girls do sooner or later," replied Max, philosophically.
"But she's too young yet--far too young. Twenty-five is quite earlyenough for a girl to marry."
"And who's the man?"
"Your friend--Charlie Rolfe."
"Charlie!" he exclaimed, in great surprise. "And he's in love withMaud. Are you quite sure of this?"
"Quite. She meets him in secret, and though Rolfe is your friend, Max,I tell you I don't like it," he declared.
"I am not surprised. Secret affections never meet with a parent'sapprobation. If Charlie is in love with her, and the affection ismutual, why doesn't he come straight and tell you?"
"Exactly my argument," declared Petrovitch, lighting a fresh cigarettewith the end of one half-consumed. "But tell me, Rolfe is an intimatefriend of yours, is he not?"
"Very," was Max's reply, though he did not inform his friend of his lovefor Marion.
"What is his exact position?"
"As far as I know, he is private secretary to old Samuel Statham, thegreat financier. His position is quite a good one--as far asconfidential secretaryships go."
"Statham! I've heard of him. There's some extraordinary story abouthis house in Park Lane, isn't there? Nobody has ever been inside, orsomething."
"There is, I believe, some cock and bull story," responded Max. "Theold fellow is a bit eccentric, and doesn't care for people prying allover his house. He lives alone, and has no friends. Do you know, onecan be very lonely in London. It is a perfect Sahara to those who arefriendless."
"Yes," said Petrovitch, huskily. "I know it by experience myself. WhenI was a youth I lived here. I was a foreign clerk in an insuranceoffice in the city, and I lived perfectly alone--among all thesemillions. I remember it all as though it were only yesterday. I wasindeed glad to get back to Servia."
"But why are you worried about Maud, old fellow?" Max asked. "Don'tyou like Rolfe--or what?"
"I like him very much, indeed I took a great fancy to the young fellowwhen you introduced him to me last year at Aix-les-Bains. From the veryfirst I noticed that he was attracted towards the child, and I did notobject because I thought a little flirtation would amuse her. Thesesecret meetings, however, I don't like. It is not right. She's met himin St James's Park, and at other places of late, and they have gone forlong walks together without my knowledge or sanction."
Max thought for a moment.
"Does she know that you are aware of the meetings?"
"No."
"Well, I must admit that I had no idea matters had gone so far as theyevidently have," he said. "I, of course, knew that he has greatlyadmired Maud from the very first. He was, in fact, always speaking ofher in admiration, yet I believed that he did not consider his positionto be sufficiently established in warranting him to declare his love toher. Shall I throw out a gentle hint to him that the secret meetingswould be best discontinued?"
"If he were to discontinue his visits here altogether it would, I think,be best," said Petrovitch in a hard voice, quite unusual to him.
Max was surprised at this. Had any unpleasantness occurred between thetwo men, which his friend was concealing, knowing that Rolfe was hismost intimate chum?
"Does he come often?"
"He calls about once a week--upon me, ostensibly, but really in excuseto see the child."
"And now--let us speak frankly, old fellow," Max said, bending slightlytowards the man seated opposite him. "Do you object to Rolfe paying hisattentions to your daughter?"
"Yes--I do."
"Then I very much regret that I ever introduced him. We were togetherat Aix-les-Bains for three weeks last summer, and, as you know, we met.You were my old friend, and I could not help introducing him. I regretit now, and can only hope you will forgive me such an indiscretion."
"It was not indiscreet at all--only unfortunate," he answered, almostsnappishly.
"But tell me straight out--what do you wish me to do?" Max urged."Recollect that if I can serve you in any way you have only to commandme."
"Even at the expense of your friend's happiness?" asked Petrovitch, hissharp eyes fixed upon the young man.
"If he really loves her, the circumstances of the cue are altered," wasthe diplomatic answer.
"And if he does not? If it is, as I suspect, a mere flirtation--whatthen?"
"Then I think you should leave the matter to me, to act with mydiscretion," young Barclay replied. He recollected that Charlie wasMarion's brother, and he saw himself already in a somewhat difficultposition. "My own idea is," he went on, "that it is something more thana mere flirtation, and that the reason of the secret meetings is becausehe fears to ask your consent to be allowed to pay court to yourdaughter."
"What makes you think so?"
"From some words that his sister Marion let drop the other day."
"Ah! Marion is a sweet and charming girl," the elder man declared."What a pity she should be compelled to drudge in a shop!"
"Yes," replied Max, quickly. "It is a thousand pities. She's far toorefined and good for that life."
"A matter of unfortunate necessity, I suppose."
Necessity! Max Barclay bit his lips when he recollected how very easilyshe might leave that shop-life if she would only accept money from him.But how could she? How could he offer it to her without insult?
No. Until she consented to be his wife she must still remain there, atthe beck and call of every irritating tradesman's wife who cared toenter the department to purchase a ready-made costume or a skirt "withmaterial for bodice."
"I'm sorry for Marion," Dr Petrovitch went on. "She frequently comeshere of an evening, and often on Sundays to keep Maud company. They geton most excellently together."
"Yes; she is devoted to Maud. She has told me so."
"I believe she is," Petrovitch said. "And yet it is unfortunate, forfriendliness with Marion must also mean continued friendliness with herbrother."
"Ah! I see now that you do not like him," Max said, openly, for hecould not now fail to see from his friend's expression that somethinghad occurred. What it was he was utterly unable to make out.
"No, I don't," was the ex-Minister's plain, determined answer. "And totell you the truth, I have other views regarding Maud's future. So justtell the young man whatever you think proper. Only request him neitherto call here, nor to attempt to see the child again!"
CHAPTER THREE.
TELLS OF A WOMAN'S LOVE.
In the dull hazy London sunset Fopstone Road, which leads from Earl'sCourt Road into Nevern Square, was quite deserted.
There is a silence and monotony in the eminently respectablethoroughfares in that particular district that, to their residents, isoften very depressing. Traffic there is none save a stray hansom or atradesman's cart at long intervals, while street organs and even themuffin men avoid them because, unlike the poorer districts, they find nostray coppers and no customers.
On the same evening as the events recorded in the previous chapters,about six o'clock, just as the red dusky after-glow was deepening intotwilight, Charlie Rolfe emerged from Earl's Court Station, walked alongto the corner of Fopstone Road, and, halting, looked eagerly down it.
But there was not a soul. Indeed there was no sound beyond that of adistant cab whistle somewhere in Nevern Square.
For about five minutes he waited, glancing impatiently at his watch, andthen, turning upon his heel, strolled along in the direction of theSquare.
A few moments later, however, there hurried up behind him a sweet-faced,smartly-dressed girl who, as he turned to meet her, laughed merrily,saying:
"I do hope, Charlie, I haven't kept you waiting, but I've had suchtrouble to get out. Dad asked me to write some private letters inEnglish for him; I really believe he suspects something. We meet toooften."
"No, darling," answered Rolfe, raising his hat and taking her smallgloved hand. "We don't meet frequently enough for me. And I think thatyour father is entirely unsuspicious. I was with him last nigh
t, and hedid not strike me as possessing any knowledge of these secret meetingsof ours."
"Yes, but you know how dangerous it is," replied the pretty girl,glancing round. "Somebody might pass, recognise me, and tell dad."
"And what then, dearest?" he laughed. "Why your fears are utterlygroundless."
"I know, but--"
"But what?"
"Well, dad would be annoyed--that's all--annoyed with both of us."
"He must
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