one who doesn’t wish to remember that he had ever felt doubtful. ‘There was no good in having the fellow here.
He has got in with a set that I don’t at all care for. If she ever says anything — you understand — you can just let me know.’
Marian had already procured a copy of The Current, and read it privately. Of the cleverness of Milvain’s contribution there could be no two opinions; it drew the attention of the public, and all notices of the new magazine made special reference to this article. With keen interest Marian sought after comments of the press; when it was possible she cut them out and put them carefully away.
January passed, and February. She saw nothing of Jasper. A letter from Dora in the first week of March made announcement that the ‘Child’s History of the English Parliament’ would be published very shortly; it told her, too, that Mrs Milvain had been very ill indeed, but that she seemed to recover a little strength as the weather improved. Of Jasper there was no mention.
A week later came the news that Mrs Milvain had suddenly died.
This letter was received at breakfast-time. The envelope was an ordinary one, and so little did Marian anticipate the nature of its contents that at the first sight of the words she uttered an exclamation of pain. Her father, who had turned from the table to the fireside with his newspaper, looked round and asked what was the matter.
‘Mrs Milvain died the day before yesterday.’
‘Indeed!’
He averted his face again and seemed disposed to say no more. But in a few moments he inquired:
‘What are her daughters likely to do?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Do you know anything of their circumstances?’
‘I believe they will have to depend upon themselves.’
Nothing more was said. Afterwards Mrs Yule made a few sympathetic inquiries, but Marian was very brief in her replies.
Ten days after that, on a Sunday afternoon when Marian and her mother were alone in the sitting-room, they heard the knock of a visitor at the front door. Yule was out, and there was no likelihood of the visitor’s wishing to see anyone but him. They listened; the servant went to the door, and, after a murmur of voices, came to speak to her mistress.
‘It’s a gentleman called Mr Milvain,’ the girl reported, in a way that proved how seldom callers presented themselves. ‘He asked for Mr Yule, and when I said he was out, then he asked for Miss Yule.’ Mother and daughter looked anxiously at each other. Mrs Yule was nervous and helpless.
‘Show Mr Milvain into the study,’ said Marian, with sudden decision.
‘Are you going to see him there?’ asked her mother in a hurried whisper.
‘I thought you would prefer that to his coming in here.’
‘Yes — yes. But suppose father comes back before he’s gone?’
‘What will it matter? You forget that he asked for father first.’
‘Oh yes! Then don’t wait.’
Marian, scarcely less agitated than her mother, was just leaving the room, when she turned back again.
‘If father comes in, you will tell him before he goes into the study?’
‘Yes, I will.’
The fire in the study was on the point of extinction; this was the first thing Marian’s eye perceived on entering, and it gave her assurance that her father would not be back for some hours. Evidently he had intended it to go out; small economies of this kind, unintelligible to people who have always lived at ease, had been the life-long rule with him. With a sensation of gladness at having free time before her, Marian turned to where Milvain was standing, in front of one of the bookcases. He wore no symbol of mourning, but his countenance was far graver than usual, and rather paler. They shook hands in silence.
‘I am so grieved — ‘ Marian began with broken voice.
‘Thank you. I know the girls have told you all about it. We knew for the last month that it must come before long, though there was a deceptive improvement just before the end.’
‘Please to sit down, Mr Milvain. Father went out not long ago, and I don’t think he will be back very soon.’
‘It was not really Mr Yule I wished to see,’ said Jasper, frankly. ‘If he had been at home I should have spoken with him about what I have in mind, but if you will kindly give me a few minutes it will be much better.’
Marian glanced at the expiring fire. Her curiosity as to what Milvain had to say was mingled with an anxious doubt whether it was not too late to put on fresh coals; already the room was growing very chill, and this appearance of inhospitality troubled her.
‘Do you wish to save it?’ Jasper asked, understanding her look and movement.
‘I’m afraid it has got too low.’
‘I think not. Life in lodgings has made me skilful at this kind of thing; let me try my hand.’
He took the tongs and carefully disposed small pieces of coal upon the glow that remained. Marian stood apart with a feeling of shame and annoyance. But it is so seldom that situations in life arrange themselves with dramatic propriety; and, after all, this vulgar necessity made the beginning of the conversation easier.
‘That will be all right now,’ said Jasper at length, as little tongues of flame began to shoot here and there.
Marian said nothing, but seated herself and waited.
‘I came up to town yesterday,’ Jasper began. ‘Of course we have had a great deal to do and think about. Miss Harrow has been very kind indeed to the girls; so have several of our old friends in Wattleborough. It was necessary to decide at once what Maud and Dora are going to do, and it is on their account that I have come to see you.
The listener kept silence, with a face of sympathetic attention.
‘We have made up our minds that they may as well come to London. It’s a bold step; I’m by no means sure that the result will justify it. But I think they are perhaps right in wishing to try it.’
‘They will go on with literary work?’
‘Well, it’s our hope that they may be able to. Of course there’s no chance of their earning enough to live upon for some time. But the matter stands like this. They have a trifling sum of money, on which, at a pinch, they could live in London for perhaps a year and a half. In that time they may find their way to a sort of income; at all events, the chances are that a year and a half hence I shall be able to help them to keep body and soul together.’
The money of which he spoke was the debt owed to their father by William Milvain. In consequence of Mrs Milvain’s pressing application, half of this sum had at length been paid and the remainder was promised in a year’s time, greatly to Jasper’s astonishment. In addition, there would be the trifle realised by the sale of furniture, though most of this might have to go in payment of rent unless the house could be relet immediately.
