CHAPTER XXIII
ALBERT
I was so stunned I could not speak at all for a minute, then I said,after a brief pause--
"Do you know if Mr. Fanning is in?"
"No, why should he be in?" replied Miss Mullins in an almost irritablevoice, "he has got his work to do if you have not. Men who aregenerous on the large scale on which he is generous, cannot afford tobe idle--that is, if they are going on adding to their fortunes. He isout and probably in the city, he is a great publisher, you know, andextremely successful. For my part, I respect him; he may be a roughdiamond, but he is a diamond all the same."
Still I did not speak, and I am sure my silence, and the stunnedsubdued heavy expression on my face, vexed Jane more than any amountof words I might have uttered.
"I will go and see if he has really gone," I said. "It is sometimesquite late before he starts for the city, I want to speak to him atonce."
"Now, Westenra, if you in this crisis make mischief," began MissMullins.
"Oh, I won't make mischief," I said, "but I must speak to Mr.Fanning."
I had almost reached the door when she called me back.
"One moment," she said.
I turned, impatiently.
"Please don't keep me, Jane, I must see Mr. Fanning before he goes tothe city--I will come back afterwards."
"If I wasn't almost sure what you are going to say to Mr. Fanning, Iwould let you go," said Jane, "but you ought to know--your mother wasvery ill, worse than I have ever seen her before, last night."
"Mother ill in the night, and you never told me!" The greater troubleseemed to swallow up the lesser, and for the time I forgot Mr.Fanning, the man in possession, and everything in the world exceptmother herself.
"She had a sharp attack," continued Jane, "rigors and extremeweakness. I happened most fortunately to go into her room aboutmidnight, and found her in an alarming state. Dr. Anderson wassummoned. She is better, much better, but not up yet."
"But, Jane, why, why did you not wake me?"
"I should, dear, if there had been real danger, but she quicklyrecovered. You looked so ill yourself last night, that I had not theheart to disturb your sleep. And there is no danger at present, nofresh danger, that is. Unless something happens to cause her a suddenshock, she is comparatively well, but it behoves you, Westenra, to becareful."
"And suppose I am not careful," I said, a sudden defiance coming intomy voice.
"In that case----" said Miss Mullins. She did not finish her sentence.She looked full at me, raised her hands expressively, and let themfall to her sides.
Nothing could be more full of meaning than her broken sentence, heraction, and the expression of her face.
"But you could not deliberately do it," she said slowly, "you couldnot expose a mother like yours to----"
"Of course I could do nothing to injure mother," I said, "I will tryand be patient; but Jane, Jane, do you know really what this means?Can you not guess that there are things that even for a mother, adying mother, a girl ought not to do?"
"I do not see that," answered Jane deliberately; "no, I do not, notfrom your point of view. You can do what is required, and you can bearit."
I knew quite well what she meant. She did not call me back this timewhen I left the room. I heard her mutter to herself--her wordsstartled me--putting a new sort of sudden light on all our miserableaffairs.
"My little home gone too," I heard her mutter, "ruin for me too, forme too."
I stood for a moment in the dark passage outside Jane's room. Therewas no one there, and I could think. I did not want to go into the bighall, nor to run up the staircase. I might meet some of thosesmiling, well satisfied, delighted and delightful paying guests, thosepaying guests who were ruining us all the time. Yes, I knew at lastwhat Jane meant, what Mrs. Fanning meant, what Albert Fanning meant.We would be relieved from our embarrassments, mother would receive noshock _if I promised to marry Albert Fanning_. Albert Fanning wouldsave the position, he would pay the necessary debts; he was rich, andfor love of me he would not mind what he did. Yes, I supposed it waslove for me. I did not know, of course. I could not fancy for a momentthat a girl like myself could excite any feeling of worship in a manlike Albert Fanning, but anyhow, for whatever reason, he wanted me(and he did want me), he was willing to pay this big price for me. Myheart trembled, my spirit quaked. I stood in the luxury of the darkpassage, clasped my hands to my brow, and then determined not to giveway, to be brave to the very end.
I ran upstairs and entered the drawing-room. It was tidy, in perfectorder. I was glad to find no one there. I went and stood underfather's picture. I gazed full up at the resolute, brave, handsomeface.
"You died to win your V.C.," I said to myself, and then I turned toleave the room. I met Mrs. Furlong coming in.
"Ah, dear child," she said, "I am so glad to see you. But what is thematter? You don't look well."
"I am anxious," I answered; "mother had a very serious attack lastnight."
"We are all full of concern about her," replied Mrs. Furlong. "Won'tyou sit down for a moment? I wish to talk to you. Ah, here comes myhusband. Philip, we have bad news about dear Mrs. Wickham, she wasvery ill last night."
"Your mother, Miss Wickham, is very far from strong," said CaptainFurlong. He came and stood near me; he looked full of sympathy. He wasvery nice and kind and gentlemanly. He had been kind and courteous,and unselfish, ever since he came to the house.
"You are very good, both of you," I said. "I am going to mother now;please, don't keep me."
"But is there anything we can do? Would change be of service to her?"said Mrs. Furlong. "I know it is a little early in the year, but thespring is coming on nicely, and she must weary so of London,particularly this part of London; she has been accustomed to such adifferent life."
"I do not think our present life has injured her," I said. "She hasnot had any of the roughing. Things have been made smooth and pleasantand bright for her."
"All the same, it has been a very, very great change for her," saidMrs. Furlong. "It has been good neither for her nor for you. Yes,Philip," she continued, noticing a warning expression on herhusband's face, "I have got my opportunity, and I will speak out. Iam quite certain the sooner Westenra Wickham, and her dear mother,leave this boarding-house the better it will be for both of them. Whathas a young, innocent girl, like Westenra, to do with paying guests?Oh, if they were all like you and me, dear, it would be different; butthey are not all like us, and there's that"--she dropped her voice.Captain Furlong shook his head.
"Miss Wickham has accepted the position, and I do not see how she candesert her post," he said.
"Never fear, be sure I will not," I answered; "but please--please,kind friends, don't keep me now."
"There is just one thing I should like to say before you go, MissWickham," said Captain Furlong; "if you find yourself in trouble ofany sort whatever, pray command both my wife and myself. I have seen agood deal of life in my day. My wife and I are much interested, bothin you and your mother. Now, for instance," he added, dropping hisvoice, "I know about tight times; we all of us get more or less into atight corner, now and then--if a fifty pound note would----"
"Oh no, it would not do anything," I cried. My face was crimson; myheart seemed cut in two.
"Oh! how can I thank you enough?" I added; and I ran up to the kindman and seized his hands. I could almost have kissed them in my painand gratitude. "It would be useless, quite useless, but I shall neverforget your kindness."
I saw the good-natured pair look at one another, and Mrs. Furlongshook her head wisely; and I am sure a dewy moisture came to her eyes,but I did not wait to say anything more, but ran off in the directionof mother's room. A softened light filled that chamber, where all thatrefinement and love could give surrounded the most treasuredpossession of my life. Mother was lying in bed propped up by pillows.She looked quite as well as usual, and almost sweeter than I had everseen her look, and she smiled when I came in.
"Well, li
ttle girl," she said, "you are late in paying me your visitthis morning?"
"It was very wrong of you, mother, not to send for me when you were soill last night," I answered.
"Oh, that time," said mother, "it seems ages off already, and I amquite as well as usual. I have got a kind nurse to look after me now.Nurse Marion, come here."
I could not help giving a visible start. Were things so bad withmother that she required the services of a trained nurse? A comely,sweet-faced, young woman of about thirty years of age, now approachedfrom her seat behind the curtain.
"The doctor sent me in, Miss Wickham; he thought your mother would bethe better for constant care for two or three days."
"I am very glad you have come," I answered.
"Oh, it is so nice," said mother; "Nurse Marion has made medelightfully comfortable; and is not the room sweet with thatdelicious old-fashioned lavender she uses, and with all those springflowers?"
"I have opened the window, too," said the nurse, "the more air thedear lady gets the better for her; but now, Miss Wickham, I cannotallow your mother to talk. Will you come back again; or, if you stay,will you be very quiet?"
"As you are here to look after mother I will come back again," I said.I bent down, kissed the lily white hand which lay on the counterpane,and rushed from the room. Stabs of agony were going through my heart,and yet I must not give way!
I ran upstairs, and knocked at Mrs. Fanning's door. As Albert Fanningwas out, I was determined to see her. There was no reply to mysummons, and after a moment I opened the door and looked in. The roomwas empty. I went to my own room, sat down for a moment, and tried toconsider how things were tending with me, and what the end would be.Rather than mother should suffer another pang, I would marry AlbertFanning. But must it come to this!
I put on my outdoor things, and ran downstairs. The closeness andoppression of the day before had changed into a most balmy anddelicious spring morning; a sort of foretaste day of early summer. Iwas reckless, my purse was very light, but what did that matter. Istopped a hansom, got into it, and gave the man Albert Fanning'saddress in Paternoster Row. Was I mad to go to him--to beard the lionin his den? I did not know; I only knew that sane or mad, I must dowhat I had made up my mind to do.
The hansom bowled smoothly along, and I sat back in the farthestcorner, and tried to hope that no one saw me. A pale, very slender,very miserable girl was all that they would have seen; the grace gonefrom her, the beauty all departed; a sort of wreck of a girl, who hadmade a great failure of her life, and of the happiness of thosebelonging to her. Oh, if only the past six or eight months could belived over again, how differently would I have spent them! The cottagein the country seemed now to be a sort of paradise. If only I couldtake mother to it, I would be content to be buried away from the eyesof the world for evermore. But mother was dying; there would be noneed soon for any of us to trouble about her future, for God Himselfwas taking it into His own hands, and had prepared for her a mansion,and an unfading habitation.
I scarcely dared think of this. Be the end long, or be the end short,during the remaining days or weeks of her existence, she must not beworried, she must go happily, securely, confidently, down to theValley. That was the thought, the only thought which stayed with me,as I drove as fast as I could in the direction of Mr. Fanning's placeof business.
The cab was not allowed to go up the Row, so I paid my fare at theentrance, and then walked to my destination. I knew the number well,for Albert had mentioned it two or three times in my hearing, havingindeed often urged me to go and see him. I stopped therefore at theright place, looked up, saw the name of Albert Fanning in huge lettersacross the window, opened the door and entered. I found myself in abig, book saloon, and going up to a man asked if Mr. Fanning were in.The man was one of those smart sort of clerks, who generally knoweverybody's business but their own. He looked me all over in asomewhat quizzical way, and then said--
"Have you an appointment, miss?"
"I have not," I replied.
"Our chief, Mr. Fanning, never sees ladies without appointments."
"I think he will see me," I answered, "he happens to know me. Pleasesay that Miss Westenra Wickham has called to see him."
The clerk stared at me for a moment.
"Miss West! what Wickham Miss? Perhaps you wouldn't mind writing itdown."
I did not want to write down my name, but I did so; I gave it to theclerk, who withdrew, smiling to a brother clerk as he did so. He cameback in a minute or two, looking rather red about the face, and wentback to his seat without approaching me, and at the same time I heardheavy, ungainly steps rushing downstairs, and Mr. Fanning, in hisoffice coat, which was decidedly shabby, and almost as greasy as theone which belonged to the "Man in Possession" on the previous evening,entered the saloon. His hair stood wildly up on his head, and his blueeyes were full of excitement. He came straight up to me.
"I say, this is a pleasure," he exclaimed, "and quite unlooked for.Pray, come upstairs at once, Miss Wickham. I am delighted to seeyou--delighted. Understand, Parkins," he said, addressing the clerkwho had brought my message, "that I am engaged for the present,absolutely engaged, and can see _no one_. Now, Miss Wickham, now."
He ushered me as if I were a queen through the saloon, past thewondering and almost tittering clerks, and up some winding stairs tohis own sanctum on the first floor.
"Cosy, eh?" he said, as he opened the door, and showed me a bigapartment crowded with books of every shape and size, and heavily, andat the same time, handsomely furnished. "Not bad for a city man'soffice, eh?" he continued, "all the books are amusing; you might liketo dip into 'em by-and-by, nothing deep or dull, or stodgy here, alllight, frothy, and merry. Nothing improving, all entertaining. That ishow my father made his fortune; and that is how I, Albert the second,as the mater calls me, intend to go on adding to my fortune. It is onlight, frothy, palatable morsels that I and my wife will live in thefuture, eh, eh? You're pleased with the look of the place, ain't you.Now then, sit right down here facing the light, so that I can have agood view of you. You're so young; you have not a wrinkle on you. It'sthe first sign of age coming on when a girl wishes to sit with herback to the light, but you are young, and you can stand the fullglare. Here, you take the office chair. Isn't it comfortable? That'swhere I have sat for hours and hours, and days and days; and where myfather sat before me. How well you'd look interviewing authors andartists when they come here with their manuscripts. But there! Iexpect you'd be a great deal too kind to them. A lot of rubbish youwould buy for the firm of Fanning & Co., wouldn't you now, eh? Ah,it's you that has got a tender little heart, and Albert Fanning hasbeen one of the first to find it out."
I could not interrupt this rapid flow of words, and sat in the chairindicated, feeling almost stunned. At last he stopped, and gazing atme, said--
"Well, and how _is_ Miss Westenra Wickham, and what has brought her tovisit her humble servant? Out with it now, the truth, please."
Still I could find no words. At last, however, I said almost shyly--
"You have been kind, more than kind, but I came here to tell you, youmust not do it."
"Now that's a pretty sort of thing to bring you here," said Mr.Fanning. "Upon my soul, that's a queer errand. I have been kind,forsooth! and I am not to be kind in the future. And pray why should Iturn into an evil, cruel sort of man at your suggestion, Miss Wickham?Why should I, eh? Am I to spoil my fine character because you, alittle slip of a girl, wish it so?"
"You must listen to me," I said; "you do not take me seriously, butyou must. This is no laughing matter."
"Oh, I am to talk sense, am I? What a little chit it is! but it is adear little thing in its way, although saucy. It's trying to comeround me and to teach me. Well, well, I don't mind owning that you canturn me with a twist of your little finger wherever you please. Youhave the most bewitching way with you I ever saw with any girl. It hasbowled Albert Fanning over, that it has. Now, then, what have youreally come for?"
"You paid t
he bill of Pattens the butcher either this morning or lastnight, why did you do it?"
Mr. Fanning had the grace to turn red when I said this. He gave meeven for a moment an uncomfortable glance, then said loudly--
"But you didn't surely want that fellow Robert to stay on?"
"That is quite true," I replied, "but I still less want you, Mr.Fanning, to pay our debts. You did very wrong to take such a libertywithout my permission, very, very wrong."
"To tell you the honest truth, I never wished you to know about it,"said Mr. Fanning. "Who blurted it out?"
"Jane Mullins, of course, told me."
"Ah, I mentioned to the mater that it would be very silly to confidein that woman, and now the little mater has done no end of mischief.She has set your back up and--but there, you were bound to know of itsooner or later. Of course the butcher's is not the only bill I mustpay, and you were bound to know, of course. I don't really mind thatyou do know. It's a great relief to you, ain't it now?"
"It is not a great relief, and what is more I cannot allow it."
"You cannot allow it?"
"No."
Mr. Fanning now pulled his chair up so close to mine that his kneesnearly touched me. I drew back.
"You needn't be afraid that I'll come closer," he said almost sulkily,"you know quite well what I feel about you, Miss Wickham, for I havesaid it already. I may have a few more words to deliver on that pointby-and-by, but now what I want to say is this, that I won't force anyone to come to me except with a free heart. Nobody, not even you--noteven _you_--although, God knows, you are like no one else on earth,shall come to me except willingly. I never met any one like youbefore, so dainty, so fair so pretty--oh, so very pretty, and such asweet girl and, upon my word, you can make just anything of me. Butthere, the time for love-making has not yet come, and you havesomething ugly to say in the back of your head, I see the thoughtshining out of your eyes. Oh, however hard you may feel, and howevermuch pain you mean to give me, you cannot make those eyes of yourslook ugly and forbidding. Now I am prepared to listen."
He folded his arms across his chest and looked full at me. He was insuch great and desperate earnest that he was not quite so repellant asusual. I could not but respect him, and I found it no longer difficultto speak freely to him.
"I come as a woman to appeal to a man," I said. "You are a man and Iam a woman, we stand on equal ground. You would not like your sister,had you a sister, to do what you want me to do. I appeal to you onbehalf of that sister who does not exist."
He tried to give a laugh, but it would not rise to his lips.
"As you justly remarked," he said, "I have not got a sister."
"But you know, you must know, Mr. Fanning, what you would feel if youhad a sister, and she allowed a man who was no relation, no relationwhatever, to take her debts and pay them. What would you think of yoursister?"
"I'd say the sooner she and that chap married the better," was Mr.Fanning's blunt response; "they'd be relations then fast enough, eh,eh? I think I have about answered you, Miss Wickham."
"But suppose she did not want to marry that man; suppose she had toldhim that she never would marry him; suppose he knew perfectly well inhis heart that she could not marry him, because she had not a spark oflove to give him?"
"But I don't suppose anything of the sort," said Mr. Fanning, and nowhis face grew white, uncomfortably white, and I saw his lipstrembling.
"There now," he said, "you have had your say, and it is my turn. I seeperfectly well what you are driving at. You think I have taken anunfair advantage of you, but this was the position. I knew all aboutit, I had seen it coming for some time. Jane Mullins had dropped hintsto mother, and mother had dropped hints to me, and, good gracious! Icould tell for myself. I am a man of business; I knew exactly whateach of the boarders paid. I knew exactly or nearly to a nicety, andif I didn't my mother did, what the dinners cost which we ate nightafter night in your dining-room, and what the furniture must havecost, and what the breakfast cost, and the hundred and one thingswhich were necessary to keep up an establishment of that kind, and Isaid to the mater, 'Look you here, mater, the incomings are so and so,and the outgoings are so and so, and a smash is _inevitable_. It willcome sooner or later, and it is my opinion it will come sooner, notlater.' The mater agreed with me, for she is shrewd enough, and weboth thought a great deal of you, and a great deal of your mother. Weknew that although you were dainty in your ways, and belonged to ahigher social class than we did (we are never going, either of us, todeny that), we knew that you were ignorant of these things, and hadnot our wisdom, and we thought Jane Mullins was a bit of a goose tohave launched in such a hopeless undertaking. But, of course, as themater said, she said it many, many times, 'There may be money at theback of this thing, Albert, and if there is they may pull through.'But when Mr. Randolph went off in that fine hurry last winter, wefound out all too quickly that there was no money at the back, andthen, of course, the result was inevitable.
"I expected Pattens to send a man in, for I had met him once or twice,and he told me that his bill was not paid, and that he did not mean tosupply any more meat, and what Pattens said the baker and greengrocersaid too, and so did Allthorp the grocer, and so did the fishmonger,Merriman, and so did all the other tradespeople, and if one spoke tome, so did they all. I have paid Pattens, but that is not enough.Pattens won't trouble you any more, his man has gone, but there isMerriman's man to come on, and there is Allthorp's man, and there areall the others, and then, above and beyond all, there's the landlord,Mr. Hardcastle. Why, the March quarter's rent has not been paid yet,and that is a pretty big sum. So, my dear young lady, things _cannot_go on, and what is to be done? Now there's the question--what is to bedone?"
I stared at him with frightened eyes. It was perfectly true that Iknew nothing whatever about business. I had imagined myselfbusiness-like, and full of common sense, but I found in this extrememoment that my business qualities were nowhere, and that thishard-headed and yet honest man of the world was facing the positionfor me, and seeing things as I ought to see them.
"What is to be done?" he repeated. "Are you going to have the bed onwhich your mother sleeps sold under her, and she dying, or are younot? I can help you, I have plenty of money, I have a lot of loosecash in the bank which may as well go in your direction as any other.Shall I spend it for you, or shall I not?"
"But if you do--if you do," I faltered, "what does it mean?"
"Mean!" he said, and now a queer light came into his eyes, and he drewnearer again, and bending forward tried to take my hand. I put ithastily behind me.
"I'll be frank," he said, "I'll be plain, _it means you_."
"I cannot, oh! I cannot," I said. I covered my face with both myhands; I was trembling all over.
"Give me your promise," he said, dropping his voice very low, "justgive me your promise. I'll not hurry you a bit. Give me your promisethat in the future, say in a year (I'll give you a whole year, yes Iwill, although it goes hard with me)--say in a year, you will be mine,you'll come to me as my little wife, and I won't bother you, upon mysoul I won't, before the time. I'll go away from 17 Graham Square, Iwill, yes I will. The mater can stay, she likes looking after people,and she is downright fond of you, but I won't worry you. Say you'll bemy little wife, and you need not have another care. The bills shall bepaid, and we'll close the place gradually. The boarding-house, on itspresent terms, cannot go on, but we will close up gradually, and poorold Miss Mullins need not be a pauper for the rest of her days. She'sa right down good sort, and I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll start herin a little boarding-house of a humble kind on my own hook. Yes, Iwill, and she shall make a tidy fortune out of it. I'll do all that,and for you, for _you_, and you have only got to promise."
"But I cannot," I said, and now I began to sob. "Oh, I cannot. Youdon't want a wife who doesn't love you at all."
"Not even a little bit?" he said, and there was a pathetic ring in hisvoice. "Aren't you sure that you love me just a very little bit? Well
,well, you will some day; you will when you know me better. I am avery rough sort of diamond, Miss Wickham, but I am a diamond all thesame, if being true and honourable and honest and straightforwardmeans anything at all. I don't want to speak too well of myself, but Ido know that in my entire life I have never done a real mean or shabbything. I am an honest fellow out and out, Miss Wickham, and I offeryou all I have, and I will get you out of this scrape in a twinkling,that I will. You thought, perhaps, your fine friend Mr. Randolph woulddo it, but when he guessed how things were going he cut off fastenough to the other side of the world."
"I won't let you speak of him like that," I cried, and my voice roseagain with anger, and the pity I had felt for Mr. Fanning a moment agovanished as if it had never existed. "Mr. Randolph has been our true,true friend, and he may be dead now. Oh, you are cruel to speak of himlike that!"
"Very well, we won't talk of him. It is unkind to abuse the dead,"said Mr. Fanning in a low, considerate sort of voice. "He sailed, poorchap, in the _Star of Hope_, and the _Star of Hope_ has been wrecked.He will never come back to bother anybody again, so we won't talk ofhim."
I was silent. A cold, faint feeling was stealing over me.
"Well, now, you listen to me," continued Mr. Fanning. "You think thatit is very hard on you that a man of my sort should want you to be hiswife, but men of my sort, when they make fortunes, often do marrygirls like you. I have a lot of money, Miss Wickham, plenty andplenty, thousands upon thousands, and it's piling up every day. It isthe froth and the light literature that has done it--all thosepicture-books, coloured, most of 'em, and those children's books, andthose nonsense rhymes, and all that sort of thing. We have huge salesall over the world, and the money rolls in for Albert Fanning, andAlbert Fanning can marry about any girl he chooses. Why shouldn't hetake a wife a peg above him? It's done every day, and why should nothis wife be happy? What is there against that house at Highgate, forinstance, and what is there against the old woman? Is there anhonester or a better heart than hers?"
"That is quite true; I really love your mother," I said.
"Ah, that's a good girl, now." He laid his big hand on mine and gaveit a little pat. "And you'll be all right when you come to me; you'llbe as comfortable as possible. You'll soon get accustomed to me and myways."
"But I can never, never come to you," I cried, shrinking away. "Icannot make you that promise."
"I won't take your answer now, and I have not done speaking yet. Doyou know that I have cared for you for a long time? I'll tell you howit happened. I was in the Park one day, more than two years ago. Ihad been in Germany, learning book-binding. There was nothing I didnot go into as far as my trade was concerned, and I had come backagain, and I was in the Park watching the fine folks. My pockets werecomfortably lined, and I had not a debt in the world, and I wasfeeling pretty spry, you may be sure, and thinking, 'Albert Fanning,the time has come for you to take a mate; the time has come for youand your sweetheart to meet, and to have a right good time, and ahappy life afterwards.' And I was thinking which of the suburbs I'dlive in, and what sort of girl I'd have. Oh, there were plenty readyto come to me for the asking, young girls, too, with rosy cheeks andbright eyes. There was one, I never saw blacker eyes than hers; theywere as black as sloes, and I always admired black eyes, because I amfair, you know, and the mater is fair. You always like your oppositeas a rule, and as these thoughts were coming to me, and I was thinkingof Susan Martin and her black eyes, and the merry laugh she had, andher white teeth, who should come driving slowly by, in the midst ofall the other grand folks, but your little self. You were bendingforward, doing something for your mother, putting a shawl about her orsomething, and you just gave the tiniest bit of a smile, and I saw agleam of your teeth, and I looked at your grey eyes; and, upon myword, it was all over with me. I never knew there were girls like youin existence before. I found myself turning at first white and thenred, and at first hot and then cold, and I followed that carriage asfast as I could, and whenever I had a chance I took a glance at you.Oh, you were high above me, far away from me, with people that I couldnever have anything to do with; but I lost my heart to you, and SusanMartin hadn't a chance. I found out from the mater that you were MissWickham, and that your father had been a general officer in the army,and you lived in Mayfair, and went into society; and often and often Iwent into the Park to catch a glimpse of you, and I got the number ofyour house, and sometimes I passed it by and looked up at the windows,and once I saw you there; you were arranging some flowers. I justcaught the bend of your head, and I saw the shape of your throat, andyour straight profile, and the whole look of you, and my heart wentpitter-pat. I wasn't myself after I had caught a glimpse of you. Youfilled all my world, and the old mater found out there was somethingwrong. I am reserved about some things, and I didn't let it out toher, but at last I did, and she said, 'Courage, Albert, courage. Ifyou want her, why shouldn't you have her? You have plenty of money,and you're a right good sort.' And then all of a sudden one day themater came to me with news, no less news than this, that you, youplucky little darling, were going to start a boarding-house on yourown account. After that, it was plain sailing."
"She is poor," said the mother. "She and her mother have lost alltheir money; they are down in the world, down on their luck, and theyare going to do this. So then we arranged that we'd come and live inthe boarding-house, and I began my courting in hot earnest, andfortune has favoured me, Miss Wickham; fortune has favoured me,Westenra, and oh! I love you, God knows how much, and I'd be a goodhusband to you, and you should have your own way in everything. Won'tyou think of it, Miss Wickham? Won't you?"
I was silent. The tears were running down my cheeks, and I had novoice to speak. I got up at last slowly.
"Won't you think of it?" he said again.
I shook my head.
"Well, I tell you what," he said, turning very pale. "Don't give meyour answer now. Wait until this evening or to-morrow. I won't worryyou in the drawing-room to-night. I'll keep far away, and I'll try ifI can to keep everybody at bay--all those wolves, I mean, that aresurrounding you--and maybe you'll think better of it, for the positionis a very serious one; maybe you'll think better of it. And remember,whatever happens, there ain't a fellow on earth would make you abetter husband than I shall, if you'll let me."