PART FIVE
CHAPTER XXX. WAITING ON DESTINY
Throughout the day Marian kept her room. Her intention to leave
the house was, of course, abandoned; she was the prisoner of
fate. Mrs Yule would have tended her with unremitting devotion, but the girl desired to be alone. At times she lay in silent anguish; frequently her tears broke forth, and she sobbed until weariness overcame her. In the afternoon she wrote a letter to Mr Holden, begging that she might be kept constantly acquainted with the progress of things.
At five her mother brought tea.
'Wouldn't it be better if you went to bed now, Marian?' she
suggested.
'To bed? But I am going out in an hour or two.'
'Oh, you can't, dear! It's so bitterly cold. It wouldn't be good
for you.'
'I have to go out, mother, so we won't speak of it.'
It was not safe to reply. Mrs Yule sat down, and watched the girl
raise the cup to her mouth with trembling hand.
'This won't make any difference to you—in the end, my darling,'
the mother ventured to say at length, alluding for the first time
to the effect of the catastrophe on Marian's immediate prospects.
'Of course not,' was the reply, in a tone of self-persuasion.
'Mr Milvain is sure to have plenty of money before long.'
'Yes.'
'You feel much better now, don't you?'
'Much. I am quite well again.'
At seven, Marian went out. Finding herself weaker than she had
thought, she stopped an empty cab that presently passed her, and
so drove to the Milvains' lodgings. In her agitation she inquired
for Mr Milvain, instead of for Dora, as was her habit; it
mattered very little, for the landlady and her servants were of
course under no misconception regarding this young lady's visits.
Jasper was at home, and working. He had but to look at Marian to
see that something wretched had been going on at her home; naturally he supposed it the result of his letter to Mr Yule.
'Your father has been behaving brutally,' he said, holding her
hands and gazing anxiously at her.
'There is something far worse than that, Jasper.'
'Worse?'
She threw off her outdoor things, then took the fatal letter from
her pocket and handed it to him. Jasper gave a whistle of
consternation, and looked vacantly from the paper to Marian's
countenance.
'How the deuce comes this about?' he exclaimed. 'Why, wasn't your
uncle aware of the state of things?'
'Perhaps he was. He may have known that the legacy was a mere
form.'
'You are the only one affected?'
'So father says. It's sure to be the case.'
'This has upset you horribly, I can see. Sit down, Marian. When
did the letter come?'
'This morning.'
'And you have been fretting over it all day. But come, we must
keep up our courage; you may get something substantial out of the
scoundrels still.'
Even whilst he spoke his eyes wandered absently. On the last word
his voice failed, and he fell into abstraction. Marian's look was
fixed upon him, and he became conscious of it. He tried to smile.
'What were you writing?' she asked, making involuntary diversion
from the calamitous theme.
'Rubbish for the Will-o'-the-Wisp. Listen to this paragraph about
English concert audiences.'
It was as necessary to him as to her to have a respite before the
graver discussion began. He seized gladly the opportunity she
offered, and read several pages of manuscript, slipping from one
topic to another. To hear him one would have supposed that he was
in his ordinary mood; he laughed at his own jokes and points.
'They'll have to pay me more,' was the remark with which he
closed. 'I only wanted to make myself indispensable to them, and
at the end of this year I shall feel pretty sure of that. They'll
have to give me two guineas a column; by Jove! they will.'
'And you may hope for much more than that, mayn't you, before
long?'
'Oh, I shall transfer myself to a better paper presently. It
seems to me I must be stirring to some purpose.'
He gave her a significant look.