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Page 46
Nevill entered the cab, and it rattled swiftly down the hill. As the
echo of the wheels died away, Jack dropped on a bench and hid his face
in his hands.
"I'll be back in a moment, old chap," said Jimmie. "Wait here."
He had scarcely crossed the street when Jack rose. His agony seemed too
intense to bear, and even yet he did not realize all that the blow
meant. For the moment he was hardly responsible for his actions, and
a glimpse of the river, shining far below, lured him on blindly and
aimlessly. A little farther along the Terrace, just beyond the upper
side of the gardens, was a footway leading down to the lower road and
the Thames. He followed this, swaying like a drunken man, and he had
reached the iron stile at the bottom when Jimmie, who had sighted him
in the distance, overtook him and caught his arm. Jack shook him roughly
off.
"What do you want?" he said, hoarsely.
"Don't take it so hard," pleaded Jimmie. "I'm awfully sorry for you,
old man. I know it's a knock-down blow, but--"
"You don't know half. It's worse than you think. I am the most miserable
wretch on earth! And an hour ago I was the happiest--"
"Come with me," said Jimmie. "That's a good fellow."
Jack did not resist. Linked arm in arm with his friend, he stumbled
along the narrow pavement of the lower road. At The Pigeons they found a
cab that had just set down a fare. They got into it, and Jimmie gave the
driver his orders.
It seemed a short ride to Jack, and while it lasted not a word passed
his lips. He sat in a stupor, with dull, burning eyes and a throbbing
head. In all his thoughts he recalled the lovely, smiling face of Madge.
And now she was lost to him forever--there was a barrier between them
that severed their lives. In his heart he bitterly cursed the day when
he had yielded to the wiles of Diane Merode, the popular dancer of the
Folies Bergere.
The cab stopped, and he reeled up a dark flight of steps. He was sitting
in a big chair in his studio, with the gas burning overhead, and Jimmie
staring at him with an expression of heartfelt sympathy on his honest
face.
"This was the best place to bring you," he said.
Jack rose, and paced to and fro. He looked haggard and dazed; his hair
and clothing were disheveled.
"Tell me, Jimmie," he cried, "is it all a dream, or is it true?"
"I wish it wasn't true, old man. But you're taking it too hard--you're
as white as a ghost. It can be kept out of the papers, you know. And you
won't have to live with her--you can pension her off and send her
abroad. I dare say she's after money. Women are the very devil, Jack,
ain't they? I could tell you about a little scrape of my own, with
Totsy Footlights, of the Casino--"
"You don't understand," said Jack, in a dull, hard voice. "I believed
that Diane was dead."
"Of course you did--you showed me the paragraph in the _Petit Journal_."
"I considered myself a free man--free to marry again."
"Whew! Go on!"
Jack was strangely calm as he took out his keys and unlocked a cabinet
over his desk. He silently handed his friend a photograph.
"By Jove, what a lovely face!" muttered Jimmie.
"That is the best and dearest girl in the world," said Jack. "I thought
I was done with women until I met her, a short time ago. We love each
other, and we were to be married in September. And now--My God, this
will break her heart! It has broken mine already, Jimmie! Curse the day
I first put foot in Paris!"
"My poor old chap, this _is_--"
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