The Man Who Lost Himself Part 46

"I'll never play another," said Jones. "Tell them to bring me some breakfast, and look here, Church, I've told my sister to leave the house at once. I want no more of her here. See that her luggage is taken down at once."

"Yes, my Lord."

"And see here, Church, let no one in. Lord Langwathby, or anyone else. I want a little peace. By the way, have a taxi sent for, and tell me when my sister's luggage is down."

In the middle of breakfast, Church came in to say that Miss Birdbrook was departing and Jones came into the hall to verify the fact.

Venetia had brought a crocodile skin travelling bag and a trunk.

These were being conveyed to a taxi.

Not one word did she say to relieve her outraged feelings. The fear of a "scene before the servants" kept her quiet.

CHAPTER x.x.xI

HE FINDS HIMSELF

That evening at nine o'clock, Jones sat in the smoking-room, writing. He had trusted Church with an important mission on the upshot of which his whole future depended.

If you will review his story, as he himself was reviewing it now, you will see that, despite a strong will and a mind quick to act, the freedom of his will had always been hampered by circ.u.mstance.

Circ.u.mstance from the first had determined that he should be a Lord.

I leave it to philosophers to determine what Circ.u.mstance is. I can only say that from a fair knowledge of life, Circ.u.mstance seems to me more than a fortuitous happening of things. Who does not know the man of integrity and ability, the man destined for the Presidency or the College chair, who remains in an office all his life? Luck is somehow against him. Or the man who, starting in life with everything against him, arrives, not by creeping, but by leaps and bounds.

I do not wish to cast a shade on individual effort; I only say this: If you ever find Circ.u.mstance, whose other name is Fortune, feeling for you in order to make you a lord, don't kick, for when Fortune takes an interest in a man, she is cunning as a woman. She is a woman in fact.

At half past nine, a knock came to the door. It was opened by Church, who ushered in Teresa, Countess of Rochester.

Jones rose from his chair, Church shut the door, and they found themselves alone and face to face.

The girl did not sit down. She stood holding the back of a chair, and looking at the man before her. She looked scared, dazed, like a person suddenly awakened from sleep, in a strange place.

Jones knew at once.

"You have guessed the truth," said he, "that I am not your husband."

"I knew it," she replied, "when you told us in the drawing-room-- The others thought you mad. I knew you were speaking the truth."

"That was why you ran from the room."

"Yes; what more have you to say?"

"I have a very great deal more to say; will you not sit down?"

She sat down on the edge of a chair, folded her hands and continued looking at him with that scared, hunted expression.

"I want to say just this," said Jones. "Right through this business from the very start I have tried to play a straight game. I can guess from your face that you fear me as if I were something horrible. I don't blame you. I ask you to listen to me.

"Your husband took advantage of two facts: the fact that I am his twin image, as he called it, and the fact that I was temporarily without money and stranded in London. I am not a drunkard, but that night I came under the influence of strong drink. He took advantage of that to send me home as himself. I am going to say a nasty thing; that was not the action of a gentleman."

The girl winced.

"Never," went on Jones, "would I say things against a man who is dead, yet I am forced to tell you the truth, so that you may see this man as he was--wait."

He went to the bureau and took out some papers. He handed her one. She read the contents:

"Stick to it--if you can. You'll see why I couldn't.

"ROCHESTER."

"That is your husband's handwriting?"

"Yes."

"Now think for a moment of his act as regards yourself. He sent me, a stranger, home, never thinking a thought about you."

Her breath choked back.

"As for me," went on Jones, "from the very first moment I saw you, I have thought of you and your welfare. I told my story for your sake, so that things might be cleared up, and they put me in an asylum for my pains. I escaped, I am here, and for your sake I am saying all this.

Does it give me pleasure to show you your husband's character? I would sooner cut off my right hand, but that would not help you. You have got to know, else I cannot possibly get out of this. Read these."

He handed her the Plinlimon letters.

She read them carefully. Whilst she was doing so, he sat down and waited.

"These were written two years ago," said she in a sad voice, as she folded them together, "a year after we were married."

It was the tone of her voice that did it--as she handed the letters back to him, she saw that his eyes were filled with tears.

He put them back in the bureau without a word. He felt that he had struck the innocent again and most cruelly.

Then he came back to the chair on which he had been sitting and stood holding its back.

"You see how we are both placed," said he. "To prove your husband's death, all my business would have to be raked up. I don't mind, because I have acted straight, but you would mind. The fact of his suicide, the fact of his sending me home--everything, that would hit you again and again. Yet, look at your position--I do not know what we are to do. If I go away and go back to the States, I leave you before the world as the wife of a man still living who has deserted you, if I stay and go on being the Earl of Rochester, you are tied to a phantom."

He paced the floor, head down, wrestling with an insoluble problem, whilst she sat looking at him.

"Which is the easiest for you to do?" asked she.

"Oh, me," said he; "I'm not thinking of myself--back to the States, of course, but that's out of the question--there are lots of easy things to do, but when my case comes in contact with yours, there's nothing easy to do. Do you think it was easy for me to go off that night and leave you waiting for me, feeling that you thought me a skunk? No, that was not easy."

She had been sitting very calm and still up till now, then suddenly she looked down. She burst into tears.