young friend's name was?
Mr. Derinzy. Ah, the name is familiar to me as--yes, to be sure, great
house in the City, millionaire and that kind of thing; and your name,
my dear sir?"
"My name is Wainwright," said George, smiling in spite of himself at
the little man's volubility.
"Wainwright! not son of---- My dear sir, I am glad to make your
acquaintance; one of the brightest ornaments of our profession; any
care that I should have bestowed on this interesting case will be
redoubled now that I know that our poor young friend here is a friend
of yours. You will kindly take care that these prescriptions are made
up at Balsam and Balmelow's, if you please; must have the best of drugs
in these cases, and no other house is so much to be depended upon. Now
I must run away; I will look in again in the evening; and during my
absence I will make arrangements for the night-nurse. The attendance
in the daytime I must look to you to provide. Good-day, my dear sir."
And wringing George's hand warmly, the little man trotted off, jumped
into his brougham, and was driven away to inspect, prescribe for, and
chatter with a dozen other cases within the next few hours.
George sat down by the bedside and bent over its occupant, who was
tossing restlessly from side to side, gazing about him with vacant
eyes, and muttering and moaning in his delirium. What were the words,
incoherent and broken, issuing from his parched lips? "My darling, my
darling, stay by me now--no more horrible parting--never again that
scornful look! Daisy, say you did not mean it when you wrote; say there
is no one else--to-morrow, darling, in the old place--come and tell me
your mind--my wife, my darling!"
These words were uttered with such intensity of earnestness--and
although Paul's glance was never settled, his eyes roving here and
there as he tossed and flung about his arms on the bed, there was such
a piteous look in his face--that George Wainwright's emotion overcame
him, and two big tears rolled down his cheeks.
"This will never do," said he, brushing them hastily; "it is as I
thought, and that little doctor was right in his random hit. This
affair with the girl has assumed proportions which I never suspected.
Poor dear Paul used to make it out bad enough; but I had no notion that
it had come to any crisis, or indeed, if it had, that he would suffer
from it in this way. Now what is to be done? I think the first thing
will be to see this young lady, and bring her to her bearings. If she
has thrown Paul over, as I half suspect she has, I must let her know
the consequences of her work, and see whether she persists in abiding
by her determination. It may be only some lovers' quarrel; Paul is a
mere boy in these matters, and hotheaded enough to take _au sérieux_
what may have been only the result of pique or woman's whim; in that
case, when she finds the effect that her quarrel has had upon him,
she will probably repent, and her penitence will aid in bringing him
round. On the other hand, if she still continues obdurate, one may be
able to point out to him the fact that he is eminently well rid of so
heartless a person. Not but what my little experience in such matters,"
said George with a sigh, "teaches me that lovers are uncommonly hard to
convince of whatever they do not wish to believe."
In pursuance of this determination George Wainwright, so soon as he had
installed the landlady in Paul's apartment as temporary nurse, started
off in search of Daisy. He had listened to so many of poor Paul's
confidences that he knew where the girl was to be found, and made his
way straight to George Street.
Madame Clarisse was still away, and Daisy continued her occupancy of
the little furnished rooms, into which George was ushered on inquiring
for Miss Stafford. The rooms were empty on George's entrance, and he
walked round them, examining the various articles of furniture and
decoration with very contemptuous glances. Presently Daisy entered,
and George stood transfixed in admiration. She looked magnificently
handsome; the announcement of the name of her visitor had brought a
bright flush into her cheek, and anticipating a stormy interview, she
had come prepared to do battle with all the strength at her command,
and accordingly assumed a cold and haughty air which became her
immensely.
The transient glimpses which George had had of her that day in
Kensington Gardens, though it had given him a general notion of her
style, had by no means prepared him for the sight of such rare beauty.
He was so taken aback that he allowed her to speak first.
"Mr. Wainwright, I believe?" said Daisy with a slight inclination of
her head.
"That's my name," said George, coming to himself.
"The servant told me that you asked for me, that you wished to see me;
I am Miss Stafford."
"The servant explained my wishes correctly," said George; "I have come
to see you, Miss Stafford, on a very important and, I grieve to add, a
very unpleasant matter."
Daisy looked at him steadily. "Will you be seated?" she said, motioning
him to a chair, at the same time taking one herself.
"I have come to you," said George, bending forward and speaking in a
low and earnest tone of voice, "on behalf of Mr. Paul Derinzy. Not that
I am sent by him; I have come of my own accord. You may be aware, Miss
Stafford, that I am Mr. Derinzy's intimate friend, and possess his
confidence in no common degree."
"I have heard Mr. Derinzy frequently mention your name, and always with
the greatest regard," said she.
"If we were merely going to speak the jargon of the world, Miss
Stafford, I might say that I could return the compliment," said George.
"However, what I wish you to know is, that in his confidence with me
Paul Derinzy had spoken openly and frankly of his affection for you,
and, indeed, made me acquainted with all the varieties of his doubts,
fears, and other phases of his attachment."
Daisy bowed again very coldly.
"You and Paul are both very young, Miss Stafford," continued George,
"and I have the misfortune of being much older than either of you.
This, however, has its advantage perhaps, in enabling me to speak
more frankly and impartially than I otherwise could. You must not be
annoyed at whatever I find it necessary to say, Miss Stafford; for the
situation is a very grave one, and more than you can at present imagine
depends upon the decision at which you may arrive."
"Pray go on, Mr. Wainwright," said Daisy; "you will find me thoroughly
attentive to all you have to say."
"I must be querist as well as pleader, and introduce some
cross-examination into my speech, I am afraid," said George; "but
you may depend on my neither saying nor asking anything more than is
absolutely necessary. And in the first place let me tell you, what
indeed you already know, that this boy loves you with all the ardour
of a very affectionate disposition. I don't know whether you set much
store by that, Miss Stafford; I do know that young ladies of the
present day indulge in so many flirtations, and see so many shams and
counterfeits of the passion, that they are scarcely able to recognise
real love when they see it, and hardly ever able to appreciate it. But
it is a thing that, when once obtained, should not be lightly let go;
and indeed, Owen Meredith thinks quite right--you read poetry, I know,
Miss Stafford; I recollect Paul having told me so--when he says:
Beauty is easy enough to win,
But one isn't loved every day."
"I presume it was not to quote from Owen Meredith that you wished to
see me, Mr. Wainwright," said Daisy, looking up at him quietly.
George stared at her for a moment, but was not one bit disconcerted.
"No," he said, "it was not; but I am in the habit of using quotation
when I think it illustrates my meaning, and those lines struck me as
being rather apt. However, we come back to the fact that Paul Derinzy
was, and I believe is, very much in love with you. From what he gave me
to understand, I believe I am right in saying that that passion was at
one time returned. I believe--I wish to touch as lightly as possible
on unpleasant matters--I believe that recently there has been some
interruption of the pleasant relation which existed between you--an
interruption emanating from you--and that Paul has consequently been
very much out of spirits. Am I right?"
"You are very frank and candid with me, Mr. Wainwright," said Daisy,
"and I will endeavour to answer you in the same manner. I perfectly
admit that the position which Mr. Derinzy and I occupy towards each
other is changed, and changed by my desire."
"You will not think me impertinent or exacting--you certainly will not
when you know all I have to tell you--if I ask what was the reason for
that change?"
Daisy's face flushed for an instant, then she said:
"A woman's reason--because I wished it."
George nodded as though he perfectly comprehended her; but he gazed at
her all the time.
"May I ask, has this altered state of feeling come to a head? has there
been any open and decisive rupture between you lately?"
"If you are not sufficiently in Mr. Derinzy's confidence to have that
information from him, I scarcely think you ought to ask it of me," said
Daisy.
"Unfortunately, Mr. Derinzy, is not at present in a position to answer
me."
"Not in a position to---- What do you mean?" asked Daisy, leaning
forward.
"I will tell you before I go," said George. "In the meantime, perhaps
you will kindly reply to me."
"There has been no actual quarrel between us," said the girl--"that
is to say, no personal quarrel; but----" and she spoke with so much
hesitation, that George instantly said:
"But you have taken some decisive action."
Daisy was silent.
"You have told him that all must be over between you; that you would
not see him again, or something to that effect."
"I--I wrote him a letter conveying that decision," said Daisy slowly.
"And you addressed to him----"
"As usual, at his club."
"By Jove, that's it!" said George, springing up. "Now, Miss Stafford,
let me tell you the effect of that letter. Paul Derinzy was picked up
from the floor of the club-library in a fit!"
"Good God!" cried Daisy.
"One moment," continued George, holding up his hands. "He was carried
home insensible, and now lies between life and death. He is delirious
and knows no one, but lies tossing to and fro on his bed, ever
muttering your name, ever recalling scenes which have been passed in
your company. When I saw him in this state, when I heard those groans,
and recognised them as the utterances of the mental agony which he was
suffering, I thought it my duty to come to you. Understand, I make
no _ad misericordiam_ appeal. There is no question of my throwing
myself on your feelings, and imploring you to have pity on this boy.
I imagine that, even with all his passion for and devotion to you,
he is far too proud for that, and would disclaim my act so soon as
he knew of it. But, loving him as I do, I come to you and say, 'This
is your work.' What steps you should take, if any, it is for you to
determine. I say nothing, advise nothing, hint nothing, save this:
if what you wrote in that letter to Paul was final and decisive, the
result of due reflection, the conviction that you could not be happy
with him, then stand by it and hold to it; for if you were to give way
merely for compassion's sake, his state would be even worse than it is
now. But if you spoke truth to me at the beginning of this interview,
if your dismissal of Paul was, as you described it, a woman's whim,
conceived without adequate reason, and carried out in mere wantonness,
I say to you, that if this boy dies--and his state even now is most
critical--his death will lie at your door."
Daisy had been listening with bent head and averted eyes. All evidence
of her having heard what George had said lay in a nervous fluttering
motion of her hand, involuntary and beyond her control. When George
ceased, she looked up, and said in a hard, dry voice:
"What will you have me do?"
"I told you at first that I would give you no advice, that I would make
no suggestion as to the line of conduct you should pursue. That must
be left entirely to the promptings of your heart, and--excuse me, Miss
Stafford, I am sadly old-fashioned, and still believe in the existence
of such things--your conscience."
"Is he--is he so very ill?" asked Daisy in a trembling voice.
"He is very dangerously ill," said George; "he could not be worse. But
understand, I don't urge this to influence your decision, nor must you
let it weigh with you. Your action in this matter must be the result
of calm deliberation and self-examination. To act on an impulse which
you will repent of when the excitement is over, is worse than to leave
matters where they are."
"He--he is delirious, you say?" asked Daisy; "he does not recognise
anyone?"
"No, he is quite delirious," said George. "He will have to be carefully
attended, and I am now going to see after a nurse. So," he added,
rising from his chair, "having discharged my duty, I will now proceed
on my way. I am sorry, Miss Stafford, that on my first visit to you I
should have been the bearer of what, to me at least, is such sad news."
Then he bowed in his old-fashioned way, and took his departure.
After George left her, Daisy dropped back into the chair which she had
occupied during his visit, and sat gazing vacantly into the fire.
Calm deliberation and self-examination! Those were what that strange
earnest-looking man, Mr. Wainwright, had said he left her to. In the
state of anxiety and excitement in which she found herself, the one was
impossible, and she shrank from the other. Self-examination--what would
that show her? A girl, first winning, then trifling with the affections
of a warmhearted young fellow, who worshipped her and was ready to
sacrifice everything in life for her. And the same girl, hitherto so
proud in her virtue and her self-command, paltering and chaffering for
her honour with a man, the best thing which could be said about whom
was, that he had spoken plainly and made no secret of his intentions.
Ah, good heavens, in what a miserable state of mental blindness and
self-deception had she been living during the past few weeks! on
the brink of what a moral precipice had she been idly straying with
careless feet! Thinking of these things, Daisy buried her face in her
hands, and sought relief in a flood of tears. Then, suddenly springing
up, she cried:
"It is not too late! Thank God for that! Not too late to undo all that
my wickedness has brought about. Not too late to prove my devotion to
him. Mr. Wainwright said he was going to see after a nurse. There shall
be no occasion for that. When my darling Paul comes to himself, he
shall find his nurse installed at his pillow."
Very long odds against Colonel Orpington's chance now!