Spring Days Part 42

"I know more than you think. I don't let out all I know."

"And how much did you pay for Blue Mantle?"

"Dirt cheap. I can imagine myself two years hence, when my first batch of yearlings is put up for sale--500, 650, 800, 1000, knocked down for 1000 guineas, brown colt by Blue Mantle out of Wild Rose, bred by William Brookes, Esq."

"I don't think money will come in quite so fast as that."

"Perhaps not; but can't you let a fellow enjoy himself? I never knew any one like you for throwing cold water. I believe you are jealous."

"What nonsense!"

"Well, never mind. I shall be the deuce of a dog, see if I shan't. I always like to kill two birds with one stone if I can, and my business will bring me into connection with the very best in the land.

Unfortunately! my people don't care about getting on; now I do. I like to know people who are better than myself--at all events, who are no worse. I shouldn't be surprised if I were dining at Goodwood and Arundel before long. When I go up to town I shall be calling on Lady This and Lady That, and later on I might get in somewhere in the Conservative interest."

"How long you may know a man, and then find you are mistaken in his character," thought Frank. "So vanity is at the bottom of all these efforts to make money."

"When are you coming to the Manor House?"

"Impossible. You know I can't go there so long as your father--"

"Come in one afternoon; he'll ask you to stay to dinner. He has forgotten all about it."

"I cannot come to the Manor House until my engagement to your sister is sanctioned by him."

"The way to get that is to come to the Manor House and talk him into it. For my part, I think, even from his point of view, that it would be better that he should recognise the engagement; nothing can be more damaging than these clandestine meetings."

"What can I do? I will not give her up."

"I never interfere. I have quite enough worries of my own. I must be getting home. It is very late. Good-bye."

The green was as bright as day in the moonlight and Frank watched w.i.l.l.y walking, his shoulders thrown back. He sighed; an undefinable, but haunting melancholy hung about w.i.l.l.y; he often impressed Frank as an old book--a book whose text is trite--which no one will read, and which yet continues to make its mute appeal; a something that has always missed its way, that can hardly be said to be an adequate thing to offer for any man's money, that will soon disappear somehow out of all sight and reckoning.

XV

A few days after he got a letter from Lizzie, saying she was alone and ill, and asking him to come and see her. He took the next train to Brighton. The land-lady's daughter, a girl of about twelve, opened the door to him.

"How is Miss Baker? Is she any better?"

"Please, sir, she is not at all well, she has cold s.h.i.+vers; and mother went away yesterday."

"And who looks after Miss Baker?"

"Please, sir, I do."

"You do! Is there no one else in the house?"

"No, sir."

"Is Miss Baker in bed?"

"No, sir. She said she would get up a little while this afternoon, 'cause she said she thought you was coming."

"Go and tell her I am here."

"Please, sir, she said you was to go upstairs--the back room on the second floor, please."

"Come in."

"I am so sorry you are ill, Lizzie. What is the matter?"

"I don't know; I think I caught a severe chill. I stayed out very late on the beach."

"But why are you crying? Do tell me. Can I do anything?"

"No no. What does it matter whether I laugh or cry? Nothing matters now. I don't care what becomes of me."

"A pretty girl like you; nonsense! Some one rich and grand will fall in love with you, and give you everything you want."

"I don't want any one to fall in love with me; I am done for--don't care what becomes of me."

"Do tell me about it. Have you heard anything further about him? Do tell me; don't cry like that."

"No, no, leave me, leave me! I am so miserable. I don't know why I wrote to you. I hope I shall die."

"It is very lucky you did write to me, for you are clearly very ill.

What is the matter?"

"I don't know; I can't get warm. This room is very cold--don't you think so?"

"Cold? No."

"I feel cold; my throat is very bad--perhaps I shall be better in the morning."

"You must see a doctor."

"Oh, no! I don't want to see a doctor."

"You must see a doctor."

"No, no, I beg of you. I only wrote to you because I was feeling so miserable."

Lizzie stood between him and the door, imploring him not to fetch a doctor, but to go away at once, and to tell no one she had written to him, or that he had been to see her. "Nothing matters now--I am ruined--I don't care what becomes of me." He marvelled; but soon all considerations were swept away in anxiety for her bodily health; and having extorted a promise from her that she would not leave the room until he came back, he rushed to the nearest chemist and hence to the doctor.

"I want you to come at once, if possible, and see a young lady who, I fear, is dangerously ill. She has not been in Brighton long. She is quite alone. She sent for me. I live at Southwick. I came out at once.