The Story of Antony Grace Part 62

"Well, I don't see that we can do anything," said Mr Jabez at last, "except wait."

"No," said Grimstone, "unless we can see the lady, and make her consent to pay us our 1,250 pounds."

"And interest," said Mr Jabez.

"And bonus," said Grimstone, "down on the nail."

"Which we can't do," said Mr Jabez, shaking his head.

"Of course we can't," said Grimstone. "All I wish is that I hadn't let you persuade me into lending him the money--the savings of a whole life."

"Oh, I like that!" said Mr Jabez, catching up a pen, and making a mark as if he were correcting Grimstone.

"Like it or not, I don't care," said Grimstone, "there it is. Here!

boy, my hat."

"Going?" said Mr Jabez.

"Going! of course I'm going. Think I'm going to stop in this dog-hole, smelling of red-herrings and oil?"

"Won't you take something? Try a fig."

Mr Grimstone s.n.a.t.c.hed his hat from my hands, gazed at me as if he would have liked to set me to pick up pie, and bounced out of the room.

"I don't know which is most unpleasant, Grace," said the old man, "Grimstone or his news. Well, he's gone. Of course, you won't talk about what you've heard. It's a very bad job, though, for me--very-- very. Hi! Mrs Jennings," he cried at the top of the stairs, "half an ounce of best Scotch and Rappee."

He tapped with his box on the handrail as he spoke, and having had it replenished, he came back to sit and take pinches, becoming so abstracted and ill at ease, that I rose to go when he was a quarter through the half-ounce.

"Going, Grace?" he said. "Ah, I'm bad company to-night, but come again.

Let me see, though," he said, fumbling at some letters in his breast-pocket, "I've got a letter here from that bad boy, Peter. Just the same as usual. Tut--tut--oh, here it is. 'Remember me to that boy,'--ah, blunder I call it boy--'Antony Grace. Tell him I shall come to see him if ever I get two London.' There's a fellow for you," said Mr Jabez, "spells 'to' like the figure 2. But he always did want a deal of correcting, did Peter. Good-night, good-night."

And I went my way, sadly troubled at heart about Miss Carr and Mr Lister, and wondering whether she would, after all, refuse to be his wife.

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

AN ANGRY PARTING.

I had four days to wait before going to Westmouth Street to receive my usual welcome--at least, not my usual welcome, for though she seemed to grow more sad and pale, Miss Carr's reception of me increased each time in warmth, till at last, had I been a younger brother she could not have been more kind. I was a good deal troubled at heart about what I knew, and puzzled myself as to my duties in the case. Ought I to take Mr Hallett into my confidence, and ask his advice, or ought I to tell Miss Carr herself? It was hard to settle, and I have often thought since of how strangely I was brought at so young an age into the consideration of the weighty matters of life of those with whom I was in contact.

It seemed to me that my patroness ought to know what people said about Mr Lister, and that if it were true she ought not to marry him.

Certainly, at the interview at which I was an unwilling listener, there had appeared to be no probability of the wedding taking place soon, but all the same, Miss Carr had seemed to me terribly cut up, consequent upon the parting with Mr Lister.

I was so strange and quiet that afternoon that Miss Carr noticed it, and had just asked me what was the matter when the servant brought up a card and I saw her change colour.

"Show him up, Edward," she said quietly; and though I did not see the card I felt sure from her manner that I knew who had come, and I looked up at Miss Carr, expecting to be told to go into the next room, but to my surprise she did not speak, and the next moment Mr Lister came in.

"Ah, Miriam!" he exclaimed; "how well--You here, Grace?"

"Yes, sir," I said, feeling very much in the way, as I stood where I had risen.

"Sit down, Antony," said Miss Carr quietly; and as I obeyed I saw an angry flush cross Mr Lister's countenance.

"Will you give me a few minutes in the next room, Miriam dear?" he said in a low voice.

"In my last answer to your letters, John," she replied, "I begged that you would not come to see me for a month or two. Why are you here now?"

"Why am I here now?" he said in a low, deep voice. "Can you ask me?

Because I want to speak to you--particularly--come in the next room."

I could not help looking hard at him as he spoke, and thinking about what I had heard concerning his affairs, and as I thought that he was to marry Miss Carr to pay off his debts, a strong feeling of resentment against him made me almost determine to utter some word of warning.

"He is so handsome, and has such a way with him," I thought, "that she will do just as he wishes her;" but as the thoughts were in my mind, I was surprised and pleased by finding Miss Carr take quite a firm standing.

"You can have nothing more to say to me, John, than has been said already. I have told you that at least six months must elapse before I can consent to what you ask."

"Will you come into the next room, or send away that boy?" he said in a low voice, but one which showed that he was fast losing his temper.

"No," she said firmly; "and after my last letter I think it cruel of you to press me."

"I cannot help whether it is cruel or not," he said, growing white with anger at her opposition, "and you are forcing me to speak before this boy."

"I leave that to your common-sense, John," she said calmly, and with no little dignity in her manner. "I don't know that I wish to hide anything from Antony Grace. He knows of our engagement."

"Are you mad, Miriam?" he cried, unable to contain himself, and indirectly venting his spleen upon me. "You pick up a poor boy out of the gutter, and you take him and make him your bosom friend and confidant."

Miss Carr caught my hand in hers, as I started, stung to the quick and mortified by his words.

"Shame, John Lister!" she said, with a look that should have brought him to his senses. "Shame! How can you speak like that in Antony Grace's presence, and to me?"

"Because you make me desperate," he cried angrily. "I can bear it no longer. I will not be trifled with. For months now you have treated me as a child. Once more, will you send away this boy, or come with me into another room?"

"Mr Lister," she said, rising, "you are angry and excited. You are saying words now which you will afterwards grieve over, as much as I snail regret to have heard them spoken."

"I can't help that," he exclaimed. "Day after day I have come to you, begging you to listen to me, but I have always been put off, until now I have grown desperate."

"Desperate?" she said wonderingly.

"Yes, desperate. I do not wish to speak before this boy, but you force me to it."

"What is there in our engagement that I should be ashamed to let the whole world hear?" she said proudly. "Why, if I listened to you, it would be published to every one who would hear."

Mr Lister took a few strides up and down the room.

"Will you hear me, Miriam?" he cried, making an ineffectual effort to command his temper.

"John Lister," she replied, "I have given you your answer, Come to me in six months' time."