Well, you would hardly call it pretty. A sad, pensive face, very sweet and delicate, and with the look of one who had known trouble. There seemed to be some secret about father and daughter.”
“Oh!” said Janet softly, and the colour came into her cheeks very warmly. “And you were very comfortable there?”
“Yes, very,” said Clive emphatically.
“Too comfortable to remember me and write, of course.”
“O Janet, my darling!” he said tenderly, as he passed his arm about her waist, “how can you be such a jealous little thing! As if I could think of any one but you. You were with me night and day. It was always what is Janet doing? how does she look? and is she thinking of me? Whether I was scrambling about down in the mine like a mud-lark, or more decent and talking to Miss Gurdon of an evening in their tiny drawing-room.”
“About me, of course,” said Janet coldly.
“No, dear,” said Clive innocently, “I never mentioned your name. I dared not, pet, for fear they should laugh at me, and think what a great goose I was. For I am, pet. Once I begin talking to any one about you, I can’t leave off.”
“Indeed!” she said sarcastically.
“Why, Janet, dear,” he said earnestly, and he tried to take her hand, “what have I said or done? Surely you don’t think – Oh, my love, my dear love!” he cried, with his voice growing deep and earnest, “how can you be so ready to take pique over such trifles! Janet, I love you with all my heart, dear. I have not a thought that is not for my own darling.”
“No, no; don’t touch me,” she panted, as he drew her towards him.
“I will – I will, darling wifie to be; but you must master these little bits of uncalled-for jealousy, dear. They are not fair to me, and next time I am away I will at any cost write to you, even if the business fails, and – ”
“Scoundrel! ruffian! how dare you put your arm around my daughter, sir? She is not your wife yet.”
The words came so fiercely and suddenly that Clive started away, and Janet hurriedly escaped to the other side of the chair. For the Doctor had bustled in just as Clive was trying to take the kiss withheld from him, and now stood there with a terrific frown upon his heavy grey brow.
The next moment he had burst into a hearty roar of laughter.
“Nice guilty pair you look,” he cried. “Ah! you may well turn red, you unblushing puss! Eh? No, that won’t do, it’s a bull. And you, sir, how dare – Well, how are you, Clive, my boy? Came round here first, eh? I called at Guildford Street as I went to the hospital, and they hadn’t heard of you.”
“Yes, I was obliged to come here first,” said Clive.
“Of course. That’s right. Janet has been looking pale since you went. Come and dine to-night, and don’t let me come in here and catch you behaving in that rude way again.”
“Papa, for shame!” cried Janet, and she hurried out of the room.
The Doctor laughed.
“Well,” he cried eagerly, “what about the mine? – is it good?”
“For your ears only, Doctor,” said Clive, “in confidence?”
“On my honour, my dear boy,” said Dr Praed gravely.
“Then you may invest as much as you like, sir.”
“Not a company dodge?”
“The mine teems with ore, sir. I have thoroughly examined it, and found out a new, enormously rich lode.”
“Then it’s quite safe?”
“Safe as the Bank of England, sir, and the dad will be a millionaire.”
“Ah! I wish he would be a healthy man, instead of a wealthy,” said the Doctor.
“Oh, you don’t think – you have not found him worse?”
“I don’t like his looks, Clive, my boy,” said the Doctor; “and I beg that you will try to save him from all emotion. This great accession of wealth will do him no good, and – yes; what? – I didn’t ring.”
“Messenger, sir,” said the Doctor’s man, with grave earnestness and a sharp glance at Clive. “From Mr Reed’s, sir – sudden attack, and will you come at once.” Then in a hurried whisper, “Dying!”
But it sounded in trumpet-tones in Clive Reed’s ear, as with a sharp cry he sprang to his feet.
“Good heavens!” he said, “and I came on here!”
“Hush!” said the Doctor sternly. “Here, Morgan, the carriage?”
“At the door, sir.”
The Doctor nodded as he drew Clive’s arm through his own.
“Do not fear the worst,” he whispered; “I may save him yet.”
Chapter Nine.
Two Days Earlier
“Well, what news?” said Wrigley, as Jessop Reed entered his gloomy office. “Bah! what a dandy you are! Why, you spend enough on barbers and buttonholes to keep you from borrowing money.”
“And you spend enough on ballet-girls to keep you from making profits by lending,” retorted Jessop. “All right, my Jonathan,” said Wrigley.
“All right, my David,” replied Jessop. “Let me see: David was a Jew.”
“Whilst I am not,” said Wrigley sharply.
“Oh, of course not. No one would suppose Wrigley to be an Israelitish name. There, don’t set up all your feathers, man, and look so indignant because I suggested that you belonged to the chosen race. There are good Jews.”
“And precious bad Christians,” said Wrigley sourly.
“Awfully! But I say, don’t be so ruffled, man. Lucky I didn’t come for some hard coin this morning.”
“It is; and hang me if I ever lend you money again if I’ve to have blood thrown in my face.”
“Bah! you shouldn’t be so sensitive about it. I don’t mind about your descent.”
“Enough to make any man sensitive. Gad, sir, any one would think we were lepers, seeing the treatment we receive.”
“Yes, it’s too bad,” said Jessop soothingly; “but you do have your recompense, old man. Nice refined revenge your people have had for the insult and contempt they have met with. There, let’s talk business.”
“Yes, let’s talk business. Now, then, what about the hole in the earth down which people throw their money?”
“Well, it’s a big hole.”
“Yes, I know that, but is it a big do after all?”
“No. As
