by Grant Allen
‘Come in!’ Basil Maclaine called out in his second-best manner — the manner he specially reserved for social inferiors of the better grade; for the bell hadn’t rung, and he knew, therefore, it was one of the household, not an outside visitor. So he said ‘Come in!’ with a certain brisk air of gentle command, and Cecil Figgins entered.
‘Oh — ah ... it’s you, then, Mr. Figgins,’ Basil murmured, looking up somewhat surprised at this sudden apparition of a clean white shirt, but still keeping both his seat and his hold upon the newspaper. ‘Do you want anything this evening?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Cecil answered, walking boldly across the room and standing by the mantelpiece. ‘I wanted a few minutes’ conversation with you, if you can spare me the time. There’s a subject that closely interests us both on which I have something important to say to you.’
‘Indeed!’ Basil replied, laying down the paper in surprise, and staring hard at his unexpected visitor, but without even a wave of the hand to motion him into a seat. ‘What can that be, I wonder?’ It was a profound belief of Basil that Linda’s brother ‘wanted taking down a peg,’ and by that precise altitude, accordingly, he desired always to reduce him.
Cecil Figgins, however, was not the sort of man to remain standing in any other man’s rooms, no matter whom he might be talking with; so, to Basil’s immense astonishment (‘Such coolness, don’t you know! A mere journeyman mechanic!’ as Basil remarked to a friend some days afterwards), he drew himself forward a chair and seated himself confidently full in front of his magnificent lodger.
‘Well, I’m thinking of taking some important steps in life,’ the engineer began, with the easy frankness of a man who knows and feels sure of his own position (which Basil, for all his fine talk, never really did); ‘and before I do so, as they will necessitate my absence from London for a long time, I thought it best to speak to you with regard to my sister.’
‘With regard to Miss Figgins!’ Basil repeated with an open stare, wondering what this preamble could possibly be leading up to.
‘Well, yes; I shall have to leave her alone in the house,’ Cecil Figgins went on, without a shade of embarrassment; ‘and as that is so, of course, I’d like to know before I leave what her position and prospects will be for the future.’
Basil looked up with his most patronizing air. The man was taking his right cue now; he was touting for his lodgers. ‘Oh, Harrison and I are extremely comfortable here,’ he said in an affable tone of voice— ‘extremely comfortable. We couldn’t possibly be more so. I understand from Miss Figgins you’ve a long lease of the house still to run; but you may rely upon it we’re neither of us likely to move out, or to want to move out — unless, of course, anything unexpected turns up to unsettle us — as long as Miss Figgins continues to do as well in the future as she has always done in the past for us.’
Cecil smiled in spite of himself, a quiet, self-contained little smile, the very counterpart of Linda’s. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean that,’ he said, with an amused air. ‘I’ve no doubt Linda can always let her rooms if she wants to go on letting them. But what I meant was, I should like to know, before leaving London, how Linda’s future in life was likely to shape itself, as on that consideration would largely depend the nature of the arrangements I might make as to the lease — and as to my sister herself, in fact.’
‘I — ah — I don’t quite understand you!’ Basil exclaimed, somewhat bewildered by this curious speech. Why on earth should this man Figgins desire to make a confidant of him, of all men, about his arrangements as to his sister and his sister’s lodging-house!
‘Well, of course, it hasn’t escaped my notice,’ Cecil went on, growing warm, ‘that you’ve been paying my sister a great deal of attention.’
Basil Maclaine let the silver pencil-case on his watch-chain drop from the hand that was idly toying with it, and raised his eyebrows as he repeated slowly, ‘Paying — Miss Figgins — a great deal of attention!’
‘Yes,’ Cecil remarked once more, rather redder in the face than at first. ‘That’s exactly what I said. A great deal of attention.’
Basil Maclaine stared at him very hard. ‘I think,’ he replied, with slow deliberation, petrifying him with his glance, ‘there must surely be some mistake somewhere.’
‘I think so, too,’ the engineer retorted, with a quiet smile that resisted petrifaction. ‘A very serious mistake, indeed. But it’s not too late to rectify it. I say once more, you’ve been paying a great deal of attention of late to my sister Linda. Now, what do you mean by it?’
‘Nothing,’ Basil answered, playing nervously with his top coat-button. ‘Nothing at all, I assure you. Absolutely nothing.’
Cecil Figgins measured him from head to foot with his eye in undisguised surprise. ‘And you dare to tell me so, sir, without one word of apology?’ he cried, in a tremulous tone of suppressed anger.
The civil servant shifted one leg from the other uneasily. ‘This is so sudden, Mr. Figgins,’ he said with an evident effort— ‘so totally unexpected.’
‘How so?’ Cecil answered, his righteous indignation rising higher each moment. ‘If you pay a lady obvious attentions, it’s natural you should expect her friends and relations to be interested in your meaning, isn’t it?’
‘But surely, my good sir,’ Basil cried, brought to bay at last, and taking refuge in his one unanswerable argument, ‘you couldn’t seriously suppose a man in my position meant to — ah — to actually marry your sister!’
The engineer gazed back at him in frank bewilderment. ‘Why not?’ he asked simply. ‘You admit, practically, you have paid her attentions. With what other object on earth could you possibly have paid her them? Have the goodness to explain to me.’
Basil Maclaine hesitated. ‘Well, we two were thrown together here in the rooms, you see,’ he said, looking down and inspecting his shoes with less complacency than usual, ‘and your sister’s a person of engaging manners, and an intelligence, I — I must say — well, very much removed above her position in life; and it was natural, under the circumstances, we should talk with one another occasionally on — on various topics; and I may perhaps, at times, have let slip an unguarded word or two more than I intended. But I assure you it never even once, for a moment, crossed my mind that either she or you — —’
He broke off short, for Cecil Figgins had risen and was facing him angrily. ‘An intelligence very much above her position in life!’ the engineer repeated scornfully. ‘Why, do you mean to tell me, Mr. Maclaine, you ever considered yourself, or consider yourself now, a person fitted by nature to form a judgment at all upon my sister’s intelligence? If you did, I can only tell you you immensely overrate your own critical powers. I should have been sorry indeed if my sister, with her bright, clear mind, were to throw herself away upon such an extremely ordinary young man as you are; though, if it had been her own marked wish, I could, of course, say nothing in opposition to her. But that you should dare to treat her, who is your natural superior, as in any way anything less than at least your equal — such a girl as Linda — why, it’s an idea that never so much as one moment occurred to me as lying within the bounds of human possibility.’
Basil reflected for a second; then he asked with a somewhat crestfallen air, ‘To what do I owe the honour of this visit? Did Miss Figgins request you to come up and speak to me?’
‘Miss Figgins did not,’ the engineer answered, in a very decided voice. ‘My sister doesn’t even know I’ve come. If she had known what I meant to do, she would certainly not have allowed me to ask you. But at a moment when I had it in my mind to absent myself from home for a very long time, I chose on my own account to take this means of finding out what was most likely to be my sister’s future. I’m glad I did. It confirms my purpose. Linda shall no longer be exposed to your insulting advances. I shall take care she knows what sort of man you are who have dared so to treat her. Though I doubt she will ever believe you could be capable of thinking as unworthily as you do think of her.’
> ‘Well, but, Figgins,’ Basil began, assuming the defensive once more for a moment, ‘just look at it plainly yourself, and consider the attitude. Put yourself in my place, for example. How could you ever suppose a man in my position — in a Government office, and mixing with the Very Best People — would go and ruin his prospects in life by engaging himself to a girl who keeps a lodging-house!’
Cecil Figgins looked him through and through, with unspeakable contempt in his honest dark eyes. ‘I should have thought,’ he said proudly, stepping back a pace or two, and examining Basil as one examines some singular wild animal, ‘that anybody who was privileged to live under the same roof with my sister would have learnt before this to judge her by some higher standard than that purely artificial one. Not what she does, but what she is, marks my sister’s position. Mr. Harrison understands that, and treats her as such a woman ought to be treated. But, then — Mr. Harrison is a gentleman. I always knew you didn’t understand it, but I never till now suspected how complete was your misunderstanding. The fact is, you and I are placed so far apart in the scale of being, that it’s hard for a man like me to realize even your point of view. To me, the realities of life really count for everything; to you, the conventionalities. You’ve blinded your eyes so long and so persistently to everything really worth noting in the world, that even when you’re privileged to live in the same house with such a woman as my sister, you fail to appreciate the importance and rarity of the privilege. No, sir, don’t answer me any more. You’ve said more than enough already. When you talked of my sister as a girl that keeps a lodging-house, you gave me a clue by which to judge your relative standards of worth, and you may be sure I will never again allow her to be insulted by receiving such unworthy advances as yours are. You’re too far beneath her.’
And flinging the words full in Basil’s face, like so many bullets, he walked out of the room, fiery hot from his colloquy.
At the head of the stairs Linda called out to him. He hurried up to her bedroom-door. She hadn’t begun to undress yet, but was sitting on the bed, with her hands on her knees, looking worn and pale, but very resolute.
‘I know what you’ve been doing, Cecil,’ she said, raising her eyes to his. ‘I could tell by the tones of your two voices. But I wish you had never gone — I knew it all already, dear.’
‘You knew it already, Linda?’
‘Yes, Cecil. I knew it.’
‘But why didn’t you tell me, then? How on earth could you let him go on treating you as he did, if you knew it?’
‘It was only since this morning,’ Linda answered, without flinching or faltering. She was too brave to cry. ‘I overheard him by accident talking to Mr. Harrison while I was doing the bedroom. I can’t tell you what he said, the words would choke me — but it was enough to make me feel I couldn’t stop here any longer. Cecil, I’ll go with you. Let us never part. It would degrade me in my own eyes if after this I remained in London.’
Her brother took her hand gently in his, and soothed it like a woman. ‘That’s right,’ he answered, calming down. ‘I’m glad you’ll come. I knew it would be worse than useless for you to stay. Though I’m really grieved for poor Mr. Harrison.’
‘He’ll be sorry to lose me,’ Linda put in simply.
‘He will,’ her brother assented with equal frankness. ‘Linda, I wish it could have been him instead of the other one.’
‘So do I, Cecil. But these things come up their own way in one’s heart, and you can neither help them on nor prevent them. They seem almost as irresponsible as the wind that bloweth where it listeth. You can’t force them down, my dear, and you can’t control them.’
Her brother looked across at her long and sympathetically. But he said nothing. Linda wasn’t a girl with whom any man, however near or dear, could venture to condole on such a subject. He drew a long breath. ‘He’ll miss you terribly,’ he said after a pause.
‘Who? Mr. Harrison?’ Linda asked, looking up and stifling her emotion.
‘Yes, Mr. Harrison. For his sake, Linda, I almost wish you were going to stop here.’
‘It is for his sake partly,’ Linda answered with a quiet sigh, ‘that I think of going away.’
‘How so?’ her brother asked with some little surprise. ‘I don’t quite understand you.’
Linda gazed back at him with her frank, fearless face. ‘Why, if I stopped here,’ she said simply, ‘he’d want me to marry him, and I can never love any other man as I’ve loved this one. Still, I couldn’t bear that dear Mr. Harrison should try just, as it were, to make up to me for the loss of the man I love best, but who I always knew wasn’t half as good as him. If I lived here long enough, I’d take Mr. Harrison in the end out of pure pity; and I never could bear that such a dear good soul as he should know I only accepted him at last, because a man I loved a thousand times better had never cared for me enough to marry me.’
She said it deliberately, calmly, critically. From any other woman such an avowal as that at such a moment would have sounded strangely hard and curiously calculating. But between those two it was perfectly natural. Brother and sister, cast in the same mould, understood one another without even the necessity for explanation. Cecil knew that Linda esteemed and respected Douglas Harrison so much that some care for his feelings, even in such a crisis as she was then passing through, was perfectly natural to her. For a good woman can like and respect a man to a very high degree without feeling the least little bit in the world that she really loves him.
VOLUME II.
CHAPTER XV.
FLITTING.
Basil Maclaine said nothing to Douglas Harrison next day about his interview with Cecil. Why should he, indeed? Douglas was already ‘more down than enough on him.’ Like a prudent young man, he preferred his fellow-lodger should learn of it, if he learnt of it at all, from the lips of the Figginses. He didn’t want to have Harrison pitching into him, he thought to himself, about that girl Linda. His moral censor would cut up nasty enough about it when he came to hear of it, anyhow, without any necessity for Basil to anticipate matters and take the bull by the horns prematurely of his own accord. Never volunteer for the lion’s den. It was no fault of Basil’s, after all, if these Figgins people had taken it into their joint heads that he meant to fling away his chances in the world by marrying so absurdly beneath him. And in any case, right or wrong, what was Douglas to him or he to Douglas? He wasn’t bound to answer for his conduct in life to the man he lodged with.
Nor did Harrison, for his part, confide to Basil Maclaine the painful little episode of the folding doors. Honour restrained him. Besides which, he didn’t care to minister to his friend’s conceit by letting him know how deeply Linda had entangled herself. So when the stipendiary, unwontedly attired in a clean bib and tucker to wait at table, announced at dinner next evening with much flourish of trumpets that Miss Figgins had gone for a week’s rest and change into a distant expanse known as the country, and wouldn’t be back before Tuesday or Wednesday, both young men assumed an air of well-affected surprise, which did credit to their theatrical powers, and neither said much to the other on the dangerous subject of her mysterious disappearance. None the less, Douglas Harrison, of course, mentally connected her vanishment with that tag-end of conversation overheard the previous day through the folding doors; while Basil Maclaine, looking furtively at Emma, concluded, on his side, that Cecil had told Linda the upshot of their interview in the drawing-room the night before, and that Linda, thus unpleasantly disillusioned, had decided to break the awkwardness of their first meeting on these altered terms by retiring for a few days to the solitude of that indefinite area, the country.
The week passed away in the ordinary humdrum routine; and at the end of it one morning the stipendiary appeared at the breakfast-table once more, with an ineffably mysterious air of expectation embodied in the grave smile on her sphinx-like face. She was bursting with importance. ‘They’re a-comin’ to-day,’ she said, directing a nod of esoteric significance towards Douglas H
arrison. ‘We expect the van round a little afore eleven. Mr. Figgins, he told me to be sure to be in while the men was about the ‘ouse with the tables and such. So you needn’t be afeard of their takin’ nothin’.’
‘The van!’ Basil Maclaine repeated vaguely, looking up at her in surprise, while dim visions of removal flitted in shadowy outline before his mind’s eye. ‘Why, what’s the van for? Mr. Figgins isn’t going to take his furniture and effects away with him, is he, Emma?’
The stipendiary nodded even more mysteriously than before. ‘On’y from the dinin’-rooms,’ she answered, in a suppressed chuckle, big with her news. ‘The drorin’-rooms and seconds is to remain just as they leave ’em. You ain’t a-goin’ to be disturbed, sir, nor me neither. That’s ‘ow Miss Figgins arranged it. The new folks has took over the house ezakly as it stands, barrin’ the dinin’-rooms. They ‘ad their own furniture for their own rooms from their last place; so Miss Figgins, she’s a-sellin’ the dinin’-rooms by auction at a gentleman’s in the City afore she leaves. They was all removed yesterday, unbeknown, while you gentlemen was out, and I wasn’t to say nothin’ to you, for worlds, about it. The new folks has took us all over, the rest of us, ‘ouse and all, just as we stand. You ain’t to be turned away, nor me neither.’ And the stipendiary rubbed her hands with delight at the secret well kept, and chuckled inwardly.
