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Page 8
"It's news to me. I congratulate you, old man. If I had known I would
have looked you up long ago, but I lost all trace of you."
"That's my case," said Jack. "I supposed you were still abroad. Been
back long?"
"Yes, a couple of years."
"By Jove, it's queer we didn't meet before. Fancy you turning up here!"
"I stopped last night with a friend in Grove Park," Nevill answered,
after a brief hesitation, "and feeling a bit seedy this morning, I came
for a stroll along the river. I hear of a gallant rescue from the water,
and, of course, you are the hero, Jack. Is the young lady all right?"
"I believe so."
"Do you know who she is?"
"Miss Madge Poster, sir," spoke up the landlord, "and I can assure you
she was very nearly drowned--"
"Not so bad as that," modestly protested Jack.
Victor Nevill's face had changed color again, and for a second there was
a troubled look in his eyes. He spoke the girl's name carelessly, then
added in hurried tones:
"You must get into dry clothes at once, Jack, or you will be ill--"
"Just what I told him, sir," interrupted the landlord. "Young men _will_
be reckless."
"I am going back to town to keep an engagement," Nevill resumed. "Can I
do anything for you?"
"If you will, old chap," Jack said gratefully. "Stop at my studio,"
giving him the address, "and send my man Alphonse here with a dry rig."
"I'll go right away," replied Neville. "I can get a cab at Kew Bridge.
Come and see me, Jack. Here is my card. I put up in Jermyn street."
"And you know where to find me," said Jack. "I am seldom at home in the
evenings, though."
A few more words, and Neville departed. Jack was prevailed upon by the
landlord to go to an upper room, where he stripped off his drenched
garments and rubbed himself dry, then putting on a suit of clothes
belonging to his host. The latter brought the cheering news that Miss
Foster had taken a hot draught and was sleeping peacefully, and that it
would be quite unnecessary to send for a doctor.
A little later Alphonse and a cab arrived at the rear of the Black
Bull, where there was a lane for vehicular traffic, and Jack once more
changed his attire. He left his card and a polite message for the girl,
pressed a substantial tip on the reluctant landlord, and was soon
rattling homeward up Chiswick high-road, feeling none the worse for his
wetting, but, on the contrary, gifted with a keen appetite. He had sent
his boat back to Maynard's.
"What a pretty girl that was!" he reflected. "It's the first time in
five years I've given a serious thought to a woman. But I shall forget
her as quickly--I am wedded to my art. It's rather a fetching name,
Madge Foster. Come to think of it, it was hardly the proper thing to
leave my card. I suppose I will get a fervid letter of gratitude from
the girl's father, or the two of them may even invade my studio. How
could I have been so stupid?"
He ate a hearty lunch, and set to work diligently. But he could not keep
his mind from the adventure of the morning, and he saw more frequently
the face of the lovely young English girl, than that of the swarthy
Moorish dancer he was doing in oils.
Those five years had made a different man of Jack Clare--had brought him
financial prosperity, success in his art, and contentment with life. He
was now twenty-seven, clean-shaven, and with the build of an athlete;
and his attractive, well-cut features had fulfilled the promise of
youth. But for six wretched months, after that bitter night when Diane
fled from him, he had suffered acutely. In vain his friends, none of
whom could give him any clew to his betrayer, sought to comfort him; in
vain he searched for trace of tidings of his wife, for her faithlessness
had not utterly crushed his love, and the recollections of the first
months of his marriage were very sweet to him. The chains with which the
dancer of the Folies Bergere bound him had been strong; his hot youth
had fallen victim to the charms of a face and figure that would have
enslaved more experienced men.
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