The Story of Antony Grace Part 78

I heard Miss Carr draw her breath as if with pain, but the next moment her hands were in mine.

"My dear Antony," she exclaimed, "I am very glad to get back. Why, my dear boy, what a difference one year has made in you."

"Has it?" I said, laughing.

"Oh, yes! Why, Antony, you will soon be growing into a man."

"I hope so, Miss Carr; but I don't think you look well."

"No?"

"You look thin and careworn."

"Ma.r.s.eilles is a very hot place, Antony," she said evasively, "and does not suit English people. Of course, you are my property this evening, Antony. You have no engagement?"

"No," I said, smiling. "I should have gone to spend the evening with Mr Hallett if I had been alone."

Her hand gave a slight twitch as I said these words, and her voice sounded a little hoa.r.s.e as she continued:

"You must come and dine with me, Antony, and we will have a long, long chat. It seems like old times to be with you again."

I was delighted to have her back, and chatted on in the most unreserved way, until we reached Miss Carr's house, where the door flew open as the carriage stopped.

I jumped down, and was in the act of holding out my right hand and the carriage-door open with the left, when I started with surprise; for a swift hansom cab had brought John Lister there before us, and he stood on the other side, holding out his hand.

"I must speak to you, Miriam!" he exclaimed in a low voice, when, seeing her shrink back in alarm, and with an unmistakable look of horror in her face, boy as I was, I felt some sense of manhood flush to my cheek, and, feeling no fear of him for the moment, I placed my hand upon his chest, and thrust him with all my might away.

"Stand back, sir!" I cried, "or I call the police."

Ere he could recover from his astonishment, Miss Carr had lightly touched my hand, stepped out, and hurried in, while I, with my heart beating fast at my temerity, slowly closed the brougham-door, and stood facing John Lister.

"You insolent dog?" he cried threateningly; and I thought he was about to strike me, but at that moment, as I stood before him with my teeth set, I would hardly have run in to save my life.

"How dare you insult Miss Carr!" I exclaimed.

"Insult! Oh, this is too much!" he muttered. Then, half-raising his hand, he let it fall once more, turned upon his heel, and strode away.

The coachman seemed disposed to speak, but the field being now my own, I walked--very pompously, I'm afraid--into the hall, Miss Carr coming out of the dining-room as soon as the front door was closed, to catch my hand in hers, and look eagerly in my flushed face.

"You have grown brave too, Antony," she whispered, as she led me upstairs. "Thank you, thank you; I did not know that I could look for a protector in you."

I had calmed down by the time Miss Carr had dressed; and then followed one of those, to me, delightful evenings. We dined together; she chatted of her life in Southern France, and at last, over our tea in the drawing-room, as she was sitting back in her lounge-chair, with her face in the shade, she said, in what was meant to be a perfectly calm voice:

"Well, Antony, you have not said a word to me about your friends."

I did not answer directly, for I felt a strange hesitation in so doing; and a similar emotion must have been in my companion's breast, for she sat there for some minutes in silence, till I said:

"Linny Hallett seems to have quite recovered now, and is bright and happy again, though very much changed."

Miss Carr did not speak.

"Mrs Hallett is precisely the same. I do not think she has altered in the least since I have known her."

Miss Carr seemed to turn her face more away from me, or else it was the shadow, and now, instead of speaking of Stephen Hallett, something seemed to prompt me to turn off, and talk of Revitts and Mary, and of how admirably the arrangement had answered of their taking the house in Great Ormond Street.

There seemed to be a slight impatient movement as I prattled on--I can call it nothing else. It was not from a spirit of mischief, but all the time I seemed to feel that she must want to know about Stephen Hallett, and somehow I could not mention his name.

"It is quite droll, Miss Carr," I said. "Mrs Hallett says that it is such an admirable arrangement, having a police-constable on the premises, and that she has never before felt so safe since she has been in London."

"You have not spoken to me yet of your friend--Mr Hallett."

I started, for it did not sound like Miss Carr's voice, and when I looked up I could not see her face.

"No; not yet," I said. "He is toiling on still as patiently and enduringly as ever."

"And the invention, Antony?"

"The invention," I said bitterly, "lags behind. It is impossible to get on."

"Is--is it all waste of time, then?"

"Waste? No," I said. "The invention is one that would carry all before it; but, poor fellow, he is tied and fettered at every turn. He has nearly got it to perfection, but, after months of constant toil, some wretched part breaks down, and the whole thing has to be done again."

"But is it likely to succeed?"

"Likely?" I said: "it must succeed; but it never can until it has been made and tried. It should be carefully constructed at some large engineering establishment like ours."

"Yes," she said, evidently listening intently.

"But how can it be? Poor Hallett earns about two pounds a week, and the demands upon his pocket, through his mother's and sister's illness, have been terrible. He is heavily in debt now to the doctors."

"Why do you not help your friend, then, Antony?" she said in tones of reproach.

"Because he will not let me," I replied quietly. "He is too proud."

Miss Carr was silent.

"What amount would it take," she said at last, in a strange tone, "to perfect the machine?"

"Amount?" I said eagerly; "an awful deal. It is impossible to say how much. Why, the patent would cost nearly a hundred. Poor fellow! I wish sometimes he would give it up."

"Why?" she exclaimed softly.

"Because," I said, "it is breaking his heart."

"Is--is he so constant in his attentions to it?"

"Oh yes, Miss Carr. Whenever he can spare a minute, he is working or dreaming over it; he calls it his love--his mistress, in a half-mocking sort of spirit. Poor fellow, it is a sad life."