Margaret Vincent Part 30

"Oh, well, don't do that--it's quite unnecessary, and it would be rather a bore, you know. When shall we be married?"

"Oh, but--"

"There's nothing to wait for. I've got enough money, and the house in Stratton Street is literally gaping for you to go and live in it. It seems to me that the only thing to be done is to get a ring and a license."

"But we can't be married till father knows; we can't, indeed."

"All right, dear; we'll send him a cable. We might send your mother a telegram at the same time--what do you think?"

Margaret considered for a moment. "How soon, do you think, I could give up the theatre?" she asked.

"Why, this very minute, of course. I'll write to Farley before I start, and so shall you, and tell him all about it."

"But can he get any one in my place immediately?"

"Of course; probably a whole crowd are waiting round the stage door ready to jump into it. There are too many people in the world who want to work--too many who must work," he added, with a shade of seriousness; "but what about your mother?"

"Why, if I really needn't go to the theatre any more, we won't telegraph. I should so love to tell her. She liked you, you know--she liked you so much. I'll go home to-morrow and tell her."

"Good! good! But what about Hannah; will she let you in?"

"I think she will, when she knows that I am not going to be an actress--and about this."

"She might think you are doing worse."

"No, she won't."

"Well, that's settled; now we'll send the cable. Let's write it out here, then we need only copy it out in the office. Where is your paper?"

he asked, impulsively, going to the writing-table. "Now then.

'_Carringford to Vincent. May I marry Margaret?_--_Tom._' Will that do?"

he asked.

"Splendidly," she laughed.

"I think you ought to send one on your own account."

"Yes, yes," she cried, joyfully; so a second cable was written.

"'_Vincent to Vincent. Please say yes._--_Margaret._' Will that do?" she echoed.

"Splendid!" he echoed back. "What a glorious girl you are, Margey--your mother called you Margey, you know. I think I should like to send one to your mother, not telling her, of course, but as a sort of preface--enough to make her guess something." He considered for a moment and then he wrote. '_Tom Carringford sends his love to you._' "It shall go as if it were a little message flying out of s.p.a.ce." He stopped and considered again. "I should like the Lakemans to know before I get there. I have telegraphed already to say that I start to-night; but if Lena's very ill, it looks rather cruel to burst upon them with news of happiness."

"Must they be told at once?" Margaret asked. For some reason she dreaded their knowing.

"Well, they've always been so kind to me." Almost mechanically he took up his pen and wrote: '_Margaret and I want you to know that we are engaged, but, of course, I start alone to-night. Kind love._--_Tom._'

Margaret kept her lips closed, for she thought of the Lakemans with a dislike that was almost beyond her control, but she felt that her father's memories, no less than the fact that they were Tom's friends, demanded her silence. "Now then," he said, "that's all over. Where's your hat?"

"Over there, on the floor," she answered, demurely, "upside down--my best hat."

"Never mind, I'll give you a dozen new ones. Let's send off these things and go for an hour's drive in the fastest hansom we can find--just to calm us down a little. Then, suppose we come back and dine quietly here at seven. Mrs. Gilman will manage it. I shall have to fly at half-past."

Tom reflected quickly that Great College Street was the best shelter for a quiet _tete-a-tete_. "Come along." He took her hand and ran with her down the narrow staircase. "I don't believe you know how fond I am of you, but you'll find out in time," he said, stopping half-way.

"I do know," she answered, "and I love you--dreadfully."

He looked at her and kissed her, then a happy thought struck him.

"Mrs. Gilman," he called, boisterously, for there were no other people in the house, "I want to tell you," he said, when that good woman appeared, "that Miss Vincent and I are engaged."

"Oh, Mr. Carringford!"

"It's all right," he added, rather afraid she was going to cry. "We are coming back presently, and you must give us some dinner at seven sharp.

I start for Scotland at eight--from Euston--so let it be quite punctual.

Now, Margey." He looked back and spoke to Mrs. Gilman again. "We'll stop in Stratton Street," he said, "and tell my man to bring round a couple of bottles of champagne. You must keep one and drink our healths. Keep the other cool and send it up at dinner. Oh, that's all right. Great fun, isn't it?"

"Tom," said Margaret, as they drove away; "what do you think Mrs.

Lakeman will say?"

"Why, she'll be delighted, of course, and so will Lena."

XXVII

Mr. Dawson Farley had a flat in Victoria Street. He came down at nine o'clock and leisurely opened his letters. The one from Margaret, telling him of her engagement to Tom, was on the top. Tom, who had known his private address, had advised her to send it there and not to the theatre. Mr. Farley started when he read it. "Now, this is the devil!"

he said. "I thought that girl couldn't be in London without getting into some mischief. It's lucky I wrote and told Hilda about her; but I expect it's too late to do anything. It may make a serious difference, for I can't stand that wriggling snake, Lena, in any house in which I have to live. Why the deuce hasn't Hilda written?" he went on, as he looked through his letters; "perhaps wants to take time or to worry one a little, but I didn't think she was that sort of woman." Almost as he said the last word, the door opened and Mrs. Lakeman walked in. She wore a billyc.o.c.k hat and a long cloak; she looked almost rowdy.

"Dawson," she said, with her odd, crooked smile, "I thought it better to come up and answer your letter in person; I travelled all night and have just arrived."

"You dear woman," he said, feeling that he ought to be equal to the occasion. "I knew you would do the very best thing."

"I'm going to do the very worst," she answered; "I'm going to refuse you."

"Refuse me?" he exclaimed.

"Only because I don't feel like marrying, dear friend," and she rolled some feeling into her voice. "Have you forgotten that I am an old frump with gray hair?" She took off the billyc.o.c.k hat and bent her head, just as she had done to Gerald Vincent.

"I don't care," he said, "I want you." He put an arm round her shoulder in a well-considered manner.

"I am very fond of you," she said; "I have a great affection for you, but I'm not going to be the laughing-stock of the town--a middle-aged frump marrying an actor a little younger than herself. Let's go on as we are, anyhow till Lena is married."

"Then what did you come up for?"

"It was quite time," she answered, dryly. "I suppose you know the Vincent girl is engaged to Tom Carringford?"

"She has just written to tell me, and thrown up the theatre business."

"She sha'n't have him, the little devil!" Mrs. Lakeman exclaimed. "I'll take good care of that; I have," she added, "for he's at Pitlochry by this time."