am wasting your youth, Elsie, as well as my own.'
'If it is wasted for your sake, George, it is well spent. Some day, perhaps – '
'No – no – not some day – immediately – at once.' The young man changed colour and his eyes sparkled. It was not the first time that he had advanced this revolutionary proposal. 'Let prudence go to the – '
'Not there, George – oh! not there. To the winds, perhaps, or to that famous city of Palestine. But not there. Why, we might never get her back again – poor Prudence! And we shall be sure to want her all our lives – very badly. We will, if you please, ask her to go for a short voyage for the benefit of her health. We will give her six months' leave of absence: but we shall want her services again after her holiday – if you think we can do without her for so long.'
'For a whole twelvemonth, Elsie. Let us brave everything, get married at once, live in a garret, and have a splendid time – for a whole twelvemonth – on my two hundred pounds.'
'And am I to give up my painting?'
'Well, dear, you know you have not yet had a commission from anybody.'
'How can you say so, George? I have painted you – and my sister – and my mother – and your sisters. I am sure that no studio even of an R.A. could make a braver show of work. Well – I will give it up – until Prudence returns. Is it to be a garret? A real garret, with sloping walls, where you can only stand upright in the middle?'
'We call it a garret. It will take the form, I suppose, of a tiny house in a cheap quarter. It will have six rooms, a garden in front and a garden behind. The rent will be thirty pounds. For a whole twelvemonth it will be a real slice of Eden, Elsie, and you shall be Eve.'
Elsie laughed. 'It will be great fun. We will make the Eden last longer than a twelvemonth. I daresay I shall like it. Of course I shall have to do everything for myself. To clean the doorstep will be equivalent to taking exercise in the fresh air: to sweep the floors will be a kind of afternoon dance or a game of lawn-tennis: to wash up the cups and saucers will be only a change of amusement. – There is one thing, George – one thing' – she became very serious – 'I suppose you never – did you ever witness the scouring of a frying-pan? I don't think I could do that. And did you ever see beef-steaks before they are cooked? They suggest the animal in the most terrible way. I don't really think I could handle those bleeding lumps.'
'You shan't touch a frying-pan, and we will have nothing roasted or fried. We will live on cold Australian beef eaten out of its native tin: the potatoes shall be boiled in their skins. And perhaps – I don't know – with two hundred pounds a year we could afford a servant – a very little one – just a girl warranted not to eat too much.'
'What shall we do when our clothes are worn out?'
'The little maid will make some more for you, I suppose. We certainly shall not be able to buy new things – not nice things, that is – and you must have nice things, mustn't you?'
'I do like things to be nice,' she replied, smoothing her dainty skirts with her dainty hand. 'George, where shall we find this house – formerly Eve's own country villa before she – resigned her tenancy, you know?'
'There are places in London where whole streets are filled with families living on a hundred and fifty pounds a year. Checkley – the chief's private clerk – lives in such a place: he told me so himself. He says there is nobody in his parish who has got a bigger income than himself: he's a little king among them because he gets four hundred pounds a year, besides what he has saved – which is enormous piles. Elsie, my dear, we must give up our present surroundings, and take up with gentility in its cheapest form.'
'Can we not go on living among our own friends?'
George shook his head wisely. 'Impossible. Friendship means equality of income. You can't live with people unless you do as they do. People of the same means naturally live together. Next door to Lady Dering is another rich Madam, not a clerk's wife. For my own part I shall sell my dress clothes for what they will fetch – you can exchange your evening things for morning things. That won't matter much. Who cares where we live, or how we live, so that we live together? What do you say, Elsie dear?'
'The garret I don't mind – nor the door-steps – and since you see your way out of the difficulty of the frying-pan – '
'You will be of age next week, when you can please yourself.'
'Hilda gives me no peace nor rest. She says that there can be no happiness without money. She has persuaded my mother that I am going to certain starvation. She promises the most splendid establishment if I will only be guided by her.'
'And marry a man fifty years older than yourself with one foot already well in – '
'She says she has always been perfectly happy. – Well, George, you know all that. Next Wednesday, which is my birthday, I am to have a grand talk with my guardian. My mother hopes that he will bring me to my senses. Hilda says that she trusts entirely to Mr. Dering's good sense. I shall arm myself with all my obstinacy. Perhaps, George – who knows? – I may persuade him to advance your salary.'
'No, Elsie. Not even you would persuade Mr. Dering to give a managing clerk more than two hundred pounds a year. But arm yourself with all you have got – don't forget any piece of that armour, child. The breastplate – there was a poor damsel once who forgot that and was caught by an appeal to her heart – nor the helmet – another poor damsel was once caught by an appeal to her reason after forgetting the helmet. The shield, of course, you will not forget – and for weapons, my dear, take your sweet eyes and your lovely face and your winning voice – and I swear that you will subdue even Mr. Dering himself – that hardened old parchment.'
This was the kind of talk which these lovers held together whenever they met. George was poor – the son of a clergyman, whose power of advancing him ceased when he had paid the fees for admission. He was only a clerk, and he saw no chance of being anything else but a clerk. Elsie could bring nothing to the family nest, unless her mother made her an allowance. Of this there could be no hope. The engagement was considered deplorable: marriage, under the circumstances, simple madness. And Hilda had done so well for herself, and could do so much for a sister so pretty, so bright as Elsie! Oh! she was throwing away all her chances. Did one ever hear of anything so lamentable? No regard for the family: no ambition: no sense of what a girl owes to herself: no recognition nor gratitude for the gift of good looks – as if beauty was given for the mere purpose of pleasing a penniless lover! And to go and throw herself away upon a twopenny lawyer's clerk!
'George,' she said seriously, 'I have thought it all out. If you really mean it – if you really can face poverty – mind – it is harder – much – for a man than a woman – '
'I can face everything – with you, Elsie,' replied the lover. Would he have been a lover worth having if he had not made that answer? And, indeed, he meant it, as every lover should.
'Then – George – what in the whole world is there for me unless I can make my dear boy happy? I will marry you as soon as you please, rich or poor, for better for worse – whatever they may say at home. – Will that do for you, George?'
Since man is so constituted that his happiness wholly depends upon the devotion of a woman, I believe that no dear boy ever had a better chance of happiness than George Austin – only a managing clerk – with his Elsie. And so this history begins where many end, with an engagement.
CHAPTER II
IN THE OFFICE
'I'll
