"But surely, Doctor, you don't believe I could be such a scoundrel?"
"My dear Clive, I should be sorry to think ill of any one, but you see I
am a student of man's nature."
"Then you believe it?"
"That you are a scoundrel, my dear boy? Oh, dear no; I think you one of
the best of fellows, or I would not have allowed that engagement to take
place; and as I said to Janet, we must be a bit lenient; there was every
excuse."
"What!" roared Clive, leaping from his seat in Doctor Praed's
consulting-room the morning after his father's death.
"Now, now, be calm, and listen to what I have to say."
Clive sank back with his face flushed and hands clenched, while the
Doctor continued gravely--
"She was hot-headed and angry as could be when I got her home. You see,
my dear boy, women are different in their nerve forces to men. There
had been a great drain upon her during the interview with your poor
father, and then the sad surprise with that woman and the shock of your
father's death combined were sufficient to completely disturb the nerve
centres."
Clive Reed looked at the Doctor, as though he would have liked to shake
him, but he only waited.
"I told her, as I have said, that she must not be too severe."
Clive drew his breath hard.
"That, speaking as her father and a man of the world of a few
experiences, a young lady was in error if she expected to find the man
to whom she was betrothed quite perfect."
"Doctor, you'll drive me mad," said Clive.
"No, I am going to teach you to be a little philosophical and to be
patient, for of course she will come round. I am angry, terribly angry
with you; I think it disgraceful--"
"But--"
"Hear me out, boy, or, confound you, I'll have you shown the door,"
cried the Doctor angrily. Then calming down: "It is most unfortunate,
coming at such a time, too. The old writer may well have said that
about our pleasant vices and the rods, or whatever it was, to scourge
us. Be silent, sir: you shall speak when I have done. I know there was
every excuse, living in the same house with a pretty gentle young girl
who looked above her station, but was not in her manners. I have known
lots of cases. Bit of vanity--good-looking young master--thinks she'll
be a lady--flings herself literally at young fellow's head. Yes, a
young man needs to be superhuman, I may say, under the circumstances."
"Have you done, Doctor?"
"No, sir, I have not. You will have to go through a kind of probation
with Janet--and with me, of course; and in time the matter may perhaps
be patched up. Now we will set that aside, and talk about the business
matters connected with your father's decease. Poor old Grantham! It's
a gap out of my life, Clive. We were chums for thirty years. Thank God
he did not know of this, poor fellow, for he thought so highly of you,
my boy."
"Would to God he were here now!" cried Clive passionately.
"Amen!"
"To hear his son defend himself. I swear to you, Doctor Praed, by all
that is holy, by my dead father lying there at home, and who from the
spirit-world may hear my words, I am perfectly innocent. For years I
have not had a thought that Janet might not know--that has not been
hers. It was all a mistake--a misconception, and in her hurry and
readiness to jump at conclusions she believed it."
"But, my dear boy, do you mean to deny that the unhappy girl, whose
words I heard as she knelt by you, has not had a promise of marriage?"
"No, sir--unfortunately no."
"Then what do you mean?"
"Oh, Doctor," cried Clive passionately, "why is it in this, world that
one man may go on adding blot after blot to his bespattered scutcheon,
and at each revelation people smile and shrug their shoulders; while
another who has tried to make his life blameless and keep the shield of
his honour bright is doubted at the first blur that is cast upon it;
every one seems to rejoice, sets him down as a hypocrite, and cries `Ah!
found out at last!'"
"Well, my boy, it is human nature. I must confess to feeling something
like that yesterday myself."
"Then shame upon you, sir!--Doctor, you've known me from a boy, and
ought to be better able to judge me."
"Well, you see, my boy, the circumstances," said the Doctor--"the
temptations. You suddenly lifted up to a position of great wealth and
influence, she a poor servant."
"Doctor, she is a gentle woman, and my nature would not let me forsake
her like a brute. Damn you, sir!" cried Clive, leaping from his seat,
"how dare you believe it of me--that I could come here ready to swear
fidelity to Janet, kiss her sweet pure lips, and tender her my love,
while I frankly offered you--her father--my hand? It is a shame, a
disgrace, a blot upon your own nature, to think it of your old friend's
son."
"I--I--beg your pardon, Clive, humbly, my boy," said the Doctor, rising
and catching the young man by the shoulders. "I was wrong, I ought to
have known you better. I am as hasty and jealous as Janet. Forgive me.
I was angry for my child's sake. Things looked so against you. There,
there! curse me again, my dear boy, I deserve it, I do indeed."
"Then you do not believe it now?" cried Clive, as the Doctor got hold of
his hands and shook them warmly.
"Believe it? No, not a word of it, nor shall Janet neither--a silly
little jealous baby. Then it was that scoundrel Jessop, and the poor
girl was appealing to you for help?"
"I am not going to be my brother's accuser," said Clive bitterly.
"And he played the hypocrite, and took Janet away home here out of the
scene. Here! say damn again to me, Clive, my boy, for I am about the
most idiotic old fool that ever lived. But why--why the deuce didn't
you speak out?"
"I was literally stunned, sir."
"But the girl--why didn't you make her?"
"You saw, sir; she ran sobbing out of the room."
"Then you must make her speak now. No, no: not now; let's set this
aside till after the funeral. We cannot enter into such matters with my
poor old friend lying there."
"No, sir, not there; and there is a hindrance: the poor girl has gone."
"Gone?"
"Yes; she disappeared last night. But I cannot go on living like this,
Doctor. Take me up to Janet now; I must clear myself in her eyes."
"I would, my boy, but she is not here."
"Not here?" cried Clive excitedly.
"No; she left this letter and went out again within an hour."
The Doctor took a note from his breast-pocket and handed it to Clive to
read.
"Cannot stay at home and hear about that shame and disgrace--gone away
to be at peace, and try to forget it--with one of her aunts or a
schoolfellow--will write," stammered Clive, as he hastily read the
letter.
"Yes, my dear boy, you know what a creature of impulse she is; and I
don't know that we can wonder under the circumstances."
"But tell me--where do you think she will be? I must follow her."
"Heaven only knows," said the Doctor. "Since my poor wife died she has
been mistress here, and naturally very independent and womanly--a
strange girl, my dear boy. I have been so wrapped up in my profession,
that I have lost the habit of guiding her."
"But the servants--what do they say?"
"That your brother saw her to the door, and she went straight up to her
bedroom and shut herself in. When I came back she had gone out again,
leaving this letter. I am afraid, my boy, you will have to wait. But
there! it will be all right. Poor child! she will be as humble to you
as I am.--Yes!"
This was to the Doctor's confidential servant, who brought in
half-a-dozen cards with pencilled appeals.
"Dear me! dear me!" said the Doctor, taking the cards. "Any one else?"
"Room's packed, sir."
"Clive, my dear boy, I must see my poor patients. There, there! go and
wait patiently. I'll come on to-night. You will see to matters, and
perhaps I shall have a letter from Janet, and you will be able to write
to her or go and see her. There, there! We are all straight again?"
"My dear old friend!" cried Clive.
"That's right! I did see the lawyer last night. Go and be patient;
matters are mending fast. One moment though. Clive, my dear boy, angry
passions rise; you will not go and see your brother."
"No, sir; he is keeping out of my way, or--"
"Eh? yes--or what?"
"I believe I should kill him."