‘Lucky?’ He raised his head to regard her. ‘How?’
‘Oh well, that isn’t a thing to talk about. And then I don’t know anything for certain. It’s only what people say you know.’
‘What do people say?’ he asked, impatiently, though without much sign of active interest. It was rather as if her manner annoyed him, than the subject of which she spoke.
‘I don’t see that it can interest you.’
‘No, I don’t see that it can. Still, you may as well explain.’
Jessie sipped her wine.
‘It’s only that they say she’s engaged.’
‘To whom?’
‘A gentleman in London—somebody in the family where she was teaching.’
‘How do you know that?’ he asked, with the same blending of indifference and annoyed persistency.
‘Why, it’s only a guess, after all. One day Barbara and I went to see her, and just as we got to the door, out comes a gentleman we’d never seen before. Of course, we wondered who he was. The next day mother and I were in the station, buying a newspaper, and there was the same gentleman, just going to start by the London train. Mother remembered she’d seen him walking with Mrs. Baxendale in St. Luke’s, and then we found he’d been staying with the Baxendales all through Emily’s illness.’
‘How did you find it out? You don’t know the Baxendales.’
‘No, but Mrs. Gadd does, and she told us.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Mr. Athel—a queer name, isn’t it?’
Dagworthy was silent.
‘Now you’re cross with me,’ Jessie exclaimed. ‘You’ll tell me, like you did once before, that I’m no good but to pry into other people’s business.’
‘You may pry as much as you like,’ was the murmured reply.
‘Just because you don’t care what I do?’
‘Drink your wine and try to be quiet just for a little.’
‘Why?’
He made no answer, until Jessie asked—
‘Why does it seem to interest you so much?’
‘What?—all that stuff you’ve been telling me? I was thinking of something quite different.’
‘Oh!’ exclaimed the girl, blankly.
There was a longer silence. Jessie let her eyes stray about the room, stealing a glance at Dagworthy occasionally. Presently he rose, poked the fire with violence, and drank his own wine, which had been waiting so long.
‘I must have out the carriage to send you back,’ he said, going to the window to look at the foul weather.
‘The carriage, indeed!’ protested the girl, with a secret joy. ‘You’ll do no such thing.’
‘I suppose I shall do as I choose,’ he remarked, quietly. Then he came and rang the bell.
‘You’re not really going to—?’
A servant answered, and the carriage was ordered.
‘Well, certainly that’s one way of getting rid of me,’ Jessie observed.
‘You can stay as long as you please.’
‘But the carriage will be round.’
‘Can’t I keep it waiting half through the night if I choose? I’ve done so before now. I suppose I’m master in my own house.’
It was strictly true, that, of the carriage. Once the coachman had been five minutes late on an evening when Dagworthy happened to be ill-tempered. He bade the man wait at the door, and the waiting lasted through several hours.
The room was growing dusk.
‘Aren’t you very lonely here?’ Jessie asked, an indescribable change in her voice.
‘Yes, I suppose I am. You won’t make it any better by telling me so.’
‘I feel sorry.’
‘I dare say you do.’
‘Of course you don’t believe me. All the same, I do feel sorry.’
‘That won’t help.’
‘No?—I suppose it won’t.’
The words were breathed out on a sigh. Dagworthy made no answer.
‘I’m not much better off,’ she continued, in a low-spirited voice.
‘Nonsense!’ he ejaculated, roughly, half turning his back on her.
Jessie fumbled a moment at her dress; then, succeeding in getting her handkerchief out, began to press it against her eyes furtively. Strangely, there was real moisture to be removed.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ Dagworthy asked with surprise.
She no longer attempted concealment, but began to cry quietly.
‘What the deuce has come to you, Jessie?’
‘You—you—speak very unkindly to me,’ she sobbed.
‘Speak unkindly? I didn’t know it. What did I say?’
‘You won’t believe when I say I’m sorry you feel lonely.’
‘Why, confound it, I’ll believe as much as you like, if it comes to that. Put that handkerchief away, and drink another glass of wine.’
She stood up, and went to lean on the mantelpiece, hiding her face. When he was near her again, she continued her complaints in a low voice.
‘It’s so miserable at home. They want me to be a teacher, and how can I? I never pretended to be clever, and if I’d all the lessons under the sun, I should never be able to teach French—and—arithmetic—and those things. But I wish I could; then I should get away from home, and see new people. There’s nobody I care to see in Dunfield—nobody but one—’
She stopped on a sob.
‘Who’s that?’ Dagworthy asked, looking at her with a singular expression, from head to foot.
She made no answer, but sobbed again.
‘What Christmas presents have you had?’ was his next question, irrelevant enough apparently.
‘Oh, none—none to speak of—a few little things. What do I care for presents? You can’t live on presents.’
‘Can’t live on them? Are things bad at home?’
‘I didn’t mean that. But of course they’re bad; they’re always bad nowadays. However, Barbara’s going to be married in a week; she’ll be one out of the way. And of course I haven’t a dress fit to be seen in for the wedding.’
‘Why then, get a dress. How much will it cost?’ He went to a writing-table, unlocked a drawer, and took out a cheque-book. ‘Now then,’ he said, half jestingly, half in earnest, ‘what is it to be? Anything you like to say—I’ll write it.’
‘As if I wanted money!’
‘I can give you that. I don’t see what else I can do. It isn’t to be despised.’
‘No, you can do nothing else,’ she said, pressing each cheek with her handkerchief before putting it away. ‘Will you help me on with my cloak, Mr. Dagworthy?’
He took it from the chair, and held it for her. Jessie, as if by accident, approached her face to his hand, and, before he saw her purpose, kissed his hard fingers. Then she turned away, hiding her face.
Dagworthy dropped the garment, and stood looking at her. He had a half contemptuous smile on his lips. At this moment it was announced that the carriage was coming round. Jessie caught at her cloak, and threw it over her shoulders. Then, with sunk head, she offered to shake hands.
‘No use, Jessie,’ Dagworthy remarked quietly, without answering her gesture.
‘Of course, I know it’s no use,’ she said in a hurried voice of shame. ‘I know it as well as you can tell me. I wish I’d never come.’
‘But you don’t act badly,’ he continued.
‘What do you mean?’ she exclaimed, indignation helping her to raise her eyes for a moment. ‘I’m not acting.’
‘You don’t mean anything by it—that’s all.’
‘No, perhaps not. Good-bye.’
‘Good-bye. I’m going away before very long. I dare say I shan’t see you again before then.’
‘Where are you going to?’
‘Abroad.’
‘I suppose you’ll bring back a foreign wife,’ she said with sad scornfulness.
‘No, I’m not likely to do that. I shouldn’t wonder if I’m away for some time, though—perhaps a couple of years.’
‘Years!’ she exclaimed in astonishment.
He laughed.
‘That startles you. I shan’t be back in time for your wedding, you see.’
She sobbed again, averting her face.