PART ONE
CHAPTER I
A MAN OF HIS DAY
As the Milvains sat down to breakfast the clock of Wattleborough parish church struck eight; it was two miles away, but the strokes were borne very distinctly on the west wind this autumn morning. Jasper, listening before he cracked an egg, remarked with cheerfulness:
āThereās a man being hanged in London at this moment.ā
āSurely it isnāt necessary to let us know that,ā said his sister Maud, coldly.
āAnd in such a tone, too!ā protested his sister Dora.
āWho is it?ā inquired Mrs Milvain, looking at her son with pained forehead.
āI donāt know. It happened to catch my eye in the paper yesterday that someone was to be hanged at Newgate this morning. Thereās a certain satisfaction in reflecting that it is not oneself.ā
āThatās your selfish way of looking at things,ā said Maud.
āWell,ā returned Jasper, āseeing that the fact came into my head, what better use could I make of it? I could curse the brutality of an age that sanctioned such things; or I could grow doleful over the misery of the poor fellow. But those emotions would be as little profitable to others as to myself. It just happened that I saw the thing in a light of consolation. Things are bad with me, but not so bad as THAT. I might be going out between Jack Ketch and the Chaplain to be hanged; instead of that, I am eating a really fresh egg, and very excellent buttered toast, with coffee as good as can be reasonably expected in this part of the world.ā(Do try boiling the milk, mother.)āThe tone in which I spoke was spontaneous; being so, it needs no justification.ā
He was a young man of five-and-twenty, well built, though a trifle meagre, and of pale complexion. He had hair that was very nearly black, and a clean-shaven face, best described, perhaps, as of bureaucratic type. The clothes he wore were of expensive material, but had seen a good deal of service. His stand-up collar curled over at the corners, and his necktie was lilac-sprigged.
Of the two sisters, Dora, aged twenty, was the more like him in visage, but she spoke with a gentleness which seemed to indicate a different character. Maud, who was twenty-two, had bold, handsome features, and very beautiful hair of russet tinge; hers was not a face that readily smiled. Their mother had the look and manners of an invalid, though she sat at table in the ordinary way. All were dressed as ladies, though very simply. The room, which looked upon a small patch of garden, was furnished with old-fashioned comfort, only one or two objects suggesting the decorative spirit of 1882.
āA man who comes to be hanged,ā pursued Jasper, impartially, āhas the satisfaction of knowing that he has brought society to its last resource. He is a man of such fatal importance that nothing will serve against him but the supreme effort of law. In a way, you know, that is success.ā
āIn a way,ā repeated Maud, scornfully.
āSuppose we talk of something else,ā suggested Dora, who seemed to fear a conflict between her sister and Jasper.
Almost at the same moment a diversion was afforded by the arrival of the post. There was a letter for Mrs Milvain, a letter and newspaper for her son. Whilst the girls and their mother talked of unimportant news communicated by the one correspondent, Jasper read the missive addressed to himself.
āThis is from Reardon,ā he remarked to the younger girl. āThings are going badly with him. He is just the kind of fellow to end by poisoning or shooting himself.ā
āBut why?ā
āCanāt get anything done; and begins to be sore troubled on his wifeās account.ā
āIs he ill?ā
āOverworked, I suppose. But itās just what I foresaw. He isnāt the kind of man to keep up literary production as a paying business. In favourable circumstances he might write a fairly good book once every two or three years. The failure of his last depressed him, and now he is struggling hopelessly to get another done before the winter season. Those people will come to grief.ā
āThe enjoyment with which he anticipates it!ā murmured Maud, looking at her mother.
āNot at all,ā said Jasper. āItās true I envied the fellow, because he persuaded a handsome girl to believe in him and share his risks, but I shall be very sorry if he goes to theāto the dogs. Heās my one serious friend. But it irritates me to see a man making such large demands upon fortune. One must be more modestāas I am. Because one book had a sort of success he imagined his struggles were over. He got a hundred pounds for āOn Neutral Ground,ā and at once counted on a continuance of payments in geometrical proportion. I hinted to him that he couldnāt keep it up, and he smiled with tolerance, no doubt thinking āHe judges me by himself.ā But I didnāt do anything of the kind.ā(Toast, please, Dora.)āIām a stronger man than Reardon; I can keep my eyes open, and wait.ā
āIs his wife the kind of person to grumble?ā asked Mrs Milvain.
āWell, yes, I suspect that she is. The girl wasnāt content to go into modest roomsāthey must furnish a flat. I rather wonder he didnāt start a carriage for her. Well, his next book brought only another hundred, and now, even if he finishes this one, itās very doubtful if heāll get as much. āThe Optimistā was practically a failure.ā
āMr Yule may leave them some money,ā said Dora.
āYes. But he may live another ten years, and he would see them both in Marylebone Workhouse before he advanced sixpence, or Iām much mistaken in him. Her mother has only just enough to live upon; canāt possibly help them. Her brother wouldnāt give or lend twopence halfpenny.ā
āHas Mr Reardon no relatives!ā
āI never heard him make mention of a single one. No, he has done the fatal thing. A man in his position, if he marry at all, must take either a work-girl or an heiress, and in many ways the work-girl is preferable.ā
āHow can you say that?ā asked Dora. āYou never cease talking about the advantages of money.ā
āOh, I donāt mean that for ME the work-girl would be preferable; by no means; but for a man like Reardon. He is absurd enough to be conscientious, likes to be called an āartist,ā and so on. He might possibly earn a hundred and fifty a year if his mind were at rest, and that would be enough if he had married a decent little dressmaker. He wouldnāt desire superfluities, and the quality of his work would be its own reward. As it is, heās ruined.ā
āAnd I repeat,ā said Maud, āthat you enjoy the prospect.ā
āNothing of the kind. If I seem to speak exultantly itās only because my intellect enjoys the clear perception of a fact.āA little marmalade, Dora; the home-made, please.ā
āBut this is very sad, Jasper,ā said Mrs Milvain, in her half-absent way. āI suppose they canāt even go for a holiday?ā
āQuite out of the question.ā
āNot even if you invited them to come here for a week?ā
āNow, mother,ā urged Maud, āTHATāS impossible, you know very well.ā
āI thought we might make an effort, dear. A holiday might mean everything to him.ā
āNo, no,ā fell from Jasper, thoughtfully. āI donāt think youād get along very well with Mrs Reardon; and then, if her uncle is coming to Mr Yuleās, you know, that would be awkward.ā
āI suppose it would; though those people would only stay a day or two, Miss Harrow said.ā
āWhy canāt Mr Yule make them friends, those two lots of people?ā asked Dora. āYou say heās on good terms with both.ā
āI suppose he thinks itās no business of his.ā
Jasper mused over the letter from his friend.
āTen years hence,ā he said, āif Reardo...