Throughout the day Marian kept her room. Her intention to leave the house was, of course, abandoned; she was the prisoner of fate. Mrs Yule would have tended her with unremitting devotion, but the girl desired to be alone. At times she lay in silent anguish; frequently her tears broke forth, and she sobbed until weariness overcame her. In the afternoon she wrote a letter to Mr Holden, begging that she might be kept constantly acquainted with the progress of things.
At five her mother brought tea.
'Wouldn't it be better if you went to bed now, Marian?' she suggested.
'To bed? But I am going out in an hour or two.'
'Oh, you can't, dear! It's so bitterly cold. It wouldn't be good for you.'
'I have to go out, mother, so we won't speak of it.'
It was not safe to reply. Mrs Yule sat down, and watched the girl raise the cup to her mouth with trembling hand.
'This won't make any difference to you--in the end, my darling,'
the mother ventured to say at length, alluding for the first time to the effect of the catastrophe on Marian's immediate prospects.
'Of course not,' was the reply, in a tone of self-persuasion.
'Mr Milvain is sure to have plenty of money before long.'
'Yes.'
'You feel much better now, don't you?'
'Much. I am quite well again.'
At seven, Marian went out. Finding herself weaker than she had thought, she stopped an empty cab that presently passed her, and so drove to the Milvains' lodgings. In her agitation she inquired for Mr Milvain, instead of for Dora, as was her habit; it mattered very little, for the landlady and her servants were of course under no misconception regarding this young lady's visits.
Jasper was at home, and working. He had but to look at Marian to see that something wretched had been going on at her home;naturally he supposed it the result of his letter to Mr Yule.
'Your father has been behaving brutally,' he said, holding her hands and gazing anxiously at her.
'There is something far worse than that, Jasper.'
'Worse?'
She threw off her outdoor things, then took the fatal letter from her pocket and handed it to him. Jasper gave a whistle of consternation, and looked vacantly from the paper to Marian's countenance.
'How the deuce comes this about?' he exclaimed. 'Why, wasn't your uncle aware of the state of things?'
'Perhaps he was. He may have known that the legacy was a mere form.'
'You are the only one affected?'
'So father says. It's sure to be the case.'
'This has upset you horribly, I can see. Sit down, Marian. When did the letter come?'
'This morning.'
'And you have been fretting over it all day. But come, we must keep up our courage; you may get something substantial out of the scoundrels still.'
Even whilst he spoke his eyes wandered absently. On the last word his voice failed, and he fell into abstraction. Marian's look was fixed upon him, and he became conscious of it. He tried to smile.
'What were you writing?' she asked, ****** involuntary diversion from the calamitous theme.
'Rubbish for the Will-o'-the-Wisp. Listen to this paragraph about English concert audiences.'
It was as necessary to him as to her to have a respite before the graver discussion began. He seized gladly the opportunity she offered, and read several pages of manuscript, slipping from one topic to another. To hear him one would have supposed that he was in his ordinary mood; he laughed at his own jokes and points.
'They'll have to pay me more,' was the remark with which he closed. 'I only wanted to make myself indispensable to them, and at the end of this year I shall feel pretty sure of that. They'll have to give me two guineas a column; by Jove! they will.'
'And you may hope for much more than that, mayn't you, before long?'
'Oh, I shall transfer myself to a better paper presently. It seems to me I must be stirring to some purpose.'
He gave her a significant look.
'What shall we do, Jasper?'
'Work and wait, I suppose.'
'There's something I must tell you. Father said I had better sign that Harrington article myself. If I do that, I shall have a right to the money, I think. It will at least be eight guineas.
And why shouldn't I go on writing for myself--for us? You can help me to think of subjects.'
'First of all, what about my letter to your father? We are forgetting all about it.'
'He refused to answer.'
Marian avoided closer description of what had happened. It was partly that she felt ashamed of her father's unreasoning wrath, and feared lest Jasper's pride might receive an injury from which she in turn would suffer; partly that she was unwilling to pain her lover by ****** display of all she had undergone.
'Oh, he refused to reply! Surely that is extreme behaviour.'
What she dreaded seemed to be coming to pass. Jasper stood rather stiffly, and threw his head back.
'You know the reason, dear. That prejudice has entered into his very life. It is not you he dislikes; that is impossible. He thinks of you only as he would of anyone connected with Mr Fadge.'
'Well, well; it isn't a matter of much moment. But what I have in mind is this. Will it be possible for you, whilst living at home, to take a position of independence, and say that you are going to work for your own profit?'
'At least I might claim half the money I can earn. And I was thinking more of--'
'Of what?'
'When I am your wife, I may be able to help. I could earn thirty or forty pounds a year, I think. That would pay the rent of a small house.'
She spoke with shaken voice, her eyes fixed upon his face.
'But, my dear Marian, we surely oughtn't to think of marrying so long as expenses are so nicely fitted as all that?'
'No. I only meant--'
She faltered, and her tongue became silent as her heart sank.
'It simply means,' pursued Jasper, seating himself and crossing his legs, 'that I must move heaven and earth to improve my position. You know that my faith in myself is not small; there's no knowing what I might do if I used every effort. But, upon my word, I don't see much hope of our being able to marry for a year or two under the most favourable circumstances.'
'No; I quite understand that.'
