MR. GLOVER DECLINES TO SATISFY ME.
The friend to whom Turk referred was, fortunately for us, in the lobby
of the theatre, and as the two were engaged in conversation, the man I
came to seek lounged towards us. He seemed surprised to see me, but
approached me quite affably, and asked what I was doing in _his_ part
of the world so late in the night. I made some sort of awkward,
bungling answer, and then he recognised Turk.
'You, too, Turk,' he said in his slow way; 'but that is natural, for
these are your quarters now. Let me see. You take possession
to-morrow?'
'Yes,' Turk answered, everything was settled, and he went into his new
place of business early in the morning.
'And how is business with you?' asked Mr. Glover, directing his
attention to me again.
I answered that it was very good, and that I had nothing to complain
of in that respect.
'You have nothing to complain of in that respect,' he said, glancing
from me to Turk and from Turk to me, and appearing to be seeking for
some solution of the circumstance that we were in company together.
When he was in any doubt, he had an irritating habit of repeating the
last words spoken by the person he was conversing with, which gave him
time to think of his own words in reply. 'That must be very
satisfactory. I hear good accounts of you. You will get on, I should
say, if you are steady and straightforward, and if you keep a good
name. That is everything in this world. A good name--a good name. But
what brings _you_ out to-night? Have _you_ business in this quarter
too?'
'No,' I said; 'I did not come out for business.'
'You did not come out for business. For pleasure, then. Well, young
men will be young men.'
'To tell you the truth, sir,' I said----
'That's right, always tell the truth,' he interrupted, speaking from a
height, slowly, and coolly, and patronisingly, as though he were
truth's conservator, and was glad to hear that it was being practised.
'Yes, to tell me the truth----'
'I came out partly for the purpose and in the hope of seeing you.'
With his hand playing with his moustache, he looked not at me, but at
Turk, for an explanation. Turk, however, had nothing to say.
'You came out for the purpose and in the hope of seeing me. Yes. Have
you brought me any message?'
'Did you expect one, sir?' I asked quickly.
'Did I expect one? No, I cannot really say that I did; but I should
not have been surprised. Go on,' he said, with gentle encouragement.
There were some persons passing us occasionally, and I moved to a more
retired spot. I saw that he was curious, and I saw that his curiosity
increased at this movement.
'You seem agitated,' he said. 'Turk, our young friend here seems
agitated. Take your time--take your time. If you are going to beg a
favour, I shall be glad to assist you in any way in my power--in any
way in my power.'
'I have not come to beg any favour of you, sir. I only came to
ask----'
But I hesitated here; the justice of Turk's reproach came upon me with
great force, and I was conscious that the words I was about to utter
might be construed into an ungenerous suspicion of Jessie. If they
reached her ears from the lips of one who was not well disposed
towards me, I should sink for ever in her esteem.
'Take time--take time,' said Mr. Glover, outwardly quite at his ease.
Turk came to my rescue here. He divined my thoughts, and the cause of
my hesitation.
'Perhaps, Mr. Glover,' said Turk, 'if you would not mind regarding
what passes as confidential, and not to be mentioned to any one else,
Christopher would be more at his ease.'
I gave Turk a grateful look.
'Christopher would be more at his ease,' repeated Mr. Glover. 'This
really is very mysterious. I don't see any objection. Then you know
what he is going to say?'
'I know the subject he wishes to speak upon--but I was not aware of it
when I first came out with him to-night.'
'Is it such a subject as ought to be spoken of in confidence between
us?'
He totally ignored me, as if my opinion on the point were of the
smallest possible value.
'I think so,' replied Turk, 'if it be spoken of at all.'
'You have your doubts as to the judiciousness of the communication our
young friend is about to make?'
'I have; and I have told him so.'
'Oh, you have told him so.'
He appeared to me to debate within himself whether, under such
circumstances, he should listen any further; but his curiosity
overcame his evident wish to baulk me.
'You may go on,' he said to me, with a condescending wave of his hand.
'It is understood, then,' I said, somewhat more boldly, 'that what we
say to each other is quite private and will not be repeated?'
He stared at me very haughtily, and bent his head, and stood before
me, with his fingers to his lips, waiting for me to speak. A singular
fancy occurred to me at this moment as I gazed at him--a fancy which
need not here be mentioned; it lingered in my mind then and
afterwards, although I strove to dismiss it on this occasion as being
utterly wild and out of all reason. But, in conjunction with another
circumstance, which came to light in the course of time, it led to a
strange discovery.
'I have not come to make any communication,' I said; 'I have only come
to ask a question. I can speak more freely now, as you are a
gentleman, and as what I say will not reach her ears.' (His lips
repeated 'Her ears,' but he did not repeat the words aloud.) 'It is
about Miss Trim'----
'About Jessie,' he said, in a lighter tone. 'Yes; what about her?'
'Do you know where she is?'
His looks were disturbed now, although he strove to be cool.
'Do I know where she is?' he repeated, with a contraction of his eyes.
'That is what I have come to ask.'
'Oh, that is what you have come to ask.'
'There is no need for me to repeat the question, I suppose,' I said,
controlling my desire to strike at him, for his manner was in the last
degree contemptuous, notwithstanding that the interest he took in the
conversation was evidently strengthened.
'No; I understand the English language, and _you_ will be kind enough
to understand that I am not in the habit of being questioned. There is
no need for you to repeat the question, but there is a need for my
asking why it is put to me.'
'Then you do not know?'
He would not give me the satisfaction of a simple answer.
'Let me see,' he said, in a musing tone, 'to-day is her birthday.'
'You do know that.'
'She told me herself; these things are not guessed at.'
'You have not answered my question,' I said, trembling from passion
and from a sense of helplessness.
'You have not answered mine,' he replied. 'I ask you why you put it to
me?'
Turk motioned to me that I ought to tell him, but I could not speak.
'Perhaps I had best explain,' Turk then said. 'This is Jessie's
birthday, as you know, and Christopher and his mother had prepared a
little feast in honour of it.'
'After the manner of such people,' observed Mr. Glover, with a sneer
and a laugh, which set my pulses beating more quickly. Turk took no
notice of the observation.
'My sister Josey was invited, to please Jessie, and Chris had a little
present to give her----'
'Exceedingly pretty and pathetic,' interrupted Mr. Glover. 'It would
make a charming domestic scene in poor life, if it was placed on the
stage. These commonplace circumstances tickle the fancy, and please
sentimental persons, whenever they are presented in an unreal form. In
real life, of course, there is nothing very attractive in them--often
the reverse, I should say. But the picture you have drawn would be a
failure even on the stage, if there was nothing exciting to follow. We
want a "situation," Turk.'
'We have one ready,' responded Turk. 'Without warning, and most
strangely and suddenly, Jessie leaves her home. Her friends suppose
she has gone out for a walk, and are waiting for her with uneasiness,
which grows stronger as the time goes on and Jessie does not return.
While they are waiting, a letter comes----'
'Are you concocting a plot?' asked Mr. Glover.
'I am telling you exactly what has occurred. A letter is received from
Jessie, in which she says that she has gone away, and never intends to
return. Chris, in his anxiety, has come to see you, in the hope--or
the fear--of hearing some news of her.'
I had been watching Mr. Glover's face all the time Turk was speaking,
but it was impossible for me to decide whether he was acting or not.
The only change I observed in him occurred during Turk's last words;
then a little light came into his eyes, which might have been
construed into an expression of triumph.
'And Chris, in his anxiety,' he said, has come to see me in the
hope--or the fear--of hearing some news of her. Which is it?' he
asked, turning to me; 'hope or fear?'
'Fear,' I replied unhesitatingly.
'What do you suspect me of?' he continued politely; 'running away with
her? You don't answer. Afraid to put it into words. But that's the
plain English of it, isn't it? You did a wise thing in stipulating
that what passes between us is to be kept private, or I might have
been tempted to tell the young lady in question something which would
not be pleasant for her to hear. Had you known what is due to a
gentleman from one in your station of life, I might have been induced
to satisfy your inexplicable anxiety concerning her; as it is, I
decline to do so. She would be both amused and angry to learn that you
have set up some sort of a claim upon her, as if there could be any
community of feeling between you. You seem to forget that she is a
lady, and that you--well, that you are not a gentleman. Take this
piece of advice from one who is competent to give it--go home and
stick to your bench, and don't presume to cast your thoughts on what
is not only beyond your reach, but immeasurably above you. Good-night,
Turk.'
And with a contemptuous glance at me, Mr. Glover walked away in a very
leisurely manner.