SAVILE AND JASMYN
Savile had written asking Jasmyn Vere to see him on a matter of
importance.
Jasmyn promptly and courteously made an appointment, and spent the
intervening hours chuckling to himself at the solemn tone of the letter,
and wondering what in Heaven's name the child could possibly want.
He received Savile in a kind of winter garden, or conservatory at the
back of his house, and went to meet him with the most charming
cordiality, to put the boy at his ease. He would have been rather
surprised had he known that something about his reddish hair, and his
mouth open with hospitable welcome against the green background,
reminded the boy irresistibly of an amiable gold-fish.
"So delighted, dear boy, that you should have thought of me. Anything,
of course, in the world that I could do for you, or for any of your
charming family, I should look upon as a real privilege. Have a
cigarette? You smoke, of course? You oughtn't to. Take this nice
comfortable chair--not that one, it's horrid--and tell me all about it."
"Thanks, awfully," said Savile seriously, intensely amused at his host's
nervous, elaborate politeness, and trying hard to repress the
inclination to laugh that Jasmyn always inspired in him. How fluttered
and flattered the dear old thing seemed! Savile wasn't a bit frightened
of him.
"I knew you know all about things, Mr. Vere," said Savile, accepting a
cigarette and a cushioned deck-chair, "and I thought I'd ask your advice
about something."
Jasmyn was completely at a loss. Could it be a question of a tenner? It
so often was. But no, he felt sure that it was nothing quite so
commonplace, or quite so simple.
In a few minutes he had heard and thoroughly taken in the whole story.
He was most interested, and particularly sympathetic about Sylvia,
though from his own point of view--the worldly social-conventional
view--she ought to have done better. As he thought it over he walked up
and down the winter garden.
Some birds were twittering in gold cages among the palms and plants, and
every now and then he stopped to talk to them in the little language
one uses to pets, which irritated Savile to the verge of madness.
"I know of one thing," said Jasmyn, "and only one, that might do. I know
a charming young fellow who's been ordered to travel for a year, and
needs a companion. He doesn't want to go, a bit; but his relatives might
be able to persuade him to, if he took a fancy to Woodville, and I'm
sure he would. He's just a little mad. That would be delightful for your
friend if he could get it: yachting for six months; a motoring tour in
Italy; all sorts of nice things. He's a man called Newman Ferguson."
"But you see, it's Woodville himself who wants a companion," said
Savile. "I don't think in his present state he'd be particularly keen on
being shut up alone on a yacht with a raving lunatic, and struggling
with him in a padded state-room. I shouldn't think he'd do for the post.
Then, I don't see how his going away for a year would help."
"True, my dear boy. How clever you are! Well, I suppose I must think it
over, and look round."
Savile looked very disappointed.
"I mustn't let you go without giving you some hope, though. I see how
much your heart is in it!" said Jasmyn good-naturedly.
"Can you give any general sort of advice?" Savile asked. "How _does_ a
chap get things?"
"It's very, very difficult, dear Savile, and it's getting more and more
difficult--unless you're related to somebody--or have heaps of money.
The really best thing, of course, for our friend, would be to go into
some kind of business. I'll look out and see if something turns up. Now
look here," and Jasmyn put his arm in Savile's, "if it's something of
that sort, and it's merely some--a--cash for capital that's required,
let him look upon me as his banker. Tell him that, Savile. You'll know
how."
"No, I shan't know how, Mr. Vere. He wouldn't like it. And then,
besides, you see he doesn't know anything about it--I mean about my
coming to you like this. Sylvia doesn't, either. Of course, old
Woodville would be very pleased if I went and told him he'd got some
capital appointment. He'd soon forgive me then for my cheek in
interfering. But not what you've just said. Awfully jolly of you,
though."
Jasmyn took a few steps back and stared at Savile.
"You mean to say you've undertaken this all on your own? Why, you're a
marvel! Haven't you really mentioned it to a soul?"
"As a matter of fact," said Savile scrupulously, "I _did_ just mention
something about it--not your name or theirs, of course--to the girl I'm
engaged to. But she doesn't know any more about it than she did before."
Jasmyn exploded with laughter.
"Savile, you'll go far. So much prudence combined with so much
pluck--why you'll end by being Prime Minister!"
"I shouldn't care for that. Besides, I can't," Savile said
apologetically, "I'm going into the army."
"And what about _your_ engagement?"
"Nothing about it. It won't make any difference."
"To whom?"
"Why, to me--or to _her_ either--so far as that goes."
"Tell me why you're so keen about Woodville, and what you're taking all
this trouble for, old boy?"
"Why, for my sister, of course!" Savile answered, surprised.
"You're a dear good boy. And you shan't be disappointed. As soon as I
hear of anything I'll let you know, and we'll talk it over again. When
do you go back to school?"
"In a few days," said Savile, getting up to go.
"Poor chap! Well, well, we'll see what happens. Must you go now? Cheer
up. It's sure to come all right. And I say, Savile----"
"Yes?"
"Remember me kindly to your fiancee, won't you?"
"Of _course_ I shan't! She's never heard of you. Her mother doesn't let
her read the papers, not even the _Morning Post_. And besides, it's
quite a private engagement."
"You can trust me, Savile. Just tell me one thing," Jasmyn said, with an
inquisitive leer. "Is she dark or fair?"
"Not very," said Savile.