V
Mr. Steppe, with a gardenia in his buttonhole, leaned out of the window of his car and waved his yellow glove in greeting and Beryl, who was just about to enter her own machine, stepped back upon the sidewalk and waited. She felt a little twinge of impatience, for she was on her way to the Horse Show and Ronald.
"Is the doctor in—good! He can wait—where are you off to, Beryl, huh? Looking perfectly lovely too. I often wonder what those old back-veld relations of mine would say if they ever saw a girl like you. Their women are just trek-oxen—mustn't say 'cows,' huh? Are you in a great hurry?"
"Not a great hurry," she smiled, "but I think father is expecting you."
"I know. But he'll not be worried if I'm late. Drive me somewhere. I want to talk."
She jumped at the opportunity of placing a time-limit on the conversation.
"Drive to Regents Park, round the inner circle and back to the house," she ordered, and Mr. Steppe handed her into the car.
"I want to have a little chat about your father," he said, greatly to her surprise. He had never before spoken more than two consecutive sentences in reference to Dr. Merville.
"What I tell you, Beryl, is in confidence," he said. "I'm not sure whether I ought to tell you at all, but you're a sensible girl, huh? No nonsense. That is how a woman should be. The doctor has lost a lot of money—you know that?"
"I didn't know," she answered in alarm, "but I thought father confined his investments to your companies?"
"Yes—so he has. He has taken up a lot of shares—against my advice. He is carrying—well I wouldn't like to tell you the figure. He bought them—against my advice. Most of my stock is only partly paid up. He is carrying nearly a million shares in one concern or another. That is all right. You can carry millions, always providing there is a market, and that you can sell at a profit, or else that there isn't any need to call up the remainder of the capital. That need has arisen in the case of two companies in which he is heavily involved. Now, Beryl, you are not to say a word about what I have told you."
"But—I don't quite follow what you have said. Does it mean that father will be called upon to pay large sums of money?" He nodded.
"Or else—?"
"There is no 'or else'," said Steppe. "The capital has to be called in, in justice to the shareholders and the doctor must pay. Somebody must pay. In fact, I am going to pay. That was the reason I was calling on him today."
"He has been very worried lately," said Beryl in a troubled tone. "I don't know how to thank you, Mr. Steppe. Is it a big sum?"
"It runs to hundreds of thousands," said Steppe. "Very few can lay their hands on that amount, huh? Jan Steppe! They know me in the city, hate me, would slaughter me, but they don't despise me. I can sign cheques for a million and they'd be honored."
"But father must make some arrangement to pay you, Mr. Steppe—" she began.
"That is nothing. The shares may rise in value—there is no telling what may happen with the market in an optimistic mood. But I thought I would let you know. Steppe isn't a bad fellow, huh?"
She heaved a long sigh. "No—you are kind, most kind. I wish father wouldn't touch the stock market. Temperamentally, he is unfitted for a gambler. He is so easily depressed. Can't you persuade him, Mr. Steppe?"
"If you say the word, I'll stop him," said Steppe. "There is nothing I wouldn't do for you, Beryl." She was silent.
"I'm grateful," she said, as the car was heading for the house. "I cannot put myself under any bigger obligation—father must do as he wishes. But if you could help him with advice—?"
It occurred to her then, that if he could, at a word, arrest the speculative tendencies of Dr. Merville, why had he contented himself with "advice" when her father had made his disastrous investments?
Saying good-bye to him at the door of the house, Beryl drove on to Olympia a disturbed and anxious girl. Steppe watched the car out of sight before he mounted the steps and rang the bell.
"You saw us, huh? Yes, I wanted to talk to Beryl and I knew that you wouldn't mind waiting. I've got to call up the unpaid capital of Brakpan Mines and Toledo Deeps."
The doctor moved uneasily. "Couldn't you wait a little while?" he asked nervously. "The shares are moving. They went up a fraction yesterday—which means that there are buyers."
"I was the buyer," said Steppe. "I took a feeler at the market. I bought five hundred—and I could have had five hundred thousand at the price. They were falling over one another to sell. No, I'm afraid I've got to make a call and you'll have to take up your shares, huh? Well, I'm going to let you have the money."
"That is good of you—"
"Not at all. I must keep your name sweet and clean, Merville. I am going to marry Beryl."
The doctor opened a silver box and took out a cigar with a shaking hand. "Beryl is a very dear girl," he said. "Have you spoken to her?"
"No, there is plenty of time. I don't want to scare her—let her get used to me, Merville, huh? That's that. You are crossing with me tonight, huh? Good, I hate the Havre route, but you can sleep on board and that saves time. Abrahams is coming from Vienna with the Bulgarian concession. I'm inclined to float it."
Ronnie was waiting in the main entrance when the girl arrived. In some respects he was a model escort. He never expected a woman to be punctual and had trained himself in the art of patient waiting.
"No, really, I haven't been here very long," he replied to her apology, "and you, of all women, are worth waiting for."
"You are a dear. I don't believe you, but still you are a dear. I'm so sick of life today, Ronnie—don't ask me why. Amuse me."
"How is the doctor?" he queried, as they were shown into their seats.
"He is going to Paris tonight with Mr. Steppe," she said. "I'm rather glad. Two or three days abroad will do him a lot of good. There aren't many people here this afternoon, Ronnie."
"Most of the swells are at Ascot," he explained, "the night seance is crowded. Gone to Paris, eh?" The news made him thoughtful.
She drove him back to the house to tea. Dr. Merville was out and was not returning to dinner. The maid said he had left a letter in his study. Beryl found it to be a note saying he was unlikely to see her before he went; his bag would be called for, he added.
"My hard-hearted parent has gone without saying good-bye," she said. "Take me out to dinner, Ronnie. After, I would like to see a revue. I feel un-intellectual today; I'm in the mood when I want to see people with red noses and baggy trousers. And I want to be in a box. I love boxes, since—"
Ronald Morelle walked home from Park Crescent stopping at a messenger office to scribble a note.
"It is at a drug store in Knightsbridge," he said. "I want the boy to give it to the young lady in the pay desk. Perhaps he had better make a purchase—a cake of soap, if that is the boy," he smiled upon the diminutive messenger, "and let him hand the letter to the lady when he puts in his bill."
He came to the flat to find François laying out his dress-clothes.
"Finish what you are doing and go home. I shall not want you this evening," he said. "Stay—have a bottle put on ice. You can lay the small table. You might have bought some flowers. I hate flowers, but—get some. You can throw them away tomorrow."
"Yes, m'sieur," said his imperturbable man, "for how many shall I lay supper?"
"For three," answered Ronnie.
It was a convention that he invariably entertained two guests, but François had never had to wash more than two used glasses.