Neston family, Neaera Witt, and George, in such a manner as to enable their friends to identify them. This paragraph was inserted with the object of giving Neaera, or George, or both of them, as the case might be, or anybody else who could be “drawn,” an opportunity of contradicting it. The second event was that the Nestons’ friends did identify them, and proceeded to open the minds of everybody who did not.
Then Mr. Blodwell read the Bull’s-eye, as his custom was, and thoughtfully ejaculated “Peckton!” and Lord Tottlebury, being at the club, was shown the Bull’s-eye by a friend, who really could not do less, and went home distracted; and Tommy Myles read it, and, conscience-stricken, fled to Brighton for three days’ fresh air; and Isabel read it, and confessed to her mother, and was scolded, and cried; and Gerald read it, and made up his mind to kick everybody concerned, except, of course, Neaera; and, finally, Neaera read it, and was rather frightened and rather excited, and girt on her armour for battle.
Gerald, however, was conscious that the process he had in his mind, satisfying as it would be to his own feelings, would not prove in all respects a solution of the difficulty, and, with the selfishness which a crisis in a man’s own affairs engenders, he made no scruple about taking up a full hour of Mr. Blodwell’s time, and expounding his views at great length, under the guise of taking counsel. Mr. Blodwell listened to his narrative of facts with interest, but cut short his stream of indignant comment.
“The mischief is that it’s got into the papers,” he said. “But for that, I don’t see that it matters much.”
“Not matter much?” gasped Gerald.
“I suppose you don’t care whether it’s true or not?”
“It’s life or death to me,” answered Gerald.
“Bosh! She won’t steal any more shoes now she’s a rich woman.”
“You speak, sir, as if you thought – ”
“Haven’t any opinion on the subject, and it wouldn’t be of any importance if I had. The question is shortly this: Supposing it to be true, would you marry her?”
Gerald flung himself into a chair, and bit his finger nail.
“Eight years is a long while ago; and poverty’s a hard thing; and she’s a pretty girl.”
“It’s an absurd hypothesis,” said Gerald. “But a thief’s a thief.”
“True. So are a good many other people.”
“I should have to consider my father and – and the family.”
“Should you? I should see the family damned. However, it comes to this – if it were true, you wouldn’t marry her.”
“How could I?” groaned Gerald. “We should be cut.”
Mr. Blodwell smiled.
“Well, my ardent lover,” he said, “that being so, you’d better do nothing till you see whether it’s true.”
“Not at all. I only took the hypothesis; but I haven’t the least doubt that it’s a lie.”
“A mistake – yes. But it’s in the Bull’s-eye, and a mistake in the newspapers needs to be reckoned with.”
“What shall I do?”
“Wait till George comes back. Meanwhile, hold your tongue.”
“I shall contradict that lie.”
“Much better not. Don’t write to them, or see them, or let anybody else till George comes back. And, Gerald, if I were you, I shouldn’t quarrel with George.”
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