Poor Jack! How came he to be in Lady Bell's ball-room?
The morning after she had nearly driven over him he woke to find Leonard
Dagle, his friend and fellow lodger, standing beside his bed and looking
down at him with a grave smile on his intellectual face.
"Hallo!" said Jack, "the house on fire?"
"Not at present," said Leonard, "though it would soon be if you lived in
it alone. Why don't you blow your candle out, and not chuck your
slippers at it? How are you this morning?"
"How am I?" said Jack, staring. "How should I be? Quite well of course,"
which was quite true, for Jack and the headache had not been introduced
to each other.
"That's all right," said Leonard, with a smile. "Perhaps you remember
last night's tragic occurrence, then?"
Jack thought for a moment, then shook his head gravely.
"Len, I'm an idiot. I always was. It's a good job idiocy isn't catching
or you'd have caught it of me long ago. I made a confounded idiot of
myself last night. It was all Dalrymple and Hetley's fault, and I wish
they'd knock champagne off the club wine list. Did I take too much,
Len?"
"What do you think?" said Leonard, grimly.
"I'm afraid I did. For the first time in my life, or nearly--but I
didn't touch a card, Len."
"I knew you wouldn't do that."
"No, a promise is a promise with me," said Jack. "And I didn't drink
much, Len, 'pon my honor; but I was upset, and when a man is upset
he----"
"He generally tries to get run over," said Leonard, with a smile.
Jack stared, then he laughed.
"By George! yes. I remember!"
"But always does not get the luck to be rescued by a beautiful young
lady--who is an heiress--and who, instead of giving him in charge for
blocking the queen's highway, brings him home in her brougham."
"It was a kind thing to do, certainly," said Jack, with a yawn.
"Kind is a mild way of putting it," remarked Leonard.
"It was more than I deserved," said Jack; "much more, and she's a
brick."
"The man who calls Lady Isabel Earlsley a brick should be a bold man."
At last Jack looked up, and pressing his chair back, said:
"And now, old man, let's hold a council of war. Subject to be
considered: the future of a young man who has been cut off with a
shilling--by George! the poor old fellow didn't even leave me that--who
knows no trade, who cannot dig, and to beg is ashamed, and who is
penniless."
"Quite penniless, Jack?" asked Leonard.
Jack rose, and sauntering to a drawer, pulled forth an old tobacco
pouch, and pouring the contents on to the table proceeded to count the
small--very small--heap of coin.
"Twenty-one pounds six-and-fourpence farthing--no; it's a brass
button--and a brass button."
"Can't carry on this way long with that small amount of ammunition,
Jack."
"Just so, old Solomon. Well, what's to be done?"
"You might enlist."
"Get shot, and break your heart. No, I'm too fond of you, Len. Go on;
anything else?"
"Upon my word, you can't do anything."
"Nary thing," admitted Jack, with frank candor.
"What do men--well-born and high-bred men like you----"
"What will you take to drink?" said Jack, bowing low.
"Who have no money, and no brains----"
Jack bowed again, and pitched the sugar tongs at him.
"What do they do? They generally marry an heiress, Jack."
"I shall never marry."
"I've heard that remark before. The last it was from a man who married a
fortnight afterward."
"I'm not going to marry in a fortnight. Go ahead."
"I've done," said Leonard with a shrug.
"Solomon is dried up," said Jack. "You don't keep a large stock of
wisdom on hand, old man."
"I've given you the best I've got, and good advice too, with a
foundation to go upon. Your heiress is ready to your hand."
"What do you mean?" said Jack.
Leonard was about to reply, when the housekeeper entered and brought him
a card. He looked at it; it bore Lady Isabel Earlsley's name, and on the
back was written:
"To inquire whether Mr. Newcombe was hurt last night?"
Leonard pitched it across the table, as an answer to Jack's question.
Jack read the card and flushed hotly, then threw it down again.
Leonard took up a piece of paper, and rapidly wrote:
"Mr. Newcombe's compliments, and he was not in any way injured by last
night's accident, which he deeply regrets as having caused Lady Earlsley
so much trouble," and gave it to the housekeeper.
"What have you written?" asked Jack sulkily.
"What you are too much of a bear to write," said Leonard, with a
smile--"an answer and an apology. Jack, you are a favorite of fortune.
Half the men in London would give the forefinger of their right hand to
get such a message from Lady Bell. I know her----"
"So do I," broke in Jack, roughly; "I heard all about her at the club
last night. Hetley and Dalrymple bored me to death about her. She's a
great heiress and a beauty, and all the rest of it. I know, and I don't
want to hear any more."
Jack went up to Len and laid his hand on his shoulder.
"Forgive me, old fellow; but I--my heart is full. Only one woman in the
world has any interest for me, and she has gone--up to the sky again, I
suppose. What do I care for Lady Bell, or Lady anyone else? I tell you I
laid awake half the night thinking of that beautiful face, and dreamed
of her eyes the rest of the night; and I'd give all the world if I had
it, to find her. And much good it would do me if I succeeded? I couldn't
ask her to share twenty-one pounds six and a brass button!"
"Forgive _me_, Jack," said Leonard, quietly. "I know what you mean. I'm
in love myself. But--but at any rate you can't treat Lady Bell rudely.
You must call and thank her."
"Confound her!" said Jack, and hurried out of the room.
Leonard looked after him, and then went on with his work. He saw no more
of him until late in the evening, when Jack came in and threw himself
into a chair, looking weary if not exhausted.
"What have you been doing, Jack?" asked Leonard.
"Looking for a needle in a bundle of hay," replied Jack, grimly.
Leonard nodded.
"I've been walking about ever since I left you, with scarcely a rest.
I've walked through every thoroughfare in London. I've looked into
windows and into shops. I've been warned off and told to move on by the
police, who thought I was a burglar on the search for a job; and here I
am and there is she as far off as ever. And yet I feel--Heavens knows
why--that she is here in London. Len, if you smile I shall knock you
down."
"I was never farther from smiling than I am at this moment," said
Leonard quietly.
"Do you know what I would do if--if the squire had left me any money?"
went on Jack, fiercely; "I would spend every penny of it in searching
for her. I'd have a hundred--a thousand detectives at work. I'd never
give them rest night or day till they found her."
"And then?" said Leonard.
Jack groaned and lit his pipe. Leonard looked at him.
"I thought you had gone to call on Lady Earlsley," he said.
Jack looked very much as if he really meant to knock him down, and
marched off to bed.
When he came in to breakfast the next morning Leonard noticed that he
was dressed in proper walking attire, instead of the loose, free and
easy, well-worn suit of cheviot, but he said nothing. Jack looked up.
"You are staring at my get-up, Len. Well, I'll do it; but mind it is
only to please you. What should I care what she thinks? though I ought
to do it, I know. I'll call and thank her, and then let there be an end
of it. I can't bear any chaff of that sort even from you, old fellow."
Leonard nodded without a word, for he saw that the once frank face had
lost its careless _sang froid_ expression, and looked harassed and even
haggard.
Jack smoked a pipe in silence, watching Leonard's rapidly moving pen;
then, without a word, went out.
Two hours later he came in, and with an air of relief and even a smile,
said:
"Well, I've done it, and it's over."
"Well?" said Leonard, curiously.
"Well, nothing; she wasn't at home," said Jack, triumphantly.
"Not at home. What sort of a place was it?"
"The best place in Park Lane," said Jack. "No end of flunkeys about, and
the rest of it. Looks as if she rolled in gold, as she must do to have
the place at all."
"And you didn't see her?" asked Leonard.
Jack colored and frowned.
"What a curious beggar you are! Yes, I did see her; her carriage drove
up just as I was going away."
"And you spoke to her?"
"No, I just raised my hat and walked away," said Jack, gravely.
Leonard shrugged his shoulders.
"She will think you a boor."
"So I am," said Jack. "What does it matter? Tell me something about
yourself. I am sick of myself. What have you been doing?"
Leonard's pale face flushed.
"I've been to Cheltenham Terrace," he said.
"Well, did you see her?"
"No," said Leonard, sadly. "I saw that the blinds in the upper windows
were down, and I went to the next door, and asked if anyone was ill."
"Well?"
"Yes, her grandfather, old Mr. Treherne, was ill, they said, and I came
away."
"Well," said Jack, "at any rate you know where to find her--while I----"
"I saw her shadow on the blind," said Leonard, simply. "I could swear to
it among a hundred. I watched her beautiful profile for an hour in that
railway carriage."
"Treherne, Laura Treherne," said Jack. "It is a pretty name. What took
her to Hurst Leigh that night, I wonder? The night the squire died. Len,
it is a romance, but I envy you. If I knew where Una lived I'd hang
about the house night and day until I saw her. Len, do you know what it
is to be hungry, to be parched and dried up with thirst so that you
would give all you possessed--ten years of your life for a draught of
water? That is just how I feel when I think of that beautiful face, with
its soft brown eyes and innocent smile! And when do I not think of
her?"
"And you didn't speak to Lady Bell?" said Leonard.
Jack made a hasty explanation and made for the door, nearly running
against the housekeeper.
"A letter for you, sir," she said.
Jack tore it open, read it and threw it to Leonard.
The envelope was a dainty gray color, and stamped with an elaborate coat
of arms, with the initials I. E. in cipher underneath, and inside was a
card of invitation to a ball, filled in by a lady's delicate hand, with
a line in addition.
"With Lady Earlsley's compliments and regret that she was from home when
Mr. Newcombe called."
"Jack, what condescension. You must go!"
Jack stammered, and argued, and protested. He was too honest to plead
that he was in mourning; but he simply swore that he would not go.
The day came round and the evening fell, and Jack came into the
sitting-room in evening dress, his tall form seeming to fill the room.
Leonard used to say that it was a treat to see Jack in evening dress;
that he was one of the few men who looked to advantage in it, and he
turned from his eternal pen and ink to look at him with an approving
smile.
"Yes," said Jack, fiercely, "I am going; I am a fool, but how can a man
stand against such a perpetual old nuisance as you are? But mind, I am
just going in and out again, and after this there is an end of it. I
shall enlist!" and out he went.