Love at Paddington Part 19

"In that case," he remarked, "I suppose it's no use showing you anything written by your Uncle William."

Trew came at a run, saving her the necessity of thinking of an answer.

Mr. Henry was now on the arrival platform, right across where a finger pointed; Gertie was to wait until a scarlet handkerchief showed itself, and she begged him very earnestly not to give the signal unless it appeared to be well justified. A train, that had received no education in the art of reticence, came to an intervening set of lines, and Gertie's anxiety increased; she hurried down the platform to a point from which it was possible to see the meeting. Henry was engaged in conversation with a Great Western official; Mr. Trew, in going past, turned and, with a great air of wonder, recognized him. Gertie noted with satisfaction that Henry's greeting was hearty and unrestrained.

Mr. Trew indicated a superior carriage standing near; she knew, from his gestures, that he was describing the uncovered conveyances recalled from his early youth.

"Oh, do make haste!" she urged under her breath.

They moved a few steps together, and Henry interrupted conversation with an inquiry. Mr. Trew, astonished to the extent of taking off his hat, gave a wave with it in the direction of Platform Number One, and Henry spoke eagerly. Mr. Trew took out his scarlet handkerchief, rubbed his face.

"Now," cried Henry, advancing delightedly to meet her, "I wonder what the chances were against our meeting here?"

"It is rather unexpected, isn't it?"

"Where," he hesitated, "where is Mr. Bulpert?"

"I really don't know," she replied, smiling. "We're not engaged any longer."

"Good news!" he cried with emphasis. "That is to say, it's good news if you wished the engagement to cease."

"I wasn't sorry."

He took her elbow, and glanced around. Mr. Trew was examining a set of milk churns with the air of an experienced dairyman.

"Isn't it amazing," said Henry, "how one lucky moment can change the appearance of everything? I've been feeling lately that nothing could possibly come right, and now--"

"We mustn't go on too fast," she interposed sagely, "because that only means more disappointment. You haven't heard yet about my father.

Listen whilst I tell you about him."

Gertie waited, as she went on, for a relaxation in the pleasant hold on her arm, but this did not come. When she had said the last word, he nodded.

"I knew all about this long before you did," he said. "The information came from my sister-in-law. She had discovered the facts, and felt disappointed, I think, to find that I was not greatly impressed. Of course, you're not responsible for his actions any more than I can be held liable for the behaviour of Jim Langham. Jim is a much worse nut than your father; he hasn't any excuse for his conduct. Forged his sister's name to a big cheque, and, naturally, he has disappeared. I am giving him time to get away before I say anything about it to her."

"May be leaving England now, I suppose?"

"I hope so; but we needn't bother about him. Let us talk about ourselves, just as we used to do. Do you remember, dear girl?"

"I recollect it," she admitted. "Every moment, and every step, and every word. It will always be something good for me to look back upon, when I'm older."

He bent down to her. "We'll look back upon it together," he said affectionately.

"No!"

The official to whom Henry had been speaking begged pardon for interrupting; the train, he announced, would be about five minutes late. Gertie thanked him with a glance that, at any honestly managed exchange office, could be converted into bank notes.

"Has your view of me altered, then?" he asked.

"My view of you," she replied steadily, "is exactly the same that it always has been, ever since I first met you. I like you better--oh, a lot better--than any one else in the world, and I know that if you married me you'd do all you could to make me happy and comfortable.

But I shouldn't be happy and comfortable. I've got to look forward; and when I do that, there's no use in shutting my eyes. I can see quite clearly what would happen. You'd have this large house down in the country, and you would ask friends there, and I should make blunders, and, sooner or later, you'd be certain to feel ashamed of me."

"I don't agree, dear," he said with emphasis. "Anyhow let us try the experiment. I am sure you overestimate the distance between us. Think how well we used to get along together."

"If life was all summer evenings and Primrose Hill," she remarked, "I might stand a chance. But it isn't. Your life is going to be that of a country gentleman in Berks.h.i.+re; my life is going to be that of a well-paid worker in Great t.i.tchfield Street."

"Wish I could find some method," he cried vehemently, "of giving events a twist. I'd much rather go on in my own profession. I'm making my way slowly, but I'm making it for myself, and I--I want you for company." He gave a gesture of appeal. "Can't you see how much it means?"

"We've got to take matters as they are, and not as we should like them to be. And it isn't as though I'd only got myself to think about.

There's you. If I didn't care so much for you, it might be different."

"For the moment," protested Henry Dougla.s.s, "I find myself wis.h.i.+ng, dear, that you were not quite so sensible. We will talk about this again, won't we? Let me call at Praed Street."

"Rather you didn't," said Gertie, "if you don't mind, because I shall never change my decision. And I wish I could explain how sorry I am it hasn't all come right." She looked up at him with tears in her eyes.

"Give me a kiss before we say good-bye."

"We're to say a lot of other things to each other," he a.s.serted determinedly, "but we are never to say that! Stay here, until I have seen these people into the railway omnibus. Please!"

The train came slowly; the engine with the air of one that had, in its time, hurt itself by violent contact with buffers; a line of porters edged the platform, ready to seize bra.s.s handles of compartments so soon as the train stopped. Gertie stood behind a trolley, and watched the crowd of alighting pa.s.sengers. She caught sight of Lady Dougla.s.s and Miss Loriner: Lady Dougla.s.s carrying her small dog, and apparently more authoritative than ever in manner; her companion nursing a copy of Clarence's book. Henry and Rutley went to the rear van to see to the luggage, and presently returned; Rutley talked animatedly, Henry's features exhibited surprise. The railway omnibus was found; transfer of luggage began.

"My dearest, dearest!" cried Henry excitedly. "Listen to me; hear the great news Rutley has brought. My brother arrived home last night.

The good fellow is safe and sound. He came down from here, from Paddington, and called at Ewelme to get some important papers he wanted. Heard Lady Dougla.s.s's voice--she happened to be annoyed about something--and left without seeing her. This means--don't you see?--that I have nothing now to bother about, excepting my work. And you!"

She had a difficulty in finding words. "Mr. Langham did not meet a ghost, then."

"I'm going to see the boat train off at Victoria," he went on rapidly, "and I shall be back at Praed Street in an hour. Less than an hour.

We'll go out to lunch together."

"I'll wait for you there!" promised the happy girl.