New Grub Street, George Gissing [10 best books of all time TXT] 📗

“The legacy affair? Why, yes, it was a pity. Especially now that her father is threatened with blindness.”

“Is it so serious? I heard indirectly that he had something the matter with his eyes, but I didn’t know⁠—”

“They may be able to operate before long, and perhaps it will be successful. But in the meantime Marian has to do his work.”

“This explains the⁠—the delay?” fell from Amy’s lips, as she smiled.

Jasper moved uncomfortably. It was a voluntary gesture.

“The whole situation explains it,” he replied, with some show of impulsiveness. “I am very much afraid Marian is tied during her father’s life.”

“Indeed? But there is her mother.”

“No companion for her father, as I think you know. Even if Mr. Yule recovers his sight, it is not at all likely that he will be able to work as before. Our difficulties are so grave that⁠—”

He paused, and let his hand fail despondently.

“I hope it isn’t affecting your work⁠—your progress?”

“To some extent, necessarily. I have a good deal of will, you remember, and what I have set my mind upon, no doubt, I shall some day achieve. But⁠—one makes mistakes.”

There was silence.

“The last three years,” he continued, “have made no slight difference in my position. Recall where I stood when you first knew me. I have done something since then, I think, and by my own steady effort.”

“Indeed, you have.”

“Just now I am in need of a little encouragement. You don’t notice any falling off in my work recently?”

“No, indeed.”

“Do you see my things in The Current and so on, generally?”

“I don’t think I miss many of your articles. Sometimes I believe I have detected you when there was no signature.”

“And Dora has been doing well. Her story in that girls’ paper has attracted attention. It’s a great deal to have my mind at rest about both the girls. But I can’t pretend to be in very good spirits.” He rose. “Well, I must try to find out something more about poor Biffen.”

“Oh, you are not going yet, Mr. Milvain?”

“Not, assuredly, because I wish to. But I have work to do.” He stepped aside, but came back as if on an impulse. “May I ask you for your advice in a very delicate matter?”

Amy was a little disturbed, but she collected herself and smiled in a way that reminded Jasper of his walk with her along Gower Street.

“Let me hear what it is.”

He sat down again, and bent forward.

“If Marian insists that it is her duty to remain with her father, am I justified or not in freely consenting to that?”

“I scarcely understand. Has Marian expressed a wish to devote herself in that way?”

“Not distinctly. But I suspect that her conscience points to it. I am in serious doubt. On the one hand,” he explained in a tone of candour, “who will not blame me if our engagement terminates in circumstances such as these? On the other⁠—you are aware, by the by, that her father objects in the strongest way to this marriage?”

“No, I didn’t know that.”

“He will neither see me nor hear of me. Merely because of my connection with Fadge. Think of that poor girl thus situated. And I could so easily put her at rest by renouncing all claim upon her.”

“I surmise that⁠—that you yourself would also be put at rest by such a decision?”

“Don’t look at me with that ironical smile,” he pleaded. “What you have said is true. And really, why should I not be glad of it? I couldn’t go about declaring that I was heartbroken, in any event; I must be content for people to judge me according to their disposition, and judgments are pretty sure to be unfavourable. What can I do? In either case I must to a certain extent be in the wrong. To tell the truth, I was wrong from the first.”

There was a slight movement about Amy’s lips as these words were uttered: she kept her eyes down, and waited before replying.

“The case is too delicate, I fear, for my advice.”

“Yes, I feel it; and perhaps I oughtn’t to have spoken of it at all. Well, I’ll go back to my scribbling. I am so very glad to have seen you again.”

“It was good of you to take the trouble to come⁠—whilst you have so much on your mind.”

Again Jasper held the white, soft hand for a superfluous moment.

The next morning it was he who had to wait at the rendezvous; he was pacing the pathway at least ten minutes before the appointed time. When Marian joined him, she was panting from a hurried walk, and this affected Jasper disagreeably; he thought of Amy Reardon’s air of repose, and how impossible it would be for that refined person to fall into such disorder. He observed, too, with more disgust than usual, the signs in Marian’s attire of encroaching poverty⁠—her unsatisfactory gloves, her mantle out of fashion. Yet for such feelings he reproached himself, and the reproach made him angry.

They walked together in the same direction as when they met here before. Marian could not mistake the air of restless trouble on her companion’s smooth countenance. She had divined that there was some grave reason for this summons, and the panting with which she had approached was half caused by the anxious beats of her heart. Jasper’s long silence again was ominous. He began abruptly:

“You’ve heard that Harold Biffen has committed suicide?”

“No!” she replied, looking shocked.

“Poisoned himself. You’ll find something about it in today’s Telegraph.”

He gave her such details as he had obtained, then added:

“There are two of my companions fallen in the battle. I ought to think myself a lucky fellow, Marian. What?”

“You are better fitted to fight your way, Jasper.”

“More of a brute, you mean.”

“You know very well I don’t. You have more energy and more intellect.”

“Well, it remains to be seen how I shall come out when I am weighted with graver cares than I have yet known.”

She looked at him inquiringly, but said nothing.

“I have made up my