II
Mr Coventry chartered a fly to the Steyne. He drew up at the house in which lived the little woman with the foot. The person who opened the door informed him that Miss Hardy was in. He rushed upstairs without waiting to be announced. The little woman was seated writing at a table. At his entrance she rose with a start--as well she might.
"Miss Hardy, I--I want to speak to you."
"Mr Coventry."
As the lady stood facing the gentleman she turned a little pale, or perhaps it was a curious effect of the lamplight shining in her face. As for the gentleman's complexion, any suggestion of pallor was ridiculous. A ripe tomato was the best comparison which could have been applied to him.
"I beg ten thousand pardons, but I--I've been with that Murphy woman in the train!"
The girl said nothing. Her big brown eyes were fixed upon her visitor's countenance. In them was a look of not unjustifiable inquiry.
"I--I daresay you think that I'm mad; but I'm not. The fact is, Miss Hardy, I've had a stroke of luck!"
"I am glad to hear it."
"Is that all?"
"What else would you have me say?"
The intensity of the gaze which the gentleman kept fixed upon the lady she must have found a little trying. All at once he went forward. He brought his hand down heavily on the little table at which she was standing.
"Dora, I love you!"
The remark was sudden. The girl for a moment was silent, as if she could scarcely believe her ears. Then a wave of vivid red went up all over her, so that it even dyed the roots of her hair. In her eyes were tears.
"Mr Coventry!"
"Dora, I love you!" If she had had eyes to see, which may be doubted, she might have seen that he was trembling. His words came from him like a flood. "I don't ask you to say that you love me; I know you can't; but I do ask you to say that one day you will try!"
The girl was trembling too.
"Mr Coventry, I--I cannot think you are in earnest."
"You know I am."
As she looked into his eyes--and she did look, as though there was fascination in his glance--she could scarcely doubt that at least he thought he was. She tried to smile; the effort was a failure.
"But it's--it's so absurd. You know nothing of me. We are strangers. You only saw me the day before yesterday for the first time in your life."
"What does that matter? I know a man who met a girl upon the Friday and married her upon the Monday."
"Absurd!"
"Some men would be able to do this sort of thing in style; I can't. I know that this sort of thing comes to a man once in his life, and then in an instant. I know that I love you; I know that there will never be another woman to me like you. Some men do not take long to find out these things, you see!"
There was a pause. Then she at last looked down.
"I thought you mentioned something about pecuniary complications."
"This morning I had a hint from a friend; it has brought me in a fortune! There will be enough to settle up with, and something over to start again. And, Dora, I can work."
"Mr Coventry, do you clearly understand that I am a nameless nobody, who has to give music lessons for a living?"
"I understand that you are the woman whom I love!"
She turned her back to him. She moved across the room; she stood trifling with the fringe of the curtains.
"This is the maddest thing of which ever yet I heard."
He could hear that her voice was trembling.
"You know, Dora, I'm not asking you to say at once that you will be my wife. I daren't, and that's the fact; but I'm asking you one day to try to say you will. I want something to keep me going. I want something to save me from that woman Murphy."
"I believe 'that woman Murphy,' as you politely term the lady, is at the bottom of the compliment--I suppose I must call it so--which you have paid to me."
There was a curious intonation in the voice from the curtains.
"She has been making love to me. I couldn't stand that when I loved you, Dora!" The gentleman was creeping round the table. "Say that you will try!"
"Suppose I do?"
"Dora!"
She would not let him stay. They parted, this queer pair! He dined, not at his hotel, but at a restaurant on the Front; dined well! When he left it was with that good digestion which waits on appetite. He walked as if he walked on air. He certainly had the gift of making history quickly.
When he reached the hotel, an acquaintance stopped him at the door.
"The great Sarah is here."
"The great who?"
"Sarah! Miss Freemantle! The five-times millionaire."
Mr Coventry looked a trifle bored.
"I'm not interested in the lady."
"The deuce you aren't! I am; and, by Jove, I wish she were in me!"
"I'm sorry for you. Come in and have a smoke."
As they crossed the hall, someone was coming down the stairs. The acquaintance drew Mr Coventry a little aside.
"Here she is!" Mr Coventry glanced up. "That's Miss Freemantle, the little woman in black. She's not a bad-looking little thing."
Mr Coventry looked at the lady referred to. It was Dora Hardy! As she descended the staircase, she leant on Mr Gainsford's arm. On the gentleman's other side was Mrs Murphy. As he saw her, she saw him. The young lady dropped the gentleman's arm. She ran down the stairs with her hand stretched out.
"Mr Coventry!"
"Dora!"
She laughed--and blushed. She turned to her companions.
"I don't think I need trouble you after all, Mr Coventry will see me home."
Before Mr Coventry had realised the situation he found himself in the open air with the lady. They turned, perhaps instinctively, towards Hove. It happened, that night, that that part of the Front was almost deserted. They walked some little distance before the gentleman recovered the use of his tongue.
"Dora--what--what cock-and-bull story was that fool telling me?"
"I really cannot say."
"He--he said that you--you were the great Sarah."
"So I am. Don't I look it?"
The gentleman stopped dead. He groaned.
"What--what a fool I've been!"
"You flatter me."
They resumed their promenade. Her hand stole towards his.
"George, are you sorry you said you loved me?"
"Dora, is--is it a joke?"
"No, George, it's not a joke, it's a romance."
"What--what have I done?"
"Made me happy. Isn't that enough to do?"
They stopped again, under a gas-lamp. It was fortunate so few persons were about.
"George, I have a confession to make. It was not you who fell in love with me, it was I who fell in love with you."
"Dora!"
"It is true. It was at Lady Brentford's ball. I saw you there for the first time. I fell in love with you--at sight. You see, when your turn came, you did not make up your mind more rapidly than I had done. It was a case of Goethe's mutual affinity! I saw you at other houses. I went to them on purpose to see you, but I took care never to be introduced to you."
"Why?"
"You know that I am the great Sarah, George. But when I found that you had come to the very hotel at which I was stopping, I formed a little plot. I changed my quarters, I dropped the Freemantle, and became Miss Hardy. Then--then I thrust myself right into your path, and--and it was all soon over. Are you sorry, George?"
"Sorry! But--but about those notes?"
"You goose! They came from me. I knew you had been betting, and I knew that you had lost. I didn't want to lose you for a pound or two. But when you told me that you would not owe your salvation to a woman's money--not knowing who the woman was--why, then I sent you the 'tip' for Ceruleans instead. It was the best thing that I ever did, for it brought me you."
Mr Coventry took off his hat. He wiped his brow. He seemed to be turning matters over in his mind.
"I shall always call you Dora."
"Call me what you please."
"Darling!"