"Dear Miss Vane,--
"I hear that you are to arrive home this afternoon, and intend to take
the liberty of calling upon you after dinner, in the hope that you may
be able to give me a few minutes of uninterrupted conversation on a
subject of great importance. If you are too much fatigued after your
journey, pray have no scruples in refusing me admission, in which case I
shall take an early opportunity of calling again; but after the strain
of the past few weeks I do not find myself able to wait longer than is
absolutely necessary for an interview.
"Yours faithfully,--
"George Elgood."
"Is that from Elgood? What does he say? What does he say? Let us see
what he says!" petitioned Ron eagerly; but Margot returned the letter to
her pocket, resolutely ignoring his outstretched hand.
"He gives no explanation, but he is coming to-night. Coming to call
after dinner, and he asks me to see him alone, so I'll find out all
about it, and tell you afterwards."
"Alone!" Ron's face was eloquent with surprise, disappointment, and a
dawning suspicion. "Why alone? It's more my affair than yours. I
_must_ thank him before he goes."
"I'll send for you, then. I suppose he wants to explain to me first.
I'll be sure to send for you!" reiterated Margot hurriedly, as she
disappeared through the doorway. Her first impulse was, girl-like, to
make for her own room, to give those final touches to hair and dress,
which are so all-important in effect, and that done, to sit alone,
listening for the expected knock at the door, the sound of footsteps
ascending to the drawing-room. To meet George Elgood here! To see his
tall dark figure outlined against the familiar background of home,--
Margot gasped at the thought, and felt her heart leap painfully at every
fresh sound.
The postman, the parcels delivery, a van from the Stores, had all
claimed the tribute of a blush, a gasp, and a fresh rush to the glass,
before at last slow footsteps were heard mounting the stairs, and Mary's
voice at the door announced, "A gentleman to see you, Miss Margot!" and
in another minute, as it seemed, she was facing George Elgood across the
length of the drawing-room.
The roles of invalid and anxious inquirer seemed for the moment to be
reversed, for while she was pink and smiling, he was grave and of a
ghastly pallor. Nervous also; for the first words of greeting were an
unintelligible murmur, and they seated themselves in an embarrassed
silence.
"You--er--you received my letter?"
"Yes!" Margot gazed at the tips of her dainty slippers, and smiled
softly to herself. In the interval which had passed since they last
met, the Editor had evidently suffered a relapse into his old shyness
and reserve. She had guessed as much from the somewhat stilted
phraseology of his letter, and was prepared to reassure him by her own
outspoken gratitude.
"Yes; I was so pleased!"
He gave a little start of astonishment, and stared at her with bright,
incredulous eyes.
"Pleased? You mean it? You did not think it a liberty--"
"Indeed I did not. I guessed what you had to tell me, and it made me so
happy."
He leaned forward impetuously, the blood flushing his cheeks.
"You had guessed before? You knew it was coming?"
"Not exactly, but I hoped--"
"_Hoped_!--Margot, is it possible that you have cared, too? It seems
too wonderful to be true.--I never dreamt of such amazing happiness. At
the best it seemed possible that you would be willing to give me a
hearing. I did not dare to write, but this time of waiting has seemed
as if it would never end..."
As he began to speak Margot faced him with candid eyes, but at the sound
of his voice, and at sight of the answering flash of his eyes, her lids
quivered and fell, and she shrank back against the cushions of her
chair. Astonishment overwhelmed her; but the relief, the thankfulness,
the rapture of the moment obliterated everything else. She gave a
strangled sob of emotion and said faintly--
"It--it has seemed long to me, too!"
At that he was on his knees before her, clasping her hands and gazing at
her with an expression of rapturous relief. "Oh, Margot, my darling,
was it because I was not there? Have you missed me? Not as I have
missed you--that is not possible, but enough to remember me sometimes,
and to be glad to meet again. Have you thought of me at all, Margot?"
"I--I have thought of nothing else!" sighed Margot. She was generous
with her assurance, knowing the nature of the man with whom she had to
deal, and her reward was the sight of the illumined face turned upon
her.
There, in a corner of a modern drawing-room, with a glimpse of a London
street between the curtain folds, Margot and George Elgood found the
Eden which is discovered afresh by all true lovers. Such moments are
too sacred for intrusion; they live enshrined in memory until the end of
life.
It was not until a considerable time had flown by that Margot recalled
the events of the earlier evening, and with them still another claim
held by her lover upon her gratitude and devotion. Drawing back, so as
to lift her charming face to his--a rosy, sparkling face, unrecognisable
as the same white and weary visage of a few hours back, she laid her
hand on his, and said sweetly--
"We went off at a tangent, didn't we? I don't know how we went off, and
forgot the real business of the evening; but I never finished thanking
you! You must think me terribly ungrateful!"
George Elgood regarded her with puzzled, adoring eyes.
"I haven't the least idea what you are talking about, but what does it
matter? What does anything matter, except that we love each other, and
are the happiest creatures on earth? Business, indeed! Why need we
trouble ourselves to talk about business? Margot, do you know that you
have a dimple in the middle of your cheek? The most beautiful dimple in
the world!"
Margot shook her head at him with a pretence of disapproval, smiling the
while, so as to show off the dimple to the best advantage.
"You mustn't make me conceited. I am vain enough already to know that
you love me, and have taken so much trouble to please me. It _was_ kind
of you!"
"What was kind, sweetheart? There is no kindness in loving you. I had
no choice in the matter, for I simply could not help myself!"
"Ah, but you know what I mean! You have given me my two greatest
desires! I can't tell you how happy I was when I saw it."
He stared at her for a moment, then smiled complacently.
"You mean--my note?"
"No, I didn't mean your note. Not this time. I meant the magazine!"
"Magazine!"
The accent of bewilderment was unmistakably genuine, and Margot hastened
to explain still further.
"The new number of the _Loadstar_ with Ron's poem in it!"
"Ron's poem!" The note of bewilderment was accentuated to one of
positive incredulity. "A poem by your brother in the _Loadstar_! I did
not know that he wrote at all."
Now it was Margot's turn to stare and frown.
"You didn't know! But you _must_ have known. How else could it get in?
You must have given permission."
"My sweetheart, what have I to do with the _Loadstar_, or any other
magazine? What has my permission to do with it?"
"Everything in the world! Oh, I know exactly what has happened. Your
brother has told you about Ron, and showed you his verses, and you put
them in for his sake--_and mine_! Because you knew I should be pleased,
and because they are good too, and you were glad to help him. He is
longing to come in to thank you himself. We shall both thank you all
our lives!"
George Elgood's face of stupefaction was a sight to behold. His
forehead was corrugated with lines of bewilderment; he stared at her in
blankest dismay.
"What _are_ you talking about, sweetheart? What does it all mean? Your
brother has no need to thank me for any success which he has gained. I
should have been only too delighted to help him in any way that was in
my power, but I have no influence with the _Loadstar Magazine_."
"No influence! How can that be when you are the Editor?"
"I am the _What_?"
"Editor! You have every influence. You _are_ the magazine!"
George Elgood rose to his feet with a gesture of strongest astonishment.
"I the Editor of a magazine! My dearest little girl, what are you
dreaming about? There never was a man less suited to the position. I
know nothing whatever of magazines--of any sort of literature. I am in
corn!"
A corn merchant! Margot's brain reeled. She lay back in her chair,
staring at him with wide, stunned eyes, too utterly prostrated by
surprise to be capable of speech!