"You are so sympathetic," she sighed, feeling that she could not do better than to begin again at that point. The remark had produced good results before, and it might do so a second time.
"Yes," agreed Uncle Chris cheerily. "You see, I have seen something of all this sort of thing, and I realize the importance of it. I know what all this modern rush and strain of life is for a woman in your position. Parties every night … dancing … a thousand and one calls on the vitality … bound to have an effect sooner or later, unless—unless," said Uncle Chris solemnly, "one takes steps. Unless one acts in time. I had a friend—" His voice sank—"I had a very dear friend over in London, Lady Alice—but the name would convey nothing—the point is that she was in exactly the same position as you. On the rush all the time. Never stopped. The end was inevitable. She caught cold, hadn't sufficient vitality to throw it off, went to a dance in mid-winter, contracted pneumonia …" Uncle Chris sighed. "All over in three days," he said sadly. "Now at that time," he resumed, "I did not know what I know now. If I had heard of Nervino then …" He shook his head. "It might have saved her life. It would have saved her life. I tell you, Mrs Peagrim, that there is nothing, there is no lack of vitality which Nervino cannot set right. I am no physician myself, I speak as a layman, but it acts on the red corpuscles of the blood …"
Mrs Peagrim's face was stony. She had not spoken before, because he had given her no opportunity, but she spoke now in a hard voice.
"Major Selby!"
"Mrs Peagrim?"
"I am not interested in patent medicines!"
"One can hardly call Nervino that," said Uncle Chris reproachfully. "It is a sovereign specific. You can get it at any drug-store. It comes in two sizes, the dollar-fifty—or large—size, and the …"
Mrs Peagrim rose majestically.
"Major Selby, I am tired …"
"Precisely. And, as I say, Nervino …"
"Please," said Mrs. Peagrim coldly, "go to the stage-door and see if you can find my limousine. It should be waiting in the street."
"Certainly," said Uncle Chris. "Why, certainly, certainly, certainly."
He left the box and proceeded across the stage. He walked with a lissom jauntiness. His eye was bright. One or two of those whom he passed on his way had the idea that this fine-looking man was in pain. They fancied that he was moaning. But Uncle Chris was not moaning. He was humming a gay snatch from the lighter music of the 'nineties.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
1.
Up on the roof of his apartment, far above the bustle and clamor of the busy city, Wally Mason, at eleven o'clock on the morning after Mrs Peagrim's bohemian party, was greeting the new day, as was his custom, by going through his ante-breakfast exercises. Mankind is divided into two classes, those who do setting-up exercises before breakfast and those who know they ought to but don't. To the former and more praiseworthy class Wally had belonged since boyhood. Life might be vain and the world a void, but still he touched his toes the prescribed number of times and twisted his muscular body about according to the ritual. He did so this morning a little more vigorously than usual, partly because he had sat up too late the night before and thought too much and smoked too much, with the result that he had risen heavy-eyed, at the present disgraceful hour, and partly because he hoped by wearying the flesh to still the restlessness of the spirit. Spring generally made Wally restless, but never previously had it brought him this distracted feverishness. So he lay on his back and waved his legs in the air, and it was only when he had risen and was about to go still further into the matter that he perceived Jill standing beside him.
"Good Lord!!" said Wally.
"Don't stop," said Jill. "I'm enjoying it."
"How long have you been here?"
"Oh, I only just arrived. I rang the bell, and the nice old lady who is cooking your lunch told me you were out here."
"Not lunch. Breakfast."
"Breakfast! At this hour?"
"Won't you join me?"
"I'll join you. But I had my breakfast long ago."
Wally found his despondency magically dispelled. It was extraordinary how the mere sight of Jill could make the world a different place. It was true the sun had been shining before her arrival, but in a flabby, weak-minded way, not with the brilliance it had acquired immediately he heard her voice.
"If you don't mind waiting for about three minutes while I have a shower and dress …"
"Oh, is the entertainment over?" asked Jill, disappointed. "I always arrive too late for everything."
"One of these days you shall see me go through the whole programme, including shadow-boxing and the goose-step. Bring your friends! But at the moment I think it would be more of a treat for you to watch me eat an egg. Go and look at the view. From over there you can see Hoboken."
"I've seen it. I don't think much of it."
"Well, then, on this side we have Brooklyn. There is no stint. Wander to and fro and enjoy yourself. The rendezvous is in the sitting-room in about four moments."
Wally vaulted through the passage-window, and disappeared. Then he returned and put his head out.
"I say!"
"Yes?"
"Just occurred to me. Your uncle won't be wanting this place for half an hour or so, will he? I mean, there will be time for me to have a bite of breakfast?"
"I don't suppose he will require your little home till some time in the evening."
"Fine!"
Wally disappeared again, and a few moments later Jill heard the faint splashing of water. She walked to the parapet and looked down. On the windows of the nearer buildings the sun cast glittering beams, but further away a faint, translucent mist hid the city. There was Spring humidity in the air. In the street she had found it oppressive: but on the breezy summit of this steel-and-granite cliff the air was cool and exhilarating. Peace stole into Jill's heart as she watched the boats dropping slowly down the East River, which gleamed like dull steel through the haze. She had come to Journey's End, and she was happy. Trouble and heart-ache seemed as distant as those hurrying black ants down on the streets. She felt far away from the world on an enduring mountain of rest. She gave a little sigh of contentment, and turned to go in as Wally called.
In the sitting-room her feeling of security deepened. Here, the world was farther away than ever. Even the faint noises which had risen to the roof were inaudible, and only the cosy tick-tock of the grandfather's clock punctuated the stillness.
She looked at Wally with a quickening sense of affection. He had the divine gift of silence at the right time. Yes, this was home. This was where she belonged.
"It didn't take me in, you know," said Jill at length, resting her arms on the table and regarding him severely.
Wally looked up.
"What didn't take you in?"
"That bath of yours. Yes, I know you turned on the cold shower, but you stood at a safe distance and watched it show!"
Wally waved his fork.
"As Heaven is my witness. … Look at my hair! Still damp! And I can show you the towel."
"Well, then, I'll bet it was the hot water. Why weren't you at Mrs Peagrim's party last night?"
"It would take too long to explain all my reasons, but one of them was that I wasn't invited. How did it go off?"
"Splendidly. Freddie's engaged!"
Wally lowered his coffee cup.
"Engaged! You don't mean what is sometimes slangily called bethrothed?"
"I do. He's engaged to Nelly Bryant. Nelly told me all about it when she got home last night. It seems that Freddie said to her 'What ho!' and she said 'You bet!' and Freddie said 'Pip pip!' and the thing was settled." Jill bubbled. "Freddie wants to go into vaudeville with her!"