CHAPTER VI
THE MILLIONAIRE
On the Thursday following my father's departure for London LadyNaselton sent her carriage for me, and a note marked urgent. Itcontained only a few lines, evidently written in a hurry.
"Naselton, _Thursday_.
"My Dear Girl,--Put on your calling-frock, and come up to tea atonce. The Romneys and a few other people are coming over, and Fredbrought a most interesting man down from town this morning. Iwant you to know him. He is quite delightful to talk to, and is amillionaire! Come and help me entertain him.
"Yours ever, "Amy Naselton."
I laughed as I went upstairs to change my things. Lady Naselton wasfamed throughout the county as an inveterate matchmaker. Without adoubt the millionaire who was delightful to talk to was already inher mind as the most suitable match for a poor country clergyman'sdaughter who had the misfortune to possess ambitions. I could tellby the fussy manner in which she greeted me that she considered thematter already almost settled. The room was full of people, but myparticular victim was sitting alone in a recess. Evidently he had beenkept back for my behoof. Lady Naselton, as though suddenly rememberinghis presence, brought him over and introduced him at once.
"Mr. Berdenstein," she said--"Miss Ffolliot. Will you see that MissFfolliot has some tea?" she added, smiling upon him blandly. "Myservants all seem so stupid to-day."
I sat down and looked at him while he attended to my wants. At thefirst glance I disliked him. He was tall and dark, with sallow faceand regular features of somewhat Jewish type. There was too muchunction about his manner. He smiled continually, and showed his teethtoo often. I found myself wondering whether he had made his millionin a shop. I was forced to talk to him, however, and I settled myselfdown to be bored.
"You have not been in England long?" I asked.
"About three days," he answered.
His voice was not so bad. I looked at him again. His face was not apleasant one, and he seemed to be scarcely at his ease, added to whichsomething in his bearing indistinctly suggested a limited acquaintancewith drawing rooms such as Lady Naselton's. Yet it was possible thathe was clever. His forehead was well shaped, and his mouth determined.
"Mr. Fred Naselton was the first man I saw in London," he went on. "Itwas a very odd thing to run against him before I was well off theship."
"He was an old friend of yours?" I continued, purely for the sake ofkeeping up the conversation.
"Not very. Oh, no! Scarcely friend at all," he disclaimed. "I did hima turn in Rio last month. Nothing to speak of, but he was grateful."
"Where?" I asked, abruptly.
"Rio," he repeated. "Rio Janeiro--you know, capital of South America."
I turned and faced him suddenly. His eyes had been fixed on myface. He had been watching me furtively. My heart beat suddenlyfaster. I drew a little breath, I could not trust myself to speak fora moment. After a brief pause he continued--
"I've been out there a good many years. Long enough to get jolly wellsick of the place and people and everything connected with it. I'mthankful to say that I've finished with it."
"You are not going back, then," I remarked, indifferently.
"Not I," he declared. "I only went to make money, and I've made it--agood deal. Now I'm going to enjoy it, here, in the old country. Marryand settle down, and all that sort of thing, you know, Miss Ffolliot."
His keen, black eyes were fixed upon my face. I felt a slight flushof color in my cheeks. At that moment I hated Lady Naselton. She hadbeen talking to this odious man about me, and he had been quick enoughto understand her aright. I should have liked to have got up but fora certain reason. He had come from South America. He had arrived inLondon about the 15th. So I sat there and suffered.
"A most praiseworthy ambition," I remarked, with a sarcasm which Istrove vainly to keep to myself. "I am sure I wish you every success."
"That is very good of you," he answered, slowly. "Wishes count for agood deal sometimes. I am very thankful for yours."
"Wishes cost little," I answered, coldly, "and I am afraid that mineare practically valueless. Have you been away from England long?"
"For many years," he answered, after a slight hesitation.
"It seems odd," I remarked, "that your first visit should be at thehouse of a comparative stranger. Have you no relations or old friendsto welcome you back?"
A slight and peculiar smile hovered upon his lips.
"I have some old friends," he said, quietly; "I do not know whetherthey will welcome me home again. Soon I shall know. I am not far awayfrom them."
"Do they know of your return?" I asked.
"Some of them. One of them I should say," he answered. "The one aboutwhom I care does not know."
"You are going to surprise him?" I remarked.
"I am going to surprise her," he corrected.
There was a short silence. I had no more doubt in my mind. Chance hadbrought me face to face with the writer of that letter to my father,the man to find whom he was even now in London. Perhaps they hadalready met; I stole a glance at him; he was furtively watching me allthe while.
"I have also," he said, "a sister of whom I am very fond. She lives inParis. I have written to her to come to me--not here, of course, toLondon."
I turned a little in my chair and faced him.
"I wonder," I said, "if amongst those friends of whom you speak thereis any one whom I know."
His lips parted, and he showed all his glistening white teeth.
"Somehow," he said, softly, under his breath, "I thought you knew. Hasyour father sent you here? Have you any message for me? If so, let mehave it, we may be disturbed."
I shook my head.
"My father is in London," I told him. "He left the morning he had yourletter."
"When is he coming back?" he asked, eagerly.
"On Friday, I believe," I answered. "I am not quite sure. At any rate,he will be here by Sunday."
An odd look flashed for a moment across the man's face. It gave me anuneasy sensation.
"Have you seen him in London?" I asked, quickly.
"Certainly not," he answered; "I have seen no one. I have only beenin England for a day or two. I shall look forward," he added, "to thepleasure of seeing your father on Sunday."
"And Mr. Bruce Deville?" I inquired.
He looked at me suspiciously. He was wondering how much I knew.
"Mr. Bruce Deville?" he said, slowly. "I have not seen him lately;they tell me he has altered a great deal."
"I have only known him a week, and so I cannot tell," I answered.
Again he fixed his little dark eyes upon me; he was evidentlycompletely puzzled.
"You have only known him a week, and yet you know that--that he and Iare not strangers?"
"I learned it by accident," I answered.
Obviously he did not believe me; he hesitated for a moment to put hisdisbelief into words, and in the meantime I made a bold stroke.
"Have you seen Adelaide Fortress yet?" I asked.
His face changed. He looked at me half in wonder, half eagerly; hiswhole expression had softened.
"Not yet," he said; "I am waiting to know where she is; I would go toher to-day--if only I dared--if only I dared!"
His dark eyes were lit with passion; a pale shade seemed to have creptin upon the sallowness of his cheeks.
"When you talk of her," he said, speaking rapidly, and with hisvoice thick with some manner of agitation, "you make me forgeteverything! You make me forget who you are, who she is, where weare! I remember only that she exists! Oh, my God!"
I laid my hand upon his coat sleeve.
"Be careful," I whispered. "People will notice you; speak lower."
His voice sank; it was still, however, hoarse with passion.
"I shall know soon," he said, "very soon, whether the years havemade her any kinder; whether the dream, the wild dream of my life,is any nearer completion. Oh, you may start!" he added, looking intomy whi
te, puzzled face; "you and your father, and Deville, and thewhole world may know it. I love her still! I am going to regain heror die! There! You see it is to be no secret war; go and tell yourfather if you like, tell them all, bid them prepare. If they stand inmy way they must suffer. Soon I am going to her. I am going to standbefore her and point to my grey hairs, and say, 'Every one of them isa thought of you; every day of my life has been moulded towards thewinning of you.' And when I tell her that, and point to the past, shewill be mine again."
"You are very sure of her," I murmured.
His face fell.
"Alas! no," he cried, "I cannot say that; only it is my hope and mypassion which are so strong. They run away with me; I picture it tomyself--this blessed thing--and I forget. Listen!" he added, withsudden emphasis, "you must promise me something. I have let my tonguego too fast. I have talked to you as my other self; you must promiseme one thing."
"What is it?" I asked.
"You must promise me that you will not speak of my presence here toher. In a day or two--well, we shall see. I shall go to her then; Ishall risk everything. But at present, no! She must be ignorant of myreturn until I myself declare it. You will promise me this?"
I promised. I scarcely dared do otherwise if I wished to avoid ascene, for already the agitation and occasional excitement of hisspeech were attracting attention. But, having promised, I asked him aquestion.
"Will not Mr. Deville tell her--or my father?"
"It is just possible that Mr. Deville might," he said, with the air ofone who had well considered the matter. "But I do not think it likely;there are certain reasons which would probably keep him silent."
"And my father?" I asked.
Again there was an odd look in his face. Somehow it filled me withvague alarm; I could not imagine what it meant.
"I do not think," he answered, "that your father will tell her; I amnearly sure that he will not. No, I myself shall announce my return. Ishall stand face to face with her before she has learned to school hercountenance. I shall see in the light or in the darkness how she holdsme. It will be a test--a glorious test."
Lady Naselton came rustling up to us with beaming face. "My deargirl," she said, "I am so sorry to disturb you, you both lookso interested. Whatever you have found to talk about I can'timagine. Lady Romney is going; she would so like to know you. Wouldyou mind coming to speak to her?"
"With pleasure," I declared, rising at once to my feet; "I must begoing too. Good afternoon, Mr. Berdenstein."
He held out his hand, but I had no intention of shaking hands withhim. I bowed coldly, and turned to follow Lady Naselton.
"Perhaps it is best," he murmured, leaning a little forward. "Wecannot possibly be friends; no doubt you hate me; we are on oppositesides. Good afternoon, Miss Ffolliot."
I followed Lady Naselton, but before we had reached the Romneys Istopped her.
"Lady Naselton, who is that man?" I asked her. "What do you know ofhim?"
"My dear child," she answered, "from the confidential manner in whichyou have been talking all this time, I should have imagined thathe had told you his history from childhood. Frankly, I don't knowanything about him at all. He was very good to Fred in South America,and he has made a lot of money, that is really all I know. Fred methim in town, and brought him down without notice. I hope," she added,looking at my pale face, "that he has been behaving himself properly."
"I have no fault to find with him," I answered. "I was curious, thatis all."
"I am so glad, dear," she answered, smiling. "For a millionaire youknow, I don't consider him at all unpresentable, do you?"
I smiled faintly. Poor Lady Naselton!
"He did not strike me as being remarkably objectionable," Ianswered. "He is a little awkward, and very confidential."
Lady Naselton piloted me across the room towards the Romneys, with herarm linked in mine.
"We must make a few allowances, my dear," she whispered,confidentially. "One cannot have everything nowadays. He is really notso bad, and the money is quite safe. In diamonds, or something, Fredsays. It is quite a million."
I glanced back to him as I stood talking with the Romneys. He wassitting quietly where I had left him, watching me covertly. His blackeyebrows were drawn together, and a certain look of anxiety seemedto have sharpened his sallow features. His eyes fell at once beforemine. I felt that I would have given everything I possessed in theworld to have known who he was.
The Yellow House; Master of Men Page 6
