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

common face, by any means. And Dora is pretty, I think. Well, they shall go and see some people before long. The difficulty is, one doesn’t like it to be known that they live in such a crib; but I daren’t advise them to go in for expense. One can’t be sure that it would repay them, though⁠—Now, in my own case, if I could get hold of a few thousand pounds I should know how to use it with the certainty of return; it would save me, probably, a clear ten years of life; I mean, I should go at a jump to what I shall be ten years hence without the help of money. But they have such a miserable little bit of capital, and everything is still so uncertain. One daren’t speculate under the circumstances.”

Marian made no reply.

“You think I talk of nothing but money?” Jasper said suddenly, looking down into her face.

“I know too well what it means to be without money.”

“Yes, but⁠—you do just a little despise me?”

“Indeed, I don’t, Mr. Milvain.”

“If that is sincere, I’m very glad. I take it in a friendly sense. I am rather despicable, you know; it’s part of my business to be so. But a friend needn’t regard that. There is the man apart from his necessities.”

The silence was then unbroken till they came to the lower end of Park Street, the junction of roads which lead to Hampstead, to Highgate, and to Holloway.

“Shall you take an omnibus?” Jasper asked.

She hesitated.

“Or will you give me the pleasure of walking on with you? You are tired, perhaps?”

“Not the least.”

For the rest of her answer she moved forward, and they crossed into the obscurity of Camden Road.

“Shall I be doing wrong, Mr. Milvain,” Marian began in a very low voice, “if I ask you about the authorship of something in this month’s Current?”

“I’m afraid I know what you refer to. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t answer a question of the kind.”

“It was Mr. Fadge himself who reviewed my father’s book?”

“It was⁠—confound him! I don’t know another man who could have done the thing so vilely well.”

“I suppose he was only replying to my father’s attack upon him and his friends.”

“Your father’s attack is honest and straightforward and justifiable and well put. I read that chapter of his book with huge satisfaction. But has anyone suggested that another than Fadge was capable of that masterpiece?”

“Yes. I am told that Mr. Jedwood, the publisher, has somehow made a mistake.”

“Jedwood? And what mistake?”

“Father heard that you were the writer.”

“I?” Jasper stopped short. They were in the rays of a street-lamp, and could see each other’s faces. “And he believes that?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“And you believe⁠—believed it?”

“Not for a moment.”

“I shall write a note to Mr. Yule.”

Marian was silent a while, then said:

“Wouldn’t it be better if you found a way of letting Mr. Jedwood know the truth?”

“Perhaps you are right.”

Jasper was very grateful for the suggestion. In that moment he had reflected how rash it would be to write to Alfred Yule on such a subject, with whatever prudence in expressing himself. Such a letter, coming under the notice of the great Fadge, might do its writer serious harm.

“Yes, you are right,” he repeated. “I’ll stop that rumour at its source. I can’t guess how it started; for aught I know, some enemy hath done this, though I don’t quite discern the motive. Thank you very much for telling me, and still more for refusing to believe that I could treat Mr. Yule in that way, even as a matter of business. When I said that I was despicable, I didn’t mean that I could sink quite to such a point as that. If only because it was your father⁠—”

He checked himself and they walked on for several yards without speaking.

“In that case,” Jasper resumed at length, “your father doesn’t think of me in a very friendly way?”

“He scarcely could⁠—”

“No, no. And I quite understand that the mere fact of my working for Fadge would prejudice him against me. But that’s no reason, I hope, why you and I shouldn’t be friends?”

“I hope not.”

“I don’t know that my friendship is worth much,” Jasper continued, talking into the upper air, a habit of his when he discussed his own character. “I shall go on as I have begun, and fight for some of the good things of life. But your friendship is valuable. If I am sure of it, I shall be at all events within sight of the better ideals.”

Marian walked on with her eyes upon the ground. To her surprise she discovered presently that they had all but reached St. Paul’s Crescent.

“Thank you for having come so far,” she said, pausing.

“Ah, you are nearly home. Why, it seems only a few minutes since we left the girls. Now I’ll run back to the whisky of which Maud disapproves.”

“May it do you good!” said Marian with a laugh.

A speech of this kind seemed unusual upon her lips. Jasper smiled as he held her hand and regarded her.

“Then you can speak in a joking way?”

“Do I seem so very dull?”

“Dull, by no means. But sage and sober and reticent⁠—and exactly what I like in my friend, because it contrasts with my own habits. All the better that merriment lies below it. Goodnight, Miss Yule.”

He strode off and in a minute or two turned his head to look at the slight figure passing into darkness.

Marian’s hand trembled as she tried to insert her latchkey. When she had closed the door very quietly behind her she went to the sitting-room; Mrs. Yule was just laying aside the sewing on which she had occupied herself throughout the lonely evening.

“I’m rather late,” said the girl, in a voice of subdued joyousness.

“Yes; I was getting a little uneasy, dear.”

“Oh, there’s no danger.”

“You have been enjoying yourself, I can see.”

“I have had a pleasant evening.”

In the retrospect it seemed the pleasantest she had yet spent with her friends, though she had set out in such a different mood. Her