Waiting for News.
The weeks went on, and glided into months. Frank Pratt had been as punctual as the clock in his visits to Russell Square, but his love matters made no progress. Unless he had something to communicate affecting Tiny, Fin would hardly stay a minute. Then, too, at times, there were checks caused by the presence of Aunt Matty, when Pratt would return to his chambers disconsolate, and yet happy at having had a glimpse of the darling of his heart.
Once, when he had entered strongly into his affairs, and spoke of trying to renew his acquaintance in a straightforward way with the family—
“Because I should not be ashamed to meet Sir Hampton now,” he said.
Fin responded coolly—
“I’m afraid I hate you very much, Mr Pratt.”
“Hate me! Why?” he exclaimed.
“Because you’re so unfeeling.”
“Unfeeling?”
“You think so much of yourself, and your silly love nonsense, when poor Tiny is persecuted and tortured by that hateful Vanleigh, who only wants her money. I believe he’d ill-treat her before they’d been married a month. He looks like a wife-beater.”
“But they never persecute you,” said Pratt.
“Don’t they? Why, only this morning pa told me that he should expect me to receive Sir Felix Landells; while ma cried, and Aunt Matty nodded her head approvingly.”
“And—and what did you say?” cried Pratt.
“I gave Pepine a vicious kick, and walked out of the room. And now, sir, if you please, how about all your fine promises? What have you done all these months? Have you got that wicked wretch Trevor back his property? Come, speak!”
“No,” said Pratt, “I went down on Tuesday to see how things were, and Master Humphrey seems settling down comfortably enough. Quite the country squire.”
“Serve Richard Trevor right,” said Fin. “And now, about that girl? Does he go to see her still?”
Pratt was silent.
“How dare you stand there like that, Frank, and not answer me?” cried Fin.
“Call me Frank again, darling, and I’ll say anything you wish.”
“I won’t,” said Fin. “You shall tell me without.”
“I don’t like telling tales about poor Dick,” said Pratt.
“If you care for me, sir, it’s your duty to tell me the honest truth about everything. Am I less than Richard Trevor?”
Bodily, of course, she was; but as she meant in his regards, he said she was all the world to him.
“Now, then,” said Fin, “does he go to see that girl now?”
“Yes,” said Pratt; “but I’m sure it’s all in innocence. The poor girl is in a dying state. I went to see her with him once, and a sweeter creature you never saw.”
“Then she has captivated you, too?” cried Fin, viciously.
“Oh, come—I say!” exclaimed Pratt. “Fin, that goes right to my heart.”
“And now about Vanleigh. You’ve boasted over and over again that you could produce something which would put a stop to his pretensions—where is it?”
“You are so hard on a poor fellow,” said Pratt. “I am trying my best, and I feel quite sure that he has no right to pretend to the hand of your sister; but then, you know, before one makes such a charge, there must be good personal and documentary evidence.”
“Well,” exclaimed Pin, “and where is it?”
“I haven’t got it yet,” said Pratt; “but I have tried very, very hard. I shall succeed, though, yet, I know.”
“And while you are succeeding, poor Tiny is to be sacrificed?”
“Oh no; not so bad as that. I don’t despair of seeing Dick back at Penreife, and your dear sister its mistress.”
“Then I do,” cried Pin, bitterly; “for she’s drifting into a state of melancholy, and will let them persuade her to do what they wish. She thinks Richard has given her up, and deceived her; and soon she won’t care whether she lives or dies.”
“But, Fin—” said Pratt.
“Miss Rea, if you please, Mr Pratt,” said the girl, formally.
“Don’t be hard on me,” he pleaded. “I’m trying my best, and if I can only get some one to speak, I shall have the whole thing at my finger’s ends.”
“Then the sooner you do the better,” said Fin, sharply. “Good-bye.”
“One moment, dear,” whispered Pratt.
“Well, what is it?” said Fin.
“Give me one kind look, you beautiful little darling,” whispered Pratt.
Fin made a grimace, and then, as if in spite of herself, her bright eyes beamed on him for a moment ere she withdrew them.
“And now tell me this,” whispered Pratt; “if they say any more to you about Landells, or if he speaks to you, you’ll—you’ll—you’ll—”
“There, good-bye!” cried Fin. “How can you be such a goose? I haven’t patience with you—good-bye.”
There was a look accompanying that good-bye that sent a thrill through Frank Pratt, and he went back to his musty briefs as light as if treading on air.
On reaching his chambers, though, it was to find Barnard, the solicitor, waiting for him.
“Well, what news?” was Pratt’s greeting.
“Nothing more,” was the reply. “I’ve sent, and I’ve been myself. That this Vanleigh has compromised himself in some way, so that his marriage is impossible, I feel convinced; but a solution of the matter can only come from one pair of lips.”
“Well?”
“And they remain obstinately silent.”