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Page 23
"My darling, I _do_ trust you," he said contritely. "Forgive me--I was
very foolish. I know that nothing can separate us, and I will await your
own time in patience. And when you are willing to have me speak to your
father--"
"It shall be very soon, dear," whispered Madge, looking up at him with
a soft light in her eyes. "If I find him in a good humor I will tell him
myself. We are great chums, you know."
Jack kissed her, and then glanced at his watch.
"Four o'clock," he said, regretfully. "We must be off."
He pulled the boat back to Hampton, and ordered the hostler at the
Flower Pot to get the trap ready. The world looked different, somehow,
to the happy couple, as they drove Londonwards. Love's young dream had
been realized, and they saw no shadow in the future.
The ride home was uneventful until they reached Richmond. Then, on the
slope of the hill in front of the Talbot, where the traffic was thick
and noisy, a coach with half a dozen young men on top was encountered,
evidently bound for a convivial dinner at the Star and Garter or the
Roebuck. A well-known young lord was driving, and beside him sat Victor
Nevill. He smiled and nodded at Jack, and turned to gaze after his fair
companion.
"That was an old friend of mine," remarked Jack, as the trap passed on.
"A jolly good fellow, too."
"Drive faster, please," Madge said, abruptly. "I am afraid it is late."
There was a troubled, half-frightened look on her face, and she was very
quiet until the station was reached, where she was sure to get a train
to Gunnersbury within a few minutes. She sprang lightly to the pavement,
and let her hand rest in Jack's for a moment, while her eyes, full of
unspeakable affection, gazed into his. Then, with a brief farewell, she
had vanished down the steps.
"She is mine," thought Jack, as he drove on toward Kew and Chiswick. "I
have won a pearl among women. I think I should kill any man who came
between us."
CHAPTER VIII.
AN ATTRACTION IN PALL MALL.
There was a counter-attraction in Pall Mall--a rival to Marlborough
House, opposite which, ranged along the curb, a number of persons are
usually waiting on the chance of seeing the Prince drive out. The rival
establishment was the shop of Lamb and Drummond, picture dealers and
engravers to Her Majesty. Since nine o'clock that morning, in the
blazing May sunshine, there had been a little crowd before the plate
glass window, behind which the firm had kindly exposed their latest
prize to the public gaze. Newspaper men had been admitted to a private
view of the picture, and for a couple of days previous the papers had
contained paragraphs in reference to the coming exhibition. Rembrandts
are by no means uncommon, nor do all command high prices; but this
particular one, which Martin Von Whele had unearthed in Paris, was
conceded to be the finest canvas that the master-artist's brush had
produced.
It was the typical London crowd, very much mixed. Some regarded the
picture with contemptuous indifference and walked away. Others admired
the rich, strong coloring, the permanency of the pigments, and the
powerful, ferocious head, either Russian or Polish, that seemed to
fairly stand out from the old canvas. A few persons, who were keener
critics, envied Lamb and Drummond for the bargain they had obtained at
such a small figure.
Early in the afternoon Jack Vernon joined the group before the shop
window; an interview with the editor of the _Piccadilly Magazine_ had
brought him to town, and, having read the papers, he had walked from the
Strand over to Pall Mall. Memories of his Paris life, of the morning
when he had trudged home in bitter disappointment to the Boulevard St.
Germain and Diane, surged into his mind.
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