|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 27
"No, by good luck she did not--at least I feel pretty sure of it. A
jolly good thing, too, for Vernon recognized me and nodded to me. But
whether Madge saw me or not won't make much difference under present
circumstances. If you go downstairs now and start a row with her, she
will be sure to suspect that you received your information from me."
"Quite likely. What do you want me to do?"
"Wait until to-morrow evening, when you return from town. Then tell
her that some stock-broking friend of yours in the city saw her near
Richmond station."
"That is the best plan," assented Stephen Foster. "I will take your
advice."
"Of course you will forbid her to have anything more to do with Vernon,
and will see that your wishes are enforced?"
"Decidedly. The man has behaved badly, and I can't believe that he has
any honorable intentions. He has been simply amusing himself with the
girl."
"That's like him," Nevill said carelessly. "Jack Vernon was always a
rake and a _roue_; though, as I am a friend of his, I ought not to tell
you this. But for your daughter's sake--"
"I understand. The warning is timely, and I will see that the girl's
eyes are opened."
"And you will give Madge to me if I can win her consent."
"She shall marry the man she loves--the man of her choice," replied
Stephen Foster, "provided he is worthy of her. But I won't compel her
to do anything against her wishes."
"I am not asking you to do that. I have your permission, then, to visit
here as a suitor?"
"Yes; I shall be glad to see you a couple of times a week."
Stephen Foster did not speak very cordially, and his expression was not
that of a father who has found a suitable husband for his daughter; but
Victor Nevill had gained his point, and was satisfied with what he had
so far accomplished. He was a vain man, and possessed an overweening
amount of self-confidence, especially where women were concerned.
The two had other subjects to discuss. For a couple of hours--long after
Madge had forsaken the piano and gone to bed--a whispered conversation
was carried on that had no reference to the girl. It was nearly eleven
o'clock when Nevill left the house, and bade Stephen Foster good-night
on the step. He knew the way in spite of the darkness and the paucity
of street lamps. Having lighted a cigar, he walked briskly toward
Gunnersbury.
"It was a narrow squeak yesterday," he reflected. "Until I met the girl
to-night, I was doubtful as to her having failed to see me on the coach.
It would have been most unfortunate had both of them recognized me; they
would have compared notes in that case, and discovered that Victor
Nevill and Mr. Royle were one and the same. I must be more careful in
future. Foster was rather inclined to be ugly, but he promised certain
things, and he knows that he can't play fast and loose with me. I am
afraid some harm has been done already, but it will blow over if he
keeps a tight rein on his daughter. As for Vernon, he must be forced to
decamp. Curse the fate that brought him across my path! There's not much
I would stop at if he became a dangerous rival. But there is no danger
of that. I have the inner track, and by perseverance I will win the
girl in the end. She is not a bit like other women--that's her
charm--but it ought to count for something when she learns that I am Sir
Lucius Chesney's heir. I've been going to the devil pretty fast, but I
meant what I told Foster. I love Madge with all my better nature, and
for her sake I would run as straight as a die. A look from her pretty
eyes makes me feel like a blackguard."
Thus Nevill communed with himself until he neared Gunnersbury station,
when the distant rumble of a train quickened his steps. He had just time
to buy his ticket, dash down the steps, and jump into a first-class
carriage. Getting out at Portland road, he took a cab to Regent street,
and dropped in at the Cafe Royal for a few minutes. Then he started
toward his lodgings on foot. It was that witching hour when West End
London, before it goes to sleep, foams and froths like a glass of
champagne that will soon be flat and flavorless. Men and women, inclined
to be hilarious, thronged the pavements under the strong lights. Birds
of prey, male and female, prowled alertly.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|