The Yellow House Part 8

"He has gone to London this afternoon," I answered. "Can I give him any message from you?"

He stood quite still, and seemed to be looking me through and through. Then he drew a small time-table from his pocket.

"Annesly Junction, 3.30; St. Pancras, 7.50," he muttered to himself. "Thank you; good morning."

He turned upon his heel, but I called him back.

"Mr. Deville."

He stopped short and looked round. "I beg your pardon," he said; "I am in a hurry."

"Oh, very well," I answered. "I should be sorry to detain you. You dropped something when you took out your time-table, and it occurred to me that you might want it again. That is all."

He came back with three great strides. A square envelope, to which I was pointing, lay on the ground almost at my feet. As he stooped to pick it up I too glanced at it for the second time. A little exclamation escaped from my lips. He looked at me inquiringly.

"Is anything the matter?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"Good morning Mr. Deville."

He hesitated for a moment. He was evidently desirous of knowing why I had uttered that exclamation. I did not choose to satisfy him.

"I thought you made some remark," he said. "What was it?"

"It was nothing," I told him. "You are in a hurry, I think you said. Don't let me keep you."

He pocketed the envelope and strode away. Alice came out of the low window to me, looking after him with wide-open eyes.

"What an extraordinary man!" she exclaimed.

But I did not answer her immediately, I had found something else to think about. There was no possibility of any mistake. The handwriting upon the envelope which Mr. Deville had dropped was the same as that which had summoned my father to London.

CHAPTER VI

THE MILLIONAIRE

On the Thursday following my father's departure for London Lady Naselton sent her carriage for me, and a note marked urgent. It contained only a few lines, evidently written in a hurry.

"Naselton, _Thursday_.

"My Dear Girl,--Put on your calling-frock, and come up to tea at once. The Romneys and a few other people are coming over, and Fred brought a most interesting man down from town this morning. I want you to know him. He is quite delightful to talk to, and is a millionaire! Come and help me entertain him.

"Yours ever, "Amy Naselton."

I laughed as I went upstairs to change my things. Lady Naselton was famed throughout the county as an inveterate matchmaker. Without a doubt the millionaire who was delightful to talk to was already in her mind as the most suitable match for a poor country clergyman's daughter who had the misfortune to possess ambitions. I could tell by the fussy manner in which she greeted me that she considered the matter already almost settled. The room was full of people, but my particular victim was sitting alone in a recess. Evidently he had been kept back for my behoof. Lady Naselton, as though suddenly remembering his presence, brought him over and introduced him at once.

"Mr. Berdenstein," she said--"Miss Ffolliot. Will you see that Miss Ffolliot has some tea?" she added, smiling upon him blandly. "My servants all seem so stupid to-day."

I sat down and looked at him while he attended to my wants. At the first glance I disliked him. He was tall and dark, with sallow face and regular features of somewhat Jewish type. There was too much unction about his manner. He smiled continually, and showed his teeth too often. I found myself wondering whether he had made his million in a shop. I was forced to talk to him, however, and I settled myself down to be bored.

"You have not been in England long?" I asked.

"About three days," he answered.

His voice was not so bad. I looked at him again. His face was not a pleasant one, and he seemed to be scarcely at his ease, added to which something in his bearing indistinctly suggested a limited acquaintance with drawing rooms such as Lady Naselton's. Yet it was possible that he was clever. His forehead was well shaped, and his mouth determined.

"Mr. Fred Naselton was the first man I saw in London," he went on. "It was a very odd thing to run against him before I was well off the s.h.i.+p."

"He was an old friend of yours?" I continued, purely for the sake of keeping up the conversation.

"Not very. Oh, no! Scarcely friend at all," he disclaimed. "I did him a turn in Rio last month. Nothing to speak of, but he was grateful."

"Where?" I asked, abruptly.

"Rio," he repeated. "Rio Janeiro--you know, capital of South America."

I turned and faced him suddenly. His eyes had been fixed on my face. He had been watching me furtively. My heart beat suddenly faster. I drew a little breath, I could not trust myself to speak for a moment. After a brief pause he continued--

"I've been out there a good many years. Long enough to get jolly well sick of the place and people and everything connected with it. I'm thankful to say that I've finished with it."

"You are not going back, then," I remarked, indifferently.

"Not I," he declared. "I only went to make money, and I've made it--a good deal. Now I'm going to enjoy it, here, in the old country. Marry and settle down, and all that sort of thing, you know, Miss Ffolliot."

His keen, black eyes were fixed upon my face. I felt a slight flush of color in my cheeks. At that moment I hated Lady Naselton. She had been talking to this odious man about me, and he had been quick enough to understand her aright. I should have liked to have got up but for a certain reason. He had come from South America. He had arrived in London about the 15th. So I sat there and suffered.

"A most praiseworthy ambition," I remarked, with a sarcasm which I strove vainly to keep to myself. "I am sure I wish you every success."

"That is very good of you," he answered, slowly. "Wishes count for a good deal sometimes. I am very thankful for yours."

"Wishes cost little," I answered, coldly, "and I am afraid that mine are practically valueless. Have you been away from England long?"

"For many years," he answered, after a slight hesitation.

"It seems odd," I remarked, "that your first visit should be at the house of a comparative stranger. Have you no relations or old friends to welcome you back?"

A slight and peculiar smile hovered upon his lips.

"I have some old friends," he said, quietly; "I do not know whether they will welcome me home again. Soon I shall know. I am not far away from them."

"Do they know of your return?" I asked.

"Some of them. One of them I should say," he answered. "The one about whom I care does not know."