A Bid for Fortune, Guy Boothby [easy books to read TXT] 📗

hotel, was rewarded. An envelope bearing an English stamp and postmark, and addressed in a handwriting as familiar to me as my own, stared me in the face. To take it out and break the seal was the work of a moment. It was only a matter of a few lines, but it brought me news that raised me to the seventh heaven of delight.

Mr. and Miss Wetherell had arrived in London the previous afternoon, they were staying at the Hotel Metropole, would leave town for the country at the end of the week, but in the meantime, if I wished to see her, my sweetheart would be in the entrance hall of the British Museum the following morning at eleven o’clock.

How I conducted myself in the interval between my receipt of the letter and the time of the appointment, I have not the least remembrance; I know, however, that half-past ten, on the following morning, found me pacing up and down the street before that venerable pile, scanning with eager eyes every conveyance that approached me from the right or left. The minutes dragged by with intolerable slowness, but at length the time arrived.

A kindly church clock in the neighbourhood struck the hour, and others all round it immediately took up the tale. Before the last stroke had died away a hansom turned towards the gates from Bury Street, and in it, looking the picture of health and dainty beauty, sat the girl who, I had good reason to know, was more than all the world to me. To attract her attention and signal to the driver to pull up was the work of a second, and a minute later I had helped her to alight, and we were strolling together across the square towards the building.

“Ah, Dick,” she said, with a roguish smile, in answer to a question of mine, “you don’t know what trouble I had to get away this morning. Papa had a dozen places he wished me to go to with him. But when I told him that I had some very important business of my own to attend to before I could go calling, he was kind enough to let me off.”

“I’ll be bound he thought you meant business with a dressmaker,” I laughingly replied, determined to show her that I was not unversed in the ways of women.

“I’m afraid he did,” she answered, blushing, “and for that very reason alone I feel horribly guilty. But my heart told me I must see you at once, whatever happened.”

Could any man desire a prettier speech than that? If so, I was not that man. We were inside the building by this time, ascending the great staircase. A number of pretty, well-dressed girls were to be seen moving about the rooms and corridors, but not one who could in any way compare with the fair Australian by my side. As we entered the room at the top of the stairs, I thought it a good opportunity to ask the question I had been longing to put to her.

“Phyllis, my sweetheart,” I said, with almost a tremor in my voice, “it is a fortnight now since I spoke to you. You have had plenty of time to consider our position. Have you regretted giving me your love?”

We came to a standstill, and leant over a case together, but what it contained I’m sure I haven’t the very vaguest idea.

She looked up into my face with a sweet smile.

“Not for one single instant, Dick! Having once given you my love, is it likely I should want it back again?”

“I don’t know. Somehow I can’t discover sufficient reason for your giving it to me at all.”

“Well, be sure I’m not going to tell you. You might grow conceited. Isn’t it sufficient that I do love you, and that I am not going to give you up, whatever happens?”

“More than sufficient,” I answered solemnly. “But, Phyllis, don’t you think I can induce your father to relent? Surely as a good parent he must be anxious to promote your happiness at any cost to himself?”

“I can’t understand it at all. He has been so devoted to me all my life that his conduct now is quite inexplicable. Never once has he denied me anything I really set my heart upon, and he always promised me that I should be allowed to marry whomsoever I pleased, provided he was a good and honourable man, and one of whom he could in any way approve. And you are all that, Dick, or I shouldn’t have loved you, I know.”

“I don’t think I’m any worse than the ordinary run of men, dearest, if I am no better. At any rate I love you with a true and honourable love. But don’t you think he will come round in time?”

“I’m almost afraid not. He referred to it only yesterday, and seemed quite angry that I should have dared to entertain any thought of you after what he said to me on board ship. It was the first time in my life he ever spoke to me in such a tone, and I felt it keenly. No, Dick, there is something behind it all that I cannot understand. Some mystery that I would give anything to fathom. Papa has not been himself ever since we started for England. Indeed, his very reason for coming at all is an enigma to me. And now that he is here, he seems in continual dread of meeting somebody⁠—but who that somebody is, and why my father, who has the name and reputation of being such a courageous, determined, honourable man, should be afraid, is a thing I cannot understand.”

“It’s all very mysterious and unfortunate. But surely something can be done? Don’t you think if I were to see him again, and put the matter more plainly before him, something might be arranged?”

“It would be worse than useless at present, I fear. No, you must just leave it to me, and