CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE VARIOUS MOODS OF A GENTLEMAN OF FASHION.
Mr. Townsend was shaving himself. Advancing his face an inch or twonearer his shaving-glass, with his fingers he smoothed his chin.
"Very awkward," he said. "Very!"
The allusion could scarcely have been to the process in which he wasengaged. Everything had gone with smoothness. Not even a scratch hadmarred the perfect peace.
Mr. Townsend concluded that his chin was as clean shaven as it possiblycould be. He put his razor down. He took up a cigarette. He lighted it.
"Exceedingly awkward!"
As he murmured the iteration, seating himself in an armchair, heselected an open letter from among a heap of others which lay on alittle table at his side. The letter he had selected was unmistakably afeminine production. It was written in a large, bold, running hand, onpaper which was as stiff as cardboard.
"MY DEAREST REGGIE,--You must come and see me! At once! I shall expectyou this morning!
"_Whatever you have done, it it quite impossible that I shall let yougo--you are mine!_
"You understand that I am waiting for you, and that you are to come tome as soon as you possibly can.
"You are to tell the bearer when I shall see you!
"YOUR DORA."
That was what the letter said. The italics and the notes of exclamationwere the lady's own. As he puffed his cigarette Mr. Townsend read theletter carefully through and smiled. Removing his cigarette, he pressedthe letter to his lips. Then, carefully folding the letter between hisfingers, he laid it down.
"As I said I would go, I shall have to go--it's uncommonly awkward. Hadshe been wise, she would have taken what I wrote as the final word, andleft it so."
Rising, he continued his toilet, humming to himself, now and then,snatches of a popular comic song. Going to the fireplace, he beganpushing about, with the toe of his shoes, the pieces of burning coal.
"It's odd how I love her--very! After my experience. And this time, asthe man says in the play, it is love. Well, she has called the stakes.It is for me to win. If I don't, I can but lose."
He returned to the table on which the letters were. He picked upanother, also unmistakably the production of a feminine hand. Itcontained but a line or two. It was without prefix or signature. Andthis time the writing was small and fine and clear:--
"I have heard nothing from you. The eight-and-forty hours will be upthis afternoon at five. After that time I shall feel it my duty to domy utmost at once to save the life of an innocent man. I shall be athome to you till five."
Mr. Townsend read this epistle also with a smile, but he did not pressit to his lips when read. Instead, he commented on it with a curioussort of humour.
"You pretty dear! You are the dangerous sort that always smiles. I haveheard and read a good deal about women being cleverer than men, buttill I met you I never met my match."
Tearing the letter into pieces, he dropped the fragments among theburning coals. As he adjusted his necktie before a looking-glass heindulged himself with further snatches of that comic song. Havingcompleted his toilet, he went into the adjoining room. In response tohis ring breakfast was brought in. And, with every appearance of thesatisfaction of the man whose conscience is perfectly at ease, Mr.Townsend sat down to the discussion of his morning meal.
As he was finishing, a manservant opened the door.
"Lord Archibald Beaupre, sir, wishes to see you."
"Show him in here."
Presently there entered a tall, thin, and rather weedy-looking youngman. His scanty hair was of that colourless fairness which is almostpeculiar to a certain type of Scotchman. He would not have beenbad-looking, in spite of his being slightly freckled, if it had notbeen for three things: first, he had obviously at least his share ofthe pride for which his countrymen are proverbial; second, he wasobviously more than sufficiently weak; and third, he was equallyobviously bad tempered.
On this occasion he did not seem to be by any means in the mostagreeable frame of mind. Taking no sort of notice of Mr. Townsend'snodded greeting, he marched straight to an easy-chair, and, sittingdown on it, he rested his hands on the handle of his stick, and hischin on his hands. He looked straight in front of him with about assour a visage as he could well have worn. Mr. Townsend continued hisbreakfast as if there was nothing at all peculiar in his visitor'sdemeanour, and as he ate he smiled.
After a while he leaned back on his chair.
"Well, Archie, any news?"
"News be damned!"
Mr. Townsend still smiled.
"By all means if you wish it. It is the same to me."
"You know very well what I have come for."
"I take it that you have come to bestow on me for a short period thecharm of your society." The visitor scowled. His host but smiled themore. "Have anything to eat?"
"I'll have something to drink."
"You'll find all the ingredients on the sideboard. Help yourself, dearboy."
The visitor helped himself. As he stood at the sideboard pouring theliquor out into a glass his host sat watching him with amusement whichwas wholly unconcealed. The contrast between the two men was striking.It would have forced itself on to the attention of the most casualspectator. The one weak, irritable almost to the point of peevishness;the other strong, unruffled, self-contained. The one with, in his wholebearing, that suggestion of self-assertion which is often but the childof shyness, but which none the less repels; the other with that easy,graceful, seemingly unconscious, personal magnetism which, in spite ofoneself, attracts. One could understand how the one might be forgiventill seventy times seven, while the other would be condemned, withoutbenefit of clergy, for his first offence.
Lord Archibald Beaupre returned to the easy-chair, armed with atumbler of whisky and soda. He took a considerable drink. And then hespoke--morosely.
"It's the meeting of that cursed club to-night."
Mr. Townsend had watched his every movement, particularly seeming tonote the quantity he had drunk--and still he smiled.
"So it is."
The other burst into a torrent of words.
"I wish I had never heard of it! I wish I had never had anything to dowith it! I wish I had never had anything to do with any one of you! Iwish----"
His emotions proved too much for him; he prematurely stopped.
"Wish it out." Mr. Townsend was lighting a cigarette. "And when you'vewished it out, what then?"
"Damn you. You do nothing else but jibe and jeer at me."
"My dear Archie, your manners are not good."
"Curse my manners!"
"By all means, if you wish it. Only I am inclined to think there won'tbe very much to curse."
Lord Archibald ground out an oath between his teeth, and he groaned.Mr. Townsend went on; he was enjoying his cigarette.
"By the way, have you done anything for the Honour of the Club?"
His visitor half rose from his seat, then sank back into it again.
"No! You know I haven't! Don't talk of it! No!"
"I have no desire to talk of it. It is scarcely a question of talk. Itis rather a question of do."
His hearer covered his face with his hands and shuddered. There wassomething in his host's eyes, as he smilingly regarded him, whichsuggested possibilities--and also limitations--of a distinctly curioussort. He kept his glance fixed on his companion, and, as he spokeagain, he expelled through his nostrils the smoke of his cigarette.
"On the whole, perhaps, your policy of postponement may turn outfortunately for both of us. You will remember that under certaincircumstances I reserved the right to nominate a candidate--acandidate, that is, for your attention. The circumstances which Ithought might arise have arisen."
"Townsend!"
"Archie!"
Lord Archibald removed his hands from his face. The two men looked ateach other--the one face ghastly, haggard, frightened; the othe
r easy,careless, smiling.
"Do you mean it?"
Lord Archibald's voice was husky. Mr. Townsend flicked the ash from hiscigarette.
"I am in the habit, in matters of moment, of meaning what I say,although that may not be the case with you."
The airily-suggested insinuation stung. The other burst into a suddenblaze of passion.
"What do you mean by that?"
The host met his visitor's furious gaze with a smile which seemed toconvey a fulness of meaning which was sufficient to subdue the other'swrath.
"What did you mean by asking me if I meant what I said? Didn't youknow?"
Lord Archibald turned his face away. Taking up the tumbler of soda andwhisky he drained it of its contents. Getting up from his chair, hewent to the sideboard to replenish. While he was in the act of doingso, and his back towards his host, he asked a question.
"Who is it?"
"A woman."
Lord Archibald spun round like a teetotum, a decanter in one hand, atumbler in the other.
"A woman? Reggie? You--you don't mean Miss Jardine?"
Mr. Townsend's lips curled. In some subtle way his countenance wastransfigured. The ease and the carelessness vanished. He became allbitterness and gall.
"Beaupre, I am inclined to think that you are the most consummate assof my acquaintance. Why will you perpetually harp upon a single string?You are so utterly inept that the wonder is I have borne with you solong. Might I ask you not eternally to play the fool?"
Lord Archibald put down the decanter and the glass. The muscles of hisface quivered as if he was about to be afflicted by an attack of St.Vitus' Dance.
"If anybody but you had spoken to me like that, at the very least heshould never speak to me again."
The only effect which his visitor's fury had on Mr. Townsend was tomake him still more scornful.
"Don't gas to me, my good fellow. Reserve that sort of thing for someother of your acquaintance. I regret that you should have rendered itnecessary for me to remind you that you are under a considerableobligation to me, and I regret still more that you should havecompelled me to ask if it is your intention to fulfil that obligation.I believe that even Scotchmen do occasionally fulfil theirobligations."
His listener's face was a sickly yellow. Rage had made him calm.
"Mr. Townsend, be so good as to tell me who this woman is."
Thus requested, Mr. Townsend, scribbling something on a scrap of paper,tossed the scrap of paper across the table to his guest.
"There is her name and her address. I took you with me once to call onher. Probably you remember the occasion and the lady. Your businesswith her must be transacted before five o'clock this afternoon. If youare a quarter of an hour after that time you may as well postpone thefulfilment of your obligation to a future day. For my purpose you willbe too late."
The other scanned what was written on the scrap of paper. He folded thepaper up; he placed it in his waistcoat-pocket.
"You shall have the literal letter of your bond. Afterwards, Mr.Townsend, I will deal with you."
Without another word Lord Archibald Beaupre left the room.
Left to himself, Mr. Townsend threw the end of his cigarette into thefire. Thrusting his hands into his trouser-pockets, stretching out hislegs in front of him, he stared at the flame and he smiled--notpleasantly.
"What a fool the fellow is! I have had about as much of him as I canstand. Indeed, I have had more. I hope they'll hang him. It will be ahappy despatch. Or perhaps, after he has done the deed, he will turn,as a relief, to suicide. It's just the sort of thing he would do."
Something tickled him. He laughed.
"What a game of touch and go I'm playing."
He stood up.
"To think that he should have supposed that I meant Dora. My Dora!"
A panel photograph was on the mantelboard. It was the portrait of ayoung girl. Mr. Townsend apostrophised it as if it had been a livingthing.
"My darling! If you had only come into my life before, how different itmight all have been! If fortune had but let you come my way, evilshould not have been my good. There is the making of a man in me,somewhere, that I swear. If I could but get out of it all and shakemyself free and begin again, I'd quickly prove it."
Taking the photograph into his hand, he kissed it. It was strange howtender his voice had suddenly become.
"My love! What thing is this which I have been consorting with all thistime, and supposing it was love? That's not love. Bah! I have learnt mylesson rather late in the day, but I have learnt it, sweet. You havetaught me what is love."
He put the portrait back. He sat down again. But he still looked at theface which was on the mantelboard.
"The place in which I am is such a tight one. You had been wiser, dear,had you believed me when I wrote that I was not fit for you, and sostraightway have let me go. Again I'll endeavour to persuade you. Butif you'll not be persuaded I will win you, and I will hold you, and Iwill keep you if I can, though to do so I have to plunge deeper in themire. It may be, indeed, that that way atonement lies. Who knows?"