In Friendship's Guise Part 22
The girl did not answer. Her eyes were downcast, and one little foot tapped the flagstone nervously.
"I love you with all my heart, Madge," he went on, with deep and sincere pa.s.sion in his voice. "You cannot doubt that, whatever you may think of me. You are the best and sweetest of women--the only one in the world for me. I will make your life happy. You shall want for nothing."
"Mr. Nevill, you know that I do not love you."
"But you will learn to in time."
"I fear not. No, I am sure of it."
"I will take the risk. I will hope that love will come."
"And you would marry me, knowing that I do not care for you in that way?"
"Yes, gladly. I cannot live without you. Say yes, Madge, and make me the happiest of men."
"I suppose I must," she replied. She did not look him in the face. "My father wishes it, and has urged me to consent. It will please him."
"Then you will be my wife, Madge?"
"Some day, if you still desire it."
"I will never change," he said, fervently.
It was a strange, ill-omened promise of marriage, and a bitter realization of how little it meant was suddenly borne home to Nevill.
He touched the girl's hand--more he dared not do, though he longed to take her in his arms and kiss her red lips. The coldness of her manner repelled him. They turned and walked slowly along the river, while the shadows deepened around them.
CHAPTER XIX.
A SHOCK FOR SIR LUCIUS.
They lingered but a moment at the house, standing irresolutely by the steps. Madge did not invite Nevill to stop, which suited him in his present mood. He pressed the girl's cold hand and strode away into the darkness. His thoughts were not pleasant, and there was a sneering smile on his face.
"I have won her," he reflected. "Won her at last! She will be my wife.
But it is not a victory to be proud of--not worth the infamy I've waded through. She consented because she has been hard driven--because I compelled her father to put the screws on. How calmly she told me that she did not love me! I can read her like a book. I hoped she had forgotten Jack, but I see now that she cares for him as much as ever.
Oh, how I hate him! Is his influence to ruin my life? I ought to be satisfied with the blow I have dealt him, but if I get a chance to strike another--"
A harsh laugh finished the sentence, and he hit out viciously with his stick at a cat perched on a garden wall.
A Waterloo train conveyed him cityward, and, avoiding the haunts of his a.s.sociates, he dined at a restaurant in the Strand. It was eight o'clock when he went to his rooms in Jermyn street, intending to change his clothes and go to a theatre. A card lay inside the door. It bore Sir Lucius Chesney's name, and Morley's Hotel was scribbled on the corner of it. Nevill scowled, and a look that was closely akin to fear came into his eyes.
"So my uncle is back!" he muttered. "I knew he would be turning up some time, but it's rather a surprise all the same. He wants to see me, of course, and I don't fancy the interview will be a very pleasant one.
Well, the sooner it is over the better. It will spoil my sleep to-night if I put it off till to-morrow."
He dressed hurriedly and went down to Trafalgar Square. Sir Lucius had just finished dinner, and uncle and nephew met near the hotel office.
They greeted each other heartily, and Sir Lucius invited the young man upstairs to his room. He was in a good humor, and expressed his gratification that Nevill had come so promptly.
"I want a long chat with you, my boy," he said. "Have you dined?"
"Yes."
Sir Lucius lighted a cigar, and handed his case to Nevill.
"Been out of town this summer?" he asked.
"The usual thing, that's all--an occasional run down to Brighton, a month at country houses, and a week's shooting on the Earl of Runnymede's Scotch moor."
"London agrees with you. I believe you are a little stouter."
"And you are looking half a dozen years younger, my dear uncle. How is the liver?"
"It ought to be pretty well shaken to pieces, from the way I've trotted it about. It hasn't troubled me for months, I am glad to say. I've had a most enjoyable holiday, and a longer one than I intended to take. I stopped in Norway seven weeks, and then went to the Continent. I did the German baths, Vienna and a lot of other big cities, and came to Paris.
There I met an old Anglo-Indian friend, and he dragged me down to the Riviera for a month. But there is no place like home. I've been in town only a couple of hours--crossed this morning. And to-morrow I'm off to Priory Court."
"So soon?"
"Yes; I can't endure your fogs."
There was an awkward pause. Nevill struck a match and put it to his cigar, though it did not need relighting. Sir Lucius coughed, and stirred nervously in his chair.
"You remember that little matter I wrote you about," he began. "Have you done anything?"
"My dear uncle, I have left nothing undone that I could think of,"
Nevill replied; "but I am sorry to say that I have met with no success whatever. It was a most difficult undertaking, after so many years."
"I feared it would be. You didn't advertise?"
"No; you told me not to do that."
"Quite right. I wished to avoid all publicity. But what steps did you take?"
"I made careful inquiries, interviewed some of the older school of artists, and searched London and provincial directories for some years back. Then I consulted a private detective. I put the matter in his hands. He worked on it for a couple of months, and finally said that it was too much for him. He could not discover a trace of either your sister or her husband, and he suggested that they probably emigrated to America or Australia years ago."
"That is more than possible," a.s.sented Sir Lucius; "and it is likely that they are both dead. But they may have left children, and for their sakes--". He broke off abruptly, and sighed. "I should like to have a talk with your private detective, if he is a clever fellow," he added.
"He is clever enough," Nevill replied slowly, "but I am afraid you would have to go a long distance to find him. He went to America a week ago to collect evidence for a divorce case in one of the Western States."
"Then he will hardly be back for months," said Sir Lucius. "No matter.
I think sometimes that it is foolish of me to take the thing up. But when a man gets to my age, my boy, he is apt to regret many episodes in his past life that seemed proper and well-advised at the time. I am convinced that I was too harsh with your aunt. Poor Mary, she was my favorite sister until--"
He stopped, and his face hardened a little at the recollection.
"I wish I could find her," said Nevill.
"I am sure you do, my boy. I am undecided what steps to take next. It would be a good idea to stop in town for a couple of days and consult a private inquiry bureau. But no, not in this weather. I will let the matter rest for the present, and run up later on, when we get a spell of sunshine and cold."