They sat for nearly two hours in that room in the quiet house in Russell Square, where the cabs do not pa.s.s; and their conversation was of money. They sat until they had closed the Simiacine account, never to be reopened. They discussed the question of renouncement, and, after due consideration, concluded that the gain was rightly theirs seeing that the risk had all been theirs. Slaves and slave-owner had both taken their cause to a Higher Court, where the defendant has no worry and the plaintiff is at rest. They were beyond the reach of money--beyond the glitter of gold--far from the cry of anguish. A fortune was set aside for Marie Durnovo, to be held in trust for the children of the man who had found the Simiacine Plateau; another was apportioned to Joseph.
"Seventy-seven thousand one hundred and four pounds for you," said Jack Meredith at length, laying aside his pen, "seventy-seven thousand one hundred and four pounds for me."
"And," he added, after a little pause, "it was not worth it."
Guy Oscard smoked his pipe and shook his head.
"Now," said Jack Meredith, "I must go. I must be out of London by to-morrow morning. I shall go abroad--America or somewhere."
He rose as he spoke, and Oscard made no attempt to restrain him.
They went out into the pa.s.sage together. Oscard opened the door and followed his companion to the step.
"I suppose," said Meredith, "we shall meet some time--somewhere?"
"Yes."
They shook hands.
Jack Meredith went down the steps almost reluctantly. At the foot of the short flight he turned and looked up at the strong, peaceful form of his friend.
"What will you do?" he said.
"I shall go back to my big-game," replied Guy Oscard. "I am best at that. But I shall not go to Africa."
CHAPTER XLIII. A LONG DEBT
The life unlived, the deed undone, the tear Unshed.
"I rather expect--Lady Cantourne," said Sir John to his servants when he returned home, "any time between now and ten o"clock."
The butler, having a vivid recollection of an occasion when Lady Cantourne was shown into a drawing-room where there were no flowers, made his preparations accordingly. The flowers were set out with that masculine ignorance of such matters which brings a smile--not wholly of mirth--to a woman"s face. The little-used drawing-room was brought under the notice of the housekeeper for that woman"s touch which makes a drawing-room what it is. It was always ready--this room, though Sir John never sat in it. But for Lady Cantourne it was always more than ready.
Sir John went to the library and sat rather wearily down in the stiff-backed chair before the fire. He began by taking up the evening newspaper, but failed to find his eyegla.s.ses, which had twisted up in some aggravating manner with his necktie. So he laid aside the journal and gave way to the weakness of looking into the fire.
Once or twice his head dropped forward rather suddenly, so that his clean-shaven chin touched his tie-pin, and this without a feeling of sleepiness warranting the relaxation of the spinal column. He sat up suddenly on each occasion and threw back his shoulders.
"Almost seems," he muttered once, "as if I were getting to be an old man."
After that he remembered nothing until the butler, coming in with the lamp, said that Lady Cantourne was in the drawing-room. The man busied himself with the curtains, carefully avoiding a glance in his master"s direction. No one had ever found Sir John asleep in a chair during the hours that other people watch, and this faithful old servant was not going to begin to do so now.
"Ah," said Sir John, surrept.i.tiously composing his collar and voluminous necktie, "thank you."
He rose and glanced at the clock. It was nearly seven. He had slept through the most miserable hour of Millicent Chyne"s life.
At the head of the s.p.a.cious staircase he paused in front of the mirror, half hidden behind exotics, and pressed down his wig behind either ear.
Then he went into the drawing-room.
Lady Cantourne was standing impatiently on the hearthrug, and scarcely responded to his bow.
"Has Jack been here?" she asked.
"No."
She stamped a foot, still neat despite its long journey over a road that had never been very smooth. Her manner was that of a commander-in-chief, competent but unfortunate, in the midst of a great reverse.
"He has not been here this afternoon?"
"No," answered Sir John, closing the door behind him.
"And you have not heard anything from him?"
"Not a word. As you know, I am not fortunate enough to be fully in his confidence."
Lady Cantourne glanced round the room as if looking for some object upon which to fix her attention. It was a characteristic movement which he knew, although he had only seen it once or twice before. It indicated that if there was an end to Lady Cantourne"s wit, she had almost reached that undesirable bourne.
"He has broken off his engagement," she said, looking her companion very straight in the face, "NOW--at the eleventh hour. Do you know anything about it?"
She came closer to him, looking up from her compact little five-feet-two with discerning eyes.
"John!" she exclaimed.
She came still nearer and laid her gloved hands upon his sleeve.
"John! you know something about this."
"I should like to know more," he said suavely. "I am afraid--Millicent will be inconvenienced."
Lady Cantourne looked keenly at him for a moment. Physically she almost stood on tip-toe, mentally she did it without disguise. Then she turned away and sat on a chair which had always been set apart for her.
"It is a question," she said gravely, "whether any one has a right to punish a woman so severely."
The corner of Sir John"s mouth twitched.
"I would rather punish her than have Jack punished for the rest of his life."
"Et moi?" she snapped impatiently.
"Ah!" with a gesture learnt in some foreign court, "I can only ask your forgiveness. I can only remind you that she is not your daughter--if she were she would be a different woman--while he IS my son."
Lady Cantourne nodded as if to indicate that he need explain no more.
"How did you do it?" she asked quietly.
"I did not do it. I merely suggested to Guy Oscard that he should call on you. Millicent and her fiance--the other--were alone in the drawing-room when we arrived. Thinking that I might be de trop I withdrew, and left the young people to settle it among themselves, which they have apparently done! I am, like yourself, a great advocate for allowing young people to settle things among themselves. They are also welcome to their enjoyment of the consequences so far as I am concerned."