"Hallo, Jess, you here?" cried Clive, as he suddenly encountered his
brother at Dr Praed's door in Russell Square.
Jessop Reed started, and in spite of his man-about-town confidence, he
looked for the moment confused, but recovered himself directly.
"Might say the same to you," he retorted. "I thought you were down some
hole in the Midlands."
"But I've come up again. Just got here from St Pancras now. I say,
though, what is it? Out of sorts--been to see the Doctor?"
"Eh? Oh no. I'm all right. But I'm in a hurry. See you at dinner."
"Why, what's the matter with him?" thought Clive, as his brother hurried
away. "Fast life, I suppose. I'll run in and ask the Doctor before I
go up."
He rang; the Doctor's confidential man opened the door, and stood back
for him to enter.
"Patient with the Doctor, Morgan?"
"No, sir; past his time. Gone on to the hospital. Back soon."
Clive stared.
"Miss Praed's in the drawing-room, sir."
"Oh, all right. I'll go up," said Clive; and he began to ascend two
steps at a time. "I hope Jess isn't ill. Disappointed, I suppose, at
finding the old man out."--"Ah, Janet, darling," he cried, as he entered
the drawing-room, to find his fiancee standing with a bouquet in her
hand, looking dreamy and thoughtful.
She flushed up as he caught her in his arms and kissed her tenderly, and
then frowned slightly, and put on the pouting look of a spoiled child.
"Why, what a bonnie bunch of roses!" he cried. "Let's have one for a
button-hole."
"No, no," she said hastily, and a pained look of perplexity crossed
Clive's countenance as she held the bouquet from him. Then with forced
playfulness, "Mustn't be touched."
"All right," he cried merrily. "I came round this way so as to see you
first, pet. Raced up by the early train this morning."
"Indeed!" said Janet, raising her eyebrows; "been in Derbyshire, have
you not?"
"My darling!"
"Well, one knows so little of your movements now."
"Oh, I say, Janet dear, don't be hard upon a poor busy fellow. You know
why I am away so much. All for your sake, pet," he whispered earnestly;
"to make ourselves thoroughly independent, and you a home of which you
may be proud."
There was a slight catching in Janet Praed's breath, as she said
jerkily, and with a show of flippancy, to hide the emotion from which
she suffered, for self-accusation was busy with her just then, and a
pang or two shot through her as she contrasted the frank, honest manner
of her betrothed, and his words, so full of simple honest affection,
with others to which she had in a foolish, half-jealous spirit listened
again and again--
"Oh yes, I know," she said, curling up her pretty lip, and speaking
hastily to hide her feelings; "but you might have called."
"Now, Janet, love, don't tease me. How could I, dear?"
"Well, then, you might have written. A whole week away and not a line."
"Gently, my own darling, judge, guide, and counsellor in one," he cried
warmly. "I might have written, and ought to have written, but I have
been, oh so busy all day, and when I got back to quarters, there was the
Major to talk to me, and I could not slight Miss Gurdon."
"The Major--Miss Gurdon? May I ask who these people are?"
"Oh, a very jolly old sort of fellow, who lives close to the mine, with
an only daughter. He insisted upon my staying there while I was down,
and I wasn't sorry; for--O Janet! let me whisper it in your lovely
little shell of an ear," he continued playfully--"the miner's cottage I
slept at one night was not comfortable; it was grubby, and oh, those
fleas! If it had not been for my stout walking-stick--"
"What sort of a person is Miss Gurdon?" said Janet, interrupting him
quickly.
"Oh, very nice and ladylike."
"Pretty?"
"Pretty! Well, you would hardly call it pretty. A sad, pensive face,
very sweet and delicate, and with the look of one who had known trouble.
There seemed to be some secret about father and daughter."
"Oh!" said Janet softly, and the colour came into her cheeks very
warmly. "And you were very comfortable there?"
"Yes, very," said Clive emphatically.
"Too comfortable to remember me and write, of course."
"O Janet, my darling!" he said tenderly, as he passed his arm about her
waist, "how can you be such a jealous little thing! As if I could think
of any one but you. You were with me night and day. It was always what
is Janet doing? how does she look? and is she thinking of me? Whether I
was scrambling about down in the mine like a mud-lark, or more decent
and talking to Miss Gurdon of an evening in their tiny drawing-room."
"About me, of course," said Janet coldly.
"No, dear," said Clive innocently, "I never mentioned your name. I
dared not, pet, for fear they should laugh at me, and think what a great
goose I was. For I am, pet. Once I begin talking to any one about you,
I can't leave off."
"Indeed!" she said sarcastically.
"Why, Janet, dear," he said earnestly, and he tried to take her hand,
"what have I said or done? Surely you don't think--Oh, my love, my dear
love!" he cried, with his voice growing deep and earnest, "how can you
be so ready to take pique over such trifles! Janet, I love you with all
my heart, dear. I have not a thought that is not for my own darling."
"No, no; don't touch me," she panted, as he drew her towards him.
"I will--I will, darling wifie to be; but you must master these little
bits of uncalled-for jealousy, dear. They are not fair to me, and next
time I am away I will at any cost write to you, even if the business
fails, and--"
"Scoundrel! ruffian! how dare you put your arm around my daughter, sir?
She is not your wife yet."
The words came so fiercely and suddenly that Clive started away, and
Janet hurriedly escaped to the other side of the chair. For the Doctor
had bustled in just as Clive was trying to take the kiss withheld from
him, and now stood there with a terrific frown upon his heavy grey brow.
The next moment he had burst into a hearty roar of laughter.
"Nice guilty pair you look," he cried. "Ah! you may well turn red, you
unblushing puss! Eh? No, that won't do, it's a bull. And you, sir,
how dare--Well, how are you, Clive, my boy? Came round here first, eh?
I called at Guildford Street as I went to the hospital, and they hadn't
heard of you."
"Yes, I was obliged to come here first," said Clive.
"Of course. That's right. Janet has been looking pale since you went.
Come and dine to-night, and don't let me come in here and catch you
behaving in that rude way again."
"Papa, for shame!" cried Janet, and she hurried out of the room.
The Doctor laughed.
"Well," he cried eagerly, "what about the mine?--is it good?"
"For your ears only, Doctor," said Clive, "in confidence?"
"On my honour, my dear boy," said Dr Praed gravely.
"Then you may invest as much as you like, sir."
"Not a company dodge?"
"The mine teems with ore, sir. I have thoroughly examined it, and found
out a new, enormously rich lode."
"Then it's quite safe?"
"Safe as the Bank of England, sir, and the dad will be a millionaire."
"Ah! I wish he would be a healthy man, instead of a wealthy," said the
Doctor.
"Oh, you don't think--you have not found him worse?"
"I don't like his looks, Clive, my boy," said the Doctor; "and I beg
that you will try to save him from all emotion. This great accession of
wealth will do him no good, and--yes; what?--I didn't ring."
"Messenger, sir," said the Doctor's man, with grave earnestness and a
sharp glance at Clive. "From Mr Reed's, sir--sudden attack, and will
you come at once." Then in a hurried whisper, "Dying!"
But it sounded in trumpet-tones in Clive Reed's ear, as with a sharp cry
he sprang to his feet.
"Good heavens!" he said, "and I came on here!"
"Hush!" said the Doctor sternly. "Here, Morgan, the carriage?"
"At the door, sir."
The Doctor nodded as he drew Clive's arm through his own.
"Do not fear the worst," he whispered; "I may save him yet."