"I? Oh, I shall cry for a little while, but later on I shall laugh, as
often. Life is not all love. I have my work."
He knew her well by this time. And also it came to him that it would be
a finer thing to be worthy of her than even to possess her.
So he did her bidding and went out with the other woman. Tommy was glad
it was press-night. She would not be able to think for hours to come,
and then, perhaps, she would be feeling too tired. Work can be very
kind.
Were this an artistic story, here, of course, one would write "Finis."
But in the workaday world one never knows the ending till it comes. Had
it been otherwise, I doubt I could have found courage to tell you this
story of Tommy. It is not all true--at least, I do not suppose so. One
drifts unconsciously a little way into dream-land when one sits oneself
down to recall the happenings of long ago; while Fancy, with a sly wink,
whispers ever and again to Memory: "Let me tell this incident--picture
that scene: I can make it so much more interesting than you would." But
Tommy--how can I put it without saying too much: there is someone I think
of when I speak of her? To remember only her dear wounds, and not the
healing of them, would have been a task too painful. I love to dwell on
their next meeting. Flipp, passing him on the steps, did not know him,
the tall, sunburnt gentleman with the sweet, grave-faced little girl.
"Seen that face somewhere before," mused Flipp, as at the corner of
Bedford Street he climbed into a hansom, "seen it somewhere on a thinner
man."
For Dick Danvers, that he did not recognise Flipp, there was more excuse.
A very old young man had Flipp become at thirty. Flipp no longer enjoyed
popular journalism. He produced it.
The gold-bound doorkeeper feared the mighty Clodd would be unable to see
so insignificant an atom as an unappointed stranger, but would let the
card of Mr. Richard Danvers plead for itself. To the gold-bound keeper's
surprise came down the message that Mr. Danvers was to be at once shown
up.
"I thought, somehow, you would come to me first," said the portly Clodd,
advancing with out-stretched hand. "And this is--?"
"My little girl, Honor. We have been travelling for the last few
months."
Clodd took the grave, small face between his big, rough hands:
"Yes. She is like you. But looks as if she were going to have more
sense. Forgive me, I knew your father my dear," laughed Clodd; "when he
was younger."
They lit their cigars and talked.
"Well, not exactly dead; we amalgamated it," winked Clodd in answer to
Danvers' inquiry. "It was just a trifle _too_ high-class. Besides, the
old gentleman was not getting younger. It hurt him a little at first.
But then came Tommy's great success, and that has reconciled him to all
things. Do they know you are in England?"
"No," explained Danvers; "we arrived only last night."
Clodd called directions down the speaking-tube.
"You will find hardly any change in her. One still has to keep one's eye
upon her chin. She has not even lost her old habit of taking stock of
people. You remember." Clodd laughed.
They talked a little longer, till there came a whistle, and Clodd put his
ear to the tube.
"I have to see her on business," said Clodd, rising; "you may as well
come with me. They are still in the old place, Gough Square."
Tommy was out, but Peter was expecting her every minute.
Peter did not know Dick, but would not admit it. Forgetfulness was a
sign of age, and Peter still felt young.
"I know your face quite well," said Peter; "can't put a name to it,
that's all."
Clodd whispered it to him, together with information bringing history up
to date. And then light fell upon the old lined face. He came towards
Dick, meaning to take him by both hands, but, perhaps because he had
become somewhat feeble, he seemed glad when the younger man put his arms
around him and held him for a moment. It was un-English, and both of
them felt a little ashamed of themselves afterwards.
"What we want," said Clodd, addressing Peter, "we three--you, I, and Miss
Danvers--is tea and cakes, with cream in them; and I know a shop where
they sell them. We will call back for your father in half an hour."
Clodd explained to Miss Danvers; "he has to talk over a matter of
business with Miss Hope."
"I know," answered the grave-faced little person. She drew Dick's face
down to hers and kissed it. And then the three went out together,
leaving Dick standing by the window.
"Couldn't we hide somewhere till she comes?" suggested Miss Danvers. "I
want to see her."
So they waited in the open doorway of a near printing-house till Tommy
drove up. Both Peter and Clodd watched the child's face with some
anxiety. She nodded gravely to herself three times, then slipped her
hand into Peter's.
Tommy opened the door with her latchkey and passed in.