The Datchet Diamonds Read online

  CHAPTER IV

  MISS WENTWORTH'S RUDENESS

  Miss Strong was growing a little tired of waiting. Indeed, she wasbeginning to wonder if Mr. Paxton was about to fail in still anothersomething he had undertaken. She loitered near the gates of the pier,looking wistfully at every one who entered. The minutes went by, andyet "he cometh not," she said.

  It was not the pleasantest of nights for idling by the sea. A faint,but chilly, breeze was in the air. There was a suspicion of mist. MissStrong was growing more and more conscious that the night was raw anddamp. To add to the discomfort of her position, just inside the gatesof Brighton pier is not the most agreeable place for a woman to haveto wait at night--she is likely to find the masculine prowlerconspicuously in evidence. Miss Strong had moved away from at leastthe dozenth man who had accosted her, when she referred to her watch.

  "I'll give him five minutes more, and then, if he doesn't come, I'moff."

  Scarcely had she uttered the words than she saw Mr. Paxton comingthrough the turnstile. With a feeling of no inconsiderable relief shemoved hastily forward. In another moment they were clasping hands.

  "Cyril! I'm glad you've come at last! But how late you are!"

  "Yes; I've been detained."

  The moment he opened his mouth it struck her that about his mannerthere was something odd. But, as a wise woman in her generation, shemade no comment. Together they went up the pier.

  Now that he had come Mr. Paxton did not seem to be in a conversationalmood. They had gone half-way up; still he evinced no inclination tospeak. Miss Strong, however, excused him. She understood the cause ofhis silence--or thought she did. Her heart was heavy--on his account,and on her own. Her words, when they came, were intended to convey thecompleteness of her comprehension.

  "I am so sorry."

  He turned, as if her words had startled him.

  "Sorry?"

  "I know all about it, Cyril."

  This time it was not merely a question of appearance. It was anobvious fact that he was startled. He stood stock still and stared ather. Stammering words came from his lips.

  "You know all about it? What--what do you mean?"

  She seemed to be surprised at his surprise. "My dear Cyril, you forgetthat there are papers."

  "Papers?"

  Still he stammered.

  "Yes, papers--newspapers. I've had every edition, and of course I'veseen how Eries have fallen.

  "Eries? Fallen? Oh!--of course!--I see!"

  She was puzzled to perceive that he appeared positively relieved, asthough he had supposed and feared that she had meant somethingaltogether different. He took off his hat to wipe his brow, althoughthe night was very far from being unduly warm. He began walking again,speaking now glibly enough, with a not unnatural bitterness.

  "They have fallen, sure enough--just as surely as if, if I had gone abear, they would have risen. As you were good enough to say lastnight, it was exactly the sort of thing which might have beenexpected."

  "I am so sorry, Cyril."

  "What's the use of being sorry?"

  His tone was rough, almost rude. But she excused him still.

  "Is it very bad?"

  Then a wild idea came to him--one which, at the moment, seemed to himalmost to amount to inspiration. In the disordered condition of hisfaculties--for, temporarily, they were disordered--he felt, no doubterroneously enough, that in the girl's tone there was somethingbesides sympathy, that there was contempt as well--contempt for him asfor a luckless, helpless creature who was an utter and entire failure.And he suddenly resolved to drop at least a hint that, while she wasdespising him as so complete a failure, even now there was, actuallywithin his grasp, wealth sufficient to satisfy the dreams of avarice.

  "I don't know what you call very bad; as regards the Eries it is aboutas bad as it could be. But----"

  He hesitated and stopped.

  "But what?" She caught sight of his face. She saw how it was working."Cyril, is there any good news to counteract the bad? Have you had astroke of luck?"

  Yet he hesitated, already half regretting that he had said anything atall. But, having gone so far, he went farther.

  "I don't want you to reckon on it just at present, but I think itpossible that, very shortly, I may find myself in possession of alarger sum of money than either of us has dreamed of."

  "Cyril! Do you mean it?"

  Her tone of incredulity spurred him on.

  "Should I be likely to say such a thing if I did not mean it? I meanexactly what I said. To be quite accurate, it is possible, nay,probable, that before very long I shall be the possessor of a quarterof a million of money. I hope that will be enough for you. It will forme."

  "A quarter of a million! Two hundred and fifty thousand pounds,Cyril!"

  "It sounds a nice little sum, doesn't it? I hope that it will feel asnice when it's mine!"

  "But, Cyril, I don't understand. Is it a new speculation you areentering on?"

  "It is a speculation--of a kind." His tone was ironical, though shedid not seem to be conscious of the fact. "A peculiar kind. Itspeculiarity consists in this, that, though I may not be able to lay myhands on the entire quarter of a million, I can on an appreciableportion of it whenever I choose."

  "What is the nature of the speculation? Is it on the Stock Exchange?"

  "That, at present, is a secret. It is not often that I have kept asecret from you; you will have to forgive me, Daisy, if I keep onenow."

  Something peculiar in his tone caught her ear. She glanced at himsharply.

  "You are really in earnest, Cyril? You do mean that there is areasonable prospect of your position being improved at last?"

  "There is not only a reasonable prospect, there is a practicalcertainty."

  "In spite of what you have lost in Eries?"

  "In spite of everything." A ring of passion came into his voice."Daisy, don't ask me any more questions now. Trust me! I tell you thatin any case a fortune, or something very like one, is within mygrasp."

  He stopped, and she was silent. They went and stood where they hadbeen standing the night before--looking towards the Worthing lights.Each seemed to be wrapped in thought. Then she said softly, in hervoice a trembling--

  "Cyril, I am so glad."

  "I am glad that you are glad."

  "And I am so sorry for what I said last night."

  "What was it you said that is the particular occasion of your sorrow?"

  She drew closer to his side. When she spoke it was as if, in somestrange way, she was afraid.

  "I am sorry that I said that if luck went against you to-day thingswould have to be over between us. I don't know what made me say it. Idid not mean it. I thought of it all night; I have been thinking of itall day. I don't think that, whatever happens, I could ever find it inmy heart to send you away."

  "I assure you, lady, that I should not go unless you sent me!"

  "Cyril!" She pressed his arm. Her voice sank lower. She almostwhispered in his ear, while her eyes looked towards the Worthinglights. "I think that perhaps it would be better if we were to getmarried as soon as we can--better for both of us."

  Turning, he gripped her arms with both his hands.

  "Do you mean it?"

  "I do; if you do the great things of which you talk or if you don't.If you don't there is my little fortune, with which we must startafresh, both of us together, either on this side of the world or onthe other, whichever you may choose."

  "Daisy!" His voice vibrated with sudden passion. "Will you come withme to the other side of the world in any case?"

  "What--even if you make your fortune?"

  "Yes; even if I make my fortune!"

  She looked at him with that something on her face which is the bestthing that a man can see. And tears came into her eyes. And she saidto him, in the words which have been ringing down the ages--

  "Whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge;thy people
shall be my people, and thy God, my God; where thou diest,will I die, and there will I be buried; the Lord do so to me, and morealso, if aught but death part thee and me!"

  It may be that the words savoured to him of exaggeration; at any rate,he turned away, as if something choked his utterance. She, too, wasstill.

  "I suppose you don't want a grand wedding."

  "I want a wedding, that's all I want. I don't care what sort of awedding it is so long as it's a wedding. And"--again her voice sank,and again she drew closer to his side--"I don't want to have to waitfor it too long."

  "Will you be ready to marry me within a month?"

  "I will."

  "Then within a month we will be married."

  They were silent. His thoughts, in a dazed sort of fashion, travelledto the diamonds which were in somebody else's Gladstone bag. Herthoughts wandered through Elysian fields. It is possible that sheimagined--as one is apt to do--that his thoughts were there likewise.

  All at once she said something which brought him back from what seemedto be a waking dream. She felt him start.

  "Come with me, and let's tell Charlie."

  The suggestion was not by any means to Mr. Paxton's taste. Heconsidered for a few seconds, seeming to hesitate. She perceived thather proposition had not been received with over-much enthusiasm.

  "Surely you don't mind our telling Charlie?"

  "No"--his voice was a little surly--"I don't mind."

  Miss Charlotte Wentworth, better known to her intimates as Charlie,was in some respects a young woman of the day. She was thirty, and shewrote for her daily bread--wrote anything, from "Fashions" to"Poetry," from "Fiction" to "Our Family Column." She had won forherself a position of tolerable comfort, earning something overfive-hundred a year with satisfactory regularity. To state that isequivalent to saying that, on her own lines, she was a woman of theworld, a citizen of the New Bohemia, capable of holding something morethan her own in most circumstances in which she might find herselfplaced, with most, if not all, of the sentiment which is supposed tobe a feminine attribute knocked out of her. She was not bad-looking;dressed well, with a suggestion of masculinity; wore pince-nez, anddid whatsoever it pleased her to do. Differing though they did fromeach other in so many respects, she and Daisy Strong had been thefriends of years. When Mrs. Strong had died, and Daisy was left alone,Miss Wentworth had insisted on their setting up together, at leasttemporarily, a joint establishment, an arrangement from which therecould be no sort of doubt that Miss Strong received pecuniaryadvantage. Mr. Paxton was not Miss Wentworth's lover--nor, to befrank, was she his; the consequence of which was that her brusque,outspoken method of speech conveyed to his senses--whether sheintended it or not--a suggestion of scorn, being wont to touch him onjust those places where he found himself least capable of resistance.

  When the lovers entered, Miss Wentworth, with her person on one chairand her feet on another, was engaged in reading a magazine which hadjust come in. Miss Strong, desiring to avoid the preliminaryskirmishing which experience had taught her was apt to take placewhenever her friend and her lover met, plunged at once into the heartof the subject which was uppermost in her mind.

  "I've brought you some good news--at least I think it is good news."

  Miss Wentworth looked at her--a cross-examining sort of look--then atMr. Paxton, then back at the lady.

  "Good news? One always does associate good news with Mr. Paxton. Thepremonition becomes a kind of habit."

  The gentleman thus alluded to winced. Miss Strong did not appear toaltogether relish the lady's words. She burst out with the news ofwhich she spoke, as if with the intention of preventing a retortcoming from Mr. Paxton.

  "We are going to be married."

  Miss Wentworth displayed a possibly intentional mental opacity.

  "Who is going to be married?"

  "Charlie! How aggravating you are! Cyril and I, of course."

  Miss Wentworth resumed her reading.

  "Indeed! Well, it's no affair of mine. Of course, therefore, I shouldnot presume to make any remark. If, however, any one should invite meto comment on the subject, I trust that I shall be at the same timeinformed as to what is the nature of the comment which I am invited tomake."

  Miss Strong went and knelt at Miss Wentworth's side, resting herelbows on that lady's knees.

  "Charlie, won't you give us your congratulations?"

  Miss Wentworth replied, without removing her glance from off the openpage of her magazine--

  "With pleasure--if you want them. Also, if you want it, I will giveyou eighteenpence--or even half a crown."

  "Charlie! How unkind you are!"

  Miss Wentworth lowered her magazine. She looked Miss Strong straightin the face. Tears were in the young lady's eyes, but Miss Wentworthshowed not the slightest sign of being moved by them.

  "Unfortunately, as it would seem, though I am a woman, I dooccasionally allow my conduct to be regulated by the dictates ofcommon sense. When I see another woman making a dash towards suicide Idon't, as a rule, give her a helping push, merely because she happensto be my friend; preferentially, if I can, I hold her back, eventhough it be against her will. I have yet to learn in what respectMr. Paxton--who, I gladly admit, is personally a most charminggentleman--is qualified to marry even a kitchen-maid. Permit me tofinish. You told me last night that Mr. Paxton was going a bull onEries; that if they fell one he would be ruined. In the course of theday they have fallen more than one; therefore, if what you told me wascorrect, he must be ruined pretty badly. Then, without any sort ofwarning, you come and inform me that you intend to marry the man whois doubly and trebly ruined, and you expect me to offer mycongratulations on the event offhand! On the evidence which is atpresent before the court it can't be done."

  "Why shouldn't I marry him, even if he is ruined?"

  "Why, indeed? I am a supporter of the liberty of the female subject,if ever there was one. Why, if you wished to, shouldn't you marry acrossing-sweep? I don't know. But, on the other hand, I don't see onwhat grounds you could expect me to offer you my congratulations ifyou did."

  "Cyril is not a crossing-sweep."

  "No; he has not even that trade at his finger-ends."

  "Charlie!" Mr. Paxton made as if to speak. Miss Strong motioned him tosilence with a movement of her hand. "As it happens, you are quitewrong. It is true that Cyril lost by Eries, but he has more than madeup for that loss by what he has gained in another direction. Insteadof being ruined, he has made a fortune."

  "Indeed! Pray, how did he manage to do that? I always did think thatMr. Paxton was a remarkable man. My confidence in him is beginning tobe more than justified. And may I, at the same time, ask what is Mr.Paxton's notion of a fortune?"

  "Tell her, Cyril, all about it."

  Thus suffered at last to deliver his soul in words, Mr. Paxton evinceda degree of resentment which, perhaps, on the whole, was notunjustified.

  "I fail to see that there is any necessity for me to justify myself inMiss Wentworth's eyes, who, on more than one occasion, has shown anamount of interest in my affairs which was only not impertinentbecause it happened to be feminine. But since, Daisy, you appear to beanxious that Miss Wentworth should be as satisfied on the subject ofmy prospects and position as you yourself are, I will do the best Ican. And therefore Miss Wentworth, I would explain that my notion of afortune is a sum equivalent to some ten or twenty times the amount youyourself are likely to be able to earn in the whole of your life."

  "That ought to figure up nicely. And do you really mean to say, Mr.Paxton, that you have lost one fortune and gained another in thecourse of a single day?"

  "I do."

  "How was it done? I wish you would put me in the way of doing it formyself."

  "Surely, Miss Wentworth, a woman of your capacity is qualified to doanything she pleases without prompting, and solely on her owninitiative!"

  "Thanks, Mr. Paxton, it's very kind of you to say such pretty things,but I am afraid you estimate my capacity a though
t too highly." MissWentworth turned in her seat, so as to have the gentleman within herrange of vision. "You understand, Mr. Paxton, very well how it is.Daisy is a lonely child. She belongs to the order of women who were infashion before the commercial instinct became ingrained in thefeminine constitution. She wants looking after. There are only Mr.Franklyn and myself to look after her. Satisfy me that, after allliabilities are settled, there is a substantial balance on the rightside of your account, and I will congratulate you both."

  "That, at the moment, I cannot do. But I will do this. I willundertake, in less than a fortnight, to prove myself the possessor ofpossibly something like a quarter of a million, and certainly of ahundred thousand pounds."

  "A quarter of a million! A hundred thousand pounds! Such figures warmone's blood. One will almost begin to wonder, Mr. Paxton, if you canhave come by them honestly."

  The words were uttered lightly. Mr. Paxton chose to take them as ifthey had been meant in earnest. His cheeks flushed. His eyes flamedfire. He stood up, so beside himself with rage that it was a second ortwo before he could regain sufficient self-control to enable him tospeak.

  "Miss Wentworth, how dare you say such a thing! I have endured morefrom you than any man ought to endure from any woman. But when youcharge me with dishonesty it is too much, even from you to me. Youtake advantage of your sex to address to me language for which, werethe speaker a man, I would thrash him within an inch of his life."

  Miss Strong, with white face, looked from one to the other.

  "Cyril, she didn't mean what you think. Tell him, Charlie, that youdidn't mean what he thinks."

  Through her glasses Miss Wentworth surveyed the angry man with shrewd,unfaltering eyes.

  "Really, Mr. Paxton puts me in a difficult position. He is so quick totake offence where none was intended, that one hardly knows what tothink. Surely, when a man shows such heat and such violence inresenting what only a distorted imagination could twist into an actualimputation of dishonesty, it suggests that his own conscience canscarcely be quite clear."

  Mr. Paxton seemed struggling as if to speak, and then to put a bridleon his tongue. The truth is, that he was only too conscious that hewas in no mood to be a match in argument--or, for the matter of that,in retort either--for this clear-sighted lady. He felt that, if he wasnot careful, he would go too far; that he had better take himself awaybefore he had made a greater exhibition of himself than he hadalready. So he contented himself with what was meant as an assumptionof dignity.

  "That is enough. Between you and me nothing more need, or can, besaid. I have the honour, Miss Wentworth, of wishing you goodnight."

  She showed no symptoms of being crushed. On the contrary, she retainedher coolness, and also her powers of exasperation.

  "Good-night, Mr. Paxton. Shall I ring the bell, Daisy, or will youshow Mr. Paxton to the door?"

  Miss Strong darted at her a look which, on that occasion at any rate,was not a look of love, and followed Mr. Paxton, who already hadvanished from the room. Finding him in the hall, she nestled up to hisside.

  "I am sorry, Cyril, that this should have happened. If I had had theleast suspicion of anything of the kind, I never would have asked youto come."

  Mr. Paxton wore, or attempted to wear, an air of masculinesuperiority.

  "My dear Daisy, I have seldom met Miss Wentworth without her havinginsulted me. On this occasion, however, she has gone too far. I willnever, willingly, darken her door again. I hope you will not ask me;but if you do I shall be compelled to decline."

  "It's my door as well as hers. But it won't be for long. Still, Idon't think she meant what you thought she did--she couldn't be soabsurd! It's a way she has of talking; she often says things withoutconsidering the construction of which they are capable."

  "It is only the fact of her being a woman, my dear Daisy, which givesher the impunity of which she takes undue advantage."

  "Cyril, you mustn't brand all women because of one. We are not alllike that. Do you suppose that I am not aware that the person, be itman or woman, who imagines you to be capable of dishonesty either doesnot know you, or else is stark, raving mad? Do you think that I couldlove you without the absolute certainty of knowing you to be a man ofblameless honour? I don't suppose you are an angel--I'm not oneeither, though perhaps you mightn't think it, sir! And I take it forgranted that you have done plenty of things which you would ratherhave left undone--as I have too! But I do know that, regarded from thepoint of view of any standard, whether human or Divine, in allessentials you are an honest man, and that you could be nothing else."

  The eulogium was a warm one--it made Mr. Paxton feel a trifle queer.

  "Thank you, darling,"

  So he murmured, and he kissed her.

  "You will meet me again to-morrow night to tell me how the fortunefares?"

  He tried to avoid doing so; but the effort only failed--he had towince. He could only hope that she did not notice it.

  "I will, my darling--on the pier."

  "And mind you're punctual!"

  "I promise you I'll be punctual to a second."