In the Year of Jubilee Part 30

'Will you look at the other rooms?'

'Not to-day--when I come again. I must say good-bye very soon--oh, see how the time goes! What a large library you have! You must let me look at all the books, when I have time.'

'Let you? They are yours as much as mine.'

Her face brightened.

'I should like to live here; how I should enjoy it after that hateful Grove Lane! Shall I live here with you some day?'

'There wouldn't be room for two. Why, your dresses would fill the whole place.'

She went and stood before the shelves.

'But how dusty you are! Who cleans for you?'

'No one. A very rickety old woman draws a certain number of shillings each week, on pretence of cleaning.'

'What a shame! She neglects you disgracefully. You shall go away some afternoon, and leave me here with a great pile of dusters.'

'You can do that kind of thing? It never occurred to me to ask you: are you a domestic person?'

She answered with something of the old confident air.

'That was an oversight, wasn't it? After all, how little you know about me!'

'Do you know much more of me?'

Her countenance fell.

'You are going to tell me--everything. How long have you lived here?'

'Two years and a half.'

'And your friends come to see you here? Of course they do. I meant, have you many friends?'

'Friends, no. A good many acquaintances.'

'Men, like yourself?'

'Mostly men, fellows who talk about art and literature.'

'And women?' Nancy faltered, half turning away.

'Oh, magnificent creatures--Greek scholars--mathematicians--all that is most advanced!'

'That's the right answer to a silly question,' said Nancy humbly.

Whereat, Tarrant fixed his gaze upon her.

'I begin to think that--'

He checked himself awkwardly. Nancy insisted on the completion of his thought.

'That of all the women I know, you have the most sense.'

'I had rather hear you say that than have a great fortune.' She blushed with joy. 'Perhaps you will love me some day, as I wish to be loved.'

'How?'

'I'll tell you another time. If it weren't for my father's illness, I think I could go home feeling almost happy. But how am I to know what you are doing?'

'What do you wish me to do?'

'Just tell me how you live. What shall you do now, when I'm gone?'

'Sit disconsolate,'--he came nearer--'thinking you were just a little unkind.'

'No, don't say that.' Nancy was flurried. 'I have told you the real reason. Our housekeeper says that father was disappointed and angry because I put off my return from Teignmouth. He spoke to me very coldly, and I have hardly seen him since. He won't let me wait upon him; and I have thought, since I know how ill he really is, that I must seem heartless. I will come for longer next time.'

To make amends for the reproach he had uttered in spite of himself, Tarrant began to relate in full the events of his ordinary day.

'I get my own breakfast--the only meal I have at home. Look, here's the kitchen, queer old place. And here's the dining-room. Cupboards everywhere, you see; we boast of our cupboards. The green paint is _de rigueur_; duck's egg colour; I've got to like it. That door leads into the bedroom. Well, after breakfast, about eleven o'clock that's to say, I light up--look at my pipe-rack--and read newspapers. Then, if it's fine, I walk about the streets, and see what new follies men are perpetrating. And then--'

He told of his favourite restaurants, of his unfashionable club, of a few houses where, at long intervals, he called or dined, of the Hodiernals, of a dozen other small matters.

'What a life,' sighed the listener, 'compared with mine!'

'We'll remedy that, some day.'

'When?' she asked absently.

'Wait just a little.--You don't wish to tell your father?'

'I daren't tell him. I doubt whether I shall ever dare to tell him face to face.'

'Don't think about it. Leave it to me.'

'I must have letters from you--but how? Perhaps, if you could promise always to send them for the first post--I generally go to the letter-box, and I could do so always--whilst father is ill.'

This was agreed upon. Nancy, whilst they were talking, took her hat from the table; at the same moment, Tarrant's hand moved towards it. Their eyes met, and the hand that would have checked her was drawn back.

Quickly, secretly, she drew the ring from her finger, hid it somewhere, and took her gloves.

'Did you come by the back way?' Tarrant asked, when he had bitten his lips for a sulky minute.

'Yes, as you told me.'

He said he would walk with her into Chancery Lane; there could be no risk in it.

'You shall go out first. Any one pa.s.sing will suppose you had business with the solicitor underneath. I'll overtake you at Southampton Buildings.'