If Only etc. Part 7

A light broke in upon Sir John's somewhat obtuse mind. He had no desire to expedite matters, but then he was not the princ.i.p.al person to be consulted, and it certainly was not for him to raise any objection, so he acted immediately on the hint given him.

"My dear d.u.c.h.ess, what can I say? The matter rests entirely in your hands. Let it be when you please. In another month I shall be comparatively free, and we can visit Switzerland if Ethel wishes."

The d.u.c.h.ess smiled. "That you must arrange with Ethel herself, and perhaps you had better broach the subject yourself to her. Girls are apt to be a little curious on these points."

"Then I will ask her to fix the day for our marriage." He bowed with old-fas.h.i.+oned gallantry over the pearl-grey suede, held out in farewell, and the d.u.c.h.ess rustled away with Soames, the deferential, in close attendance.

Soames did not like the idea of a mistress, but these "accidents" he was well aware, would happen in the best regulated families, so he was now bent on making friends with the Mammon of Unrighteousness in the shape of the d.u.c.h.ess of Huddersfield and the bride elect.

Left alone, Sir John stood upright, his hand on the back of his chair and his brows tightly drawn together.

Well, why not? What possible excuse could he make to his own heart for the delay?

None, none. And yet he felt a good deal as if a thunderbolt had fallen from the skies at his feet, and it was more or less of a shock to him.

Presently he rang his bell.

"Who comes next, Soames?"

"Lady Rutherven, Sir John, but--but a lady who has no appointment has been waiting for more than an hour, and I thought perhaps you would see her first. She seems very ill."

"Show her in!"

A second later the door swung open again and Soames announced:

"Miss Blackall!"

Sir John started, but recovered himself in the next instant.

"Take a seat, madam."

He waved her to a chair and for several minutes they looked at each other without speaking. The woman was the first to break the silence.

"I have come back," she said with a nervous laugh. "I am ill; I thought you might try to cure me."

She had seated herself, but he remained standing.

What a handsome woman she had become, he was thinking, and how expensively dressed! There was something strange in the very familiarity of the countenance presented to him. It had altered much from what he remembered it, but curiously enough he remembered it the more vividly because of that very alteration.

"What is your trouble?" he asked huskily--"Why have you consulted--me?"

"It is my lungs. I don't know--let us call it a whim. I thought you would do me good if anyone could." She paused a second: "You used to be my husband once."

"Once! Well, I am willing to be your doctor."

"I suppose you would do your best for a dog if it were dying, wouldn't you? though you might not care if it recovered."

"I have a very faithful dog," he said significantly.

Bella winced.

"Dogs ask so little for their love. Oh, I didn't come here without a struggle. And I knew you would speak like this. But I have been abroad so long, and on the voyage home I got worse, and women--women of your sort who had taken no notice of me, suddenly grew kind. I said to myself, 'Bella, it looks bad for you when ladies forget how common you are,' and then the thought struck me, London meant you! As a patient I might come to your house and be let in. You are clever and you are great; if I had any self-respect I could not ask you; but I have not, you know; I never had any and'--and--I am--frightened! It keeps me awake at nights, the fear. I--I am not going to--die?"

"I have said I will do what I can for you."

"You will sound me?"

"Loosen your dress."

As he bent over her she raised her hand as if to smoothe his hair, and the colour came into her face, but she did not touch him.

Her fingers, from which she had drawn her gloves, were laden with rings--rings which he had not given her. His breath came a little faster as he stooped over her neck.

"Don't be scared to tell me the truth," she said; "I guess I'm pretty bad. You need not take the trouble to lie about it."

He examined her thoroughly and replaced the stethoscope before he spoke.

"Your lungs are not right. They used to be."

"Oh," she replied bitterly, "I used to be. I have come too late--is that what you mean?"

"I mean that you must exercise great care and avoid excitement. Don't brood--don't worry yourself by misgivings, which will only do you harm. Go away from England when the summer is over; go where the sun s.h.i.+nes and the air is mild. Lead a life of ease and indolence. I can say no more."

"And then?"

"And then I see no reason why you should not live for years to come."

Bella flung her hands out with a sort of despair.

"Your prescription is impossible," she said dully.

"Impossible?"

"I have only just come over from the States. I have an engagement at the Empire for six months. I have got to stay."

"You will be very unwise. The laws of health demand that you should cancel any such contract."

"Beggars can't be choosers. I must sing to live. It is my trade now."

He sighed. "You do not look as if you were in pecuniary difficulties."

"Well, I make money easily enough, but it melts like ice cream; everything is so beastly dear."

"Are you not with--him?"

"Him? Oh no; he left me years ago. I am alone--very much alone. It seems sometimes as if I had spent the best part of my life alone. I am so dull I--I wonder why I dread to die. There! I can follow your advice so far as this; I'll take the greatest care of myself--in London. I am glad I came to you, though it does not seem to have delighted you much. I suppose if--if I had run straight and stayed with you, I might have been quite well, eh?"

"That is difficult to say. Bella, have you--it is a foolish question, but--have you ever regretted?"