Miss Maynard introduced them. The gentlemen looked at each other. At least, the Major looked at Mr. Spooner. Mr. Spooner, after the first shy glance, seemed to be studying the pattern of the carpet.
"With regard to the purport of your visit," went on Miss Maynard, using her finest dictionary words, "I have to place in your hands my resignation of the offices I have hitherto so unworthily held. With reference to the unfortunately mismanaged--er--book-keeping, to make that all right"--it was rather a comedown--"Major Clifford wishes to present you with a donation of," she paused, "of twenty-five guineas."
"Fifty," growled the Major, much disgusted. "For goodness sake, make it fifty while you are about it!"
"Just so," said Miss Maynard blandly. "The Major is particularly anxious to make it fifty guineas."
The Major glared at her. If they had been alone, and the circ.u.mstances had been different, he would no doubt have given her a small piece of his mind. As it was--well, discretion is the better part of valour.
Mr. Spooner began his speech:
"I--I am sure we shall be very happy; I--I should say we shall exceedingly; that is, no doubt the donation is--is-- At the same time, Miss--Miss Maynard"s services, though--though--"
He went blundering on, Miss Maynard looking at him stonily, raising not a finger to his help. The Major took his bearings. He was a tall, thin young gentleman with a white face--which, however, was just now pinkish--white hair upon the top of his head, and a faint suspicion of more white hair upon his upper lip. It would have been cruel to apply a.s.sault and battery to one so innocent.
While Mr. Spooner was still stammering, and stuttering there came another knock at the street door. Miss Maynard gave a slight jump.
There was no mistake about it this time. Somebody came bolting up the stairs apparently three steps at a time. The door was thrown open.
Somebody entered the room, and in about two seconds in spite of the a.s.sembled company Miss Maynard and the Rev. John Roland were locked breast to breast. To do the young man justice it was not his idea of things at all. He was plainly taken a little aback. But the young woman"s enthusiasm was not to be restrained.
"This," explained Miss Maynard, holding Mr. Roland by his coat sleeve, "this is the Rev. John Roland. John, this is my uncle."
There was a striking difference between the tones in which she made the two announcements. The two gentlemen bowed. They had had the pleasure of meeting before. One, if not both, felt a little awkward. But Miss Maynard did not care two pins how they felt. She transferred her attentions to Mr. Spooner.
"I am going to leave St. Giles"s," she observed; "the service is too low. I am going to St. Simon Stylites. I suppose, John, I may as well tell Mr. Spooner that you are going to be my husband."
John was silent. So was Mr. Spooner. The latter was gentleman amazed not to say indignant. In his heart of hearts he had been persuaded that Miss Maynard was consumed by a hopeless pa.s.sion for William Spooner.
"Perhaps Miss Maynard will become treasurer of the Clothing Club at St.
Simon Stylites."
Had it not been a case of two clergyman, Mr. Roland might possibly have liked to have had a try at knocking Mr. Spooner down. As it was he refrained.
"If Miss Maynard does so honour us, she at least need fear no insults from the clergy."
Miss Maynard favoured him with a lovely smile, and Mr. Spooner was annihilated.
Since then Mr. Roland and Miss Maynard have been united in the bonds of holy matrimony. The ceremony was performed at St. Simon Stylites, and the Rev. William Spooner was, after all, one of the officiating clergy.
Mr. Roland is at present Vicar of a parish in the neighbourhood of Stoke-c.u.m-Poger, of which parish Mrs. Roland is also Vicaress. He is very "High," and it is darkly whispered that certain courts possessing very nicely defined spiritual powers have their eyes upon him. Of that we know nothing, but we do know that he is possessed of a promising family, and that, not so very long ago, Mrs. Roland presented him with a second Em.
A Relic of the Borgias
CHAPTER I
Vernon"s door was opened, hastily, from within, just as I had my hand upon the knocker. Someone came dashing out into the street. It was not until he had almost knocked me backwards into the gutter that I perceived that the man rushing out of Vernon"s house was Crampton.
"My dear Arthur!" I exclaimed. "Whither away so fast?"
He stood and stared at me, the breath coming from him with great palpitations. Never had I seen him so seriously disturbed.
"Benham," he gasped, "our friend, Vernon, is a scoundrel."
I did not doubt it. I had had no reason to suppose the contrary. But I did not say so. I held my tongue. Crampton went on, gesticulating, as he spoke, with both fists clenched; dilating on the cause of his disorder with as much freedom as if the place had been as private as the matters of which he treated; apparently forgetful that, all the time, he stood at the man"s street door.
"You know he stole from me my Lilian--promised she should be his wife!
They were to have been married in a month. And now he"s jilted her--thrown her over--as if she were a thing of no account. Made her the laughing stock of all the town! And for whom do you think, of all the women in the world? Mary Hartopp--a widow that should know better! It"s not an hour since I was told. I came here straight. And now Mr. Vernon knows something of my mind."
I could not help but think, as he went striding away, as if he were beside himself with rage--without giving me a chance to say a word--that all the world would quickly learn something of it too.
The moment seemed scarcely to be a propitious one for interviewing Decimus Vernon. He would hardly be in a mood to receive a visitor. But, as the matter of which I wished to speak to him was of pressing importance, and another opportunity might not immediately occur, I decided to approach him as if unconscious of anything untoward having happened.
As I began to mount the stairs there came stealing, rather than walking down them, Vernon"s man, John Parkes. At sight of me, the fellow started.
"Oh, Mr. Benham, sir, it"s you! I thought it was Mr. Crampton back again."
I looked at Parkes, who seemed sufficiently upset. I had known the fellow for years.
"There"s been a little argument, eh, Parkes?"
Parkes raised both his hands.
"A little argument, sir! There"s been the most dreadful quarrel I ever heard."
"Where is Mr. Vernon?"
"He"s in the library, sir, where Mr. Crampton left him. Shall I go and tell him that you would wish to see him?"
Parkes eyed me in a manner which plainly suggested that, if he were in my place, he should wish to do nothing of the kind. I declined his unspoken suggestion, preferring, also, to announce myself.
I rapped with my knuckles at the library door. There was no answer. I rapped again. As there was still no response, I opened the door and entered.
"Vernon?" I cried.
I perceived at a glance that the room was empty. I was aware that, adjoining this apartment was a room which he fitted up as a bedroom, and in which he often slept. I saw that the door of this inner room was open. Concluding that he had gone in there, I went to the threshold and called "Vernon!"
My call remained unanswered. A little wondering where the man could he, I peeped inside. My first impression was that this room, like the other, was untenanted. A second glance, however, revealed a booted foot, toe upwards, which was thrust out from the other side of the bed.
Thinking that he might be in one of his wild moods, and was playing me some trick, I called out to him again.
"Vernon, what little game are you up to now?"
Silence. And in the silence there was, as it were, a quality which set my heart in a flutter. I became conscious of there being, in the air, something strange. I went right into the room, and I looked down on Decimus Vernon.
I thought that I had never seen him look more handsome than he did then, as he lay on his back on the floor, his right arm raised above his head, his left lying lightly across his breast, an expression on his face which was almost like a smile, looking, for all the world as if he were asleep. But I was enough of a physician to feel sure that he was dead.
For a moment or two I hesitated. I glanced quickly about the room. What had been his occupation when death had overtaken him seemed plain. On the dressing table was an open case of rings. Three or four of them lay in a little heap upon the table. He had, apparently, been trying them on. I called out, with unintentional loudness--indeed, so loudly, that, in that presence, I was startled by the sound of my own voice.