Only One Love, or Who Was the Heir Part 63

It relieved and brought him to his senses.

With a gesture of self-contempt he rose and rang the bell.

Slummers stole in with his noiseless step and stood beside the table with downcast eyes, which, nevertheless, had taken in the broken tumbler.

"I've broken a gla.s.s, Slummers," said Stephen, with affected carelessness. "Never mind, leave it till the morning. Now, then, what have you learned?"

Slummers cleared his throat, and barely opening his thin lips, replied:

"A great deal, considering the time, sir. The young lady at Mrs.

Davenant's----"

"I know all about her," said Stephen, breaking in impatiently. "What about Mr. Newcombe?"

Nowise embarra.s.sed, Slummers wiped his dry lips with a handkerchief as spotless as his master's.

"It is as you expected, sir. Mr. Newcombe is in difficulties."

"Ah!" said Stephen, with evident satisfaction.

"He has been playing and giving paper. There are some old bills out, too. These are in the hands of Moss the money-lender."

Stephen nodded and rubbed his hands.

"I know Moss--a hard man. Go on."

"But they say," continued Slummers, raising his eyes for a moment to his master's face, "that Mr. Newcombe is going to set things right by marrying an heiress."

Stephen smiled and leaned back in his chair.

"Oh, they do, do they; and who is this most fortunate young lady?"

"Lady Isabel Earlsley."

Stephen started forward.

"What!"

"Lady Isabel Earlsley," repeated Slummers, without the slightest change of voice or countenance.

"No--it's a lie!" said Stephen, with a chuckle. "Where did you hear it?"

"At the club. It is the talk of town, sir. Mr. Newcombe has been in close attendance upon her ladyship for some time. They say that her ladyship's brougham nearly ran over him, and that she took him home. It is true; her own coachman told me."

Stephen leaned back and hid his face with his hand, his busy brain at work on this last turn of the wheel.

"Go on," he said.

"That is all, sir."

Stephen was silent for a minute or two, then he turned to the writing table and wrote for some minutes.

"Go to Moss to-morrow morning," he said, "and tell him not to press Mr.

Newcombe, and I don't think he will require more than the hint--but you may say I will buy all Mr. Newcombe's bills at a fair price. Mind! I want every I O U and bill that Mr. Newcombe gives. You understand?"

"I understand, Mr. Stephen," said Slummers, and a faint, malicious smile stole over his face.

"And if Mr. Moss likes to oblige Mr. Newcombe with a little loan, I will take the bill. You understand?"

Slummers nodded.

"Here is the letter to Moss for his own satisfaction. He will not mention my name."

Slummers took the note. Stephen pa.s.sed his hand over his forehead, and turned his back to the light.

"Any--any other news, Slummers?"

Slummers smiled behind his hand.

"I have been to Cheltenham Terrace. We were rightly informed, sir. Old Mr. Treherne is dead, and Miss Treherne has disappeared."

Stephen drew a breath of relief.

"Indeed," he said. "Very good. Let me see, is there anything else?"

Slummers coughed.

"Nothing, sir, except to remind you that you have to speak at the charitable meeting tomorrow night."

"Ah, yes, thank you, very good, Slummers. Be good enough to hand me the last charitable reports. Good-night."

CHAPTER XXVIII.

Happy! If ever two young people were happy, Una and Jack were. To Una the days pa.s.sed like a happy dream time. Her sky was without a cloud; it almost seemed as if the world had been made for her, so entirely did everything lend itself to her enjoyment.

Every morning, soon after breakfast, Jack's quick, buoyant step was heard ascending the stone steps of the house in Walmington Square, and he would come marching into the breakfast room with some palpable excuse about his just happening to pa.s.s, and Mrs. Davenant would smile her gentle welcome, and Una--well, Una's eyes were eloquent, if her tongue was mute, and would speak volumes.

And Jack would lounge about for an hour, telling them all the news, and perhaps smoking a cigarette, just inside the conservatory; and Una was sure to find an excuse for being near him.

Indeed, if that young lady could be within touching distance of her G.o.d and hero, she seemed pa.s.sing content. He was the very light of her life, soul of her soul; every day seemed to increase the pa.s.sionate devotion of her first, her maiden love, for the wild, young ne'er-do-well.

And she was repaid. Jack thought that there never had been, since Eve began the s.e.x, such a marvel of beauty and grace and virtue as Una. He would sit for half-an-hour smoking and watching her in silence.

"Didn't one of those clever fellows say of a certain woman that to know her was a liberal education?" he said to Mrs. Davenant. "Well, I say, that to be in Una's presence, to watch her moving about in that quiet, graceful way of hers, and then to catch a smile now and again, is like reading a first-cla.s.s poem; better, indeed, for me, because I don't go in for poetry."