CHAPTER IX
[MR. ELY HAS A LETTER]
Mr. Ely took a cab into the city. On the road he stopped to buy a ring. He was the kind of man whose determination is intensified by opposition. He had been half in love with Miss Truscott before he met his German friend; now, in his own peculiar way, he was quite. Miss Ruth Rosenbaum was the youngest and most prepossessing of the six, and that there had been certain passages between them he was well aware. But in any case her father's attempt to force his daughter down his throat would have had the effect of making him fly off at a tangent in quite another direction. Now the effect it had upon him was to send him off helter-skelter to purchase Miss Truscott an engagement-ring. But he was the man of business even then. The jeweller found some difficulty in meeting his requirements. What Mr. Ely wanted was an article of the greatest value at the smallest cost. For instance, for a ring priced at a hundred and fifty guineas he offered fifteen pounds--and this with such an air of making a first-rate bid that the tradesman did not know whether to treat it as an insult or a jest. Finally he expended twenty pounds, and had his value for it, rest assured.
Directly he entered the Stock Exchange he encountered Mr. Ash.
"I had your wire," began that gentleman. "I congratulate you, my dear boy."
"Yes." Mr. Ely looked the other straight in the face, which was a trick he had when there was something which he particularly wished to say. Then he slipped his arm through Mr. Ash's, and drew that gentleman aside. "She's a fine girl, Ash--finer than I thought she was. Finest girl in England, in the world, by George she is!"
Mr. Ash was a little surprised at his friend's enthusiasm. But he let no sign of this escape him.
"She's a good girl too, my boy."
"Best girl ever yet I came across."
"And she's true--true as a die."
"Truer--truest girl ever yet I saw."
"And when she says she loves a man----" Mr. Ash paused. He glanced at his friend. Mr. Ely gave no sign. "When she says she loves a man, you may be quite certain that she does."
Mr. Ely looked down at his toes, then up at Mr. Ash.
"I've bought the ring."
"What! The wedding-ring!"
"The wedding-ring! Good gad, no! I never thought of that. It's the engagement ring I've got."
"The other one comes after, eh?"
"I gave twenty sovereigns for it."
"That's a pile." What the smile meant in Mr. Ash's eyes it would be difficult to say.
"He wanted forty-five. I beat him down. Said I'd seen its own brother at Attenborough's for ten." There was a pause. Then Mr. Ely began again. "I say, Ash, when do you think the wedding could come off?"
"In a hurry? Well, what do you say to twelve months, my boy?"
"Twelve months! Twelve months be hanged! A month's enough for me."
"A month! The girl won't have time to turn herself round. And you've a house to take, and all the rest of it."
"You say the word, and I'll have a house by to-morrow night, and get it furnished in a week."
"But, my dear boy, you don't seem to be aware that the lady generally has a voice in that kind of thing."
"You say a month, and I'll make it right with her."
"You may marry her to-morrow for all I care.
"I should like to marry her to-morrow," said Mr. Ely candidly; "but--I suppose it'll have to be a month."
But even a month was not an impassable space of time. Mr. Ely reflected that there were a good many things which must be done--it should be a lunar month, he decided in his own mind--his time would be much occupied, the days would quickly pass, and then--then the maid with the big eyes, the finest girl in the world, the best and the truest, would be his bride.
His happiness was consummated on the following morning. It had never occurred to him to suggest that there should be any correspondence. He was not a man who was fond of writing himself, and a love-letter--the idea of a sane man writing a love-letter!--was an idea which up to the present moment had never entered his mind. And that in spite of a certain unfortunate document which was in the possession of Miss Ruth Rosenbaum. So when he found upon his breakfast table the following morning a large square envelope, addressed to "Frederic Ely, Esq." in an unmistakably feminine hand, the postmark of which was Shanklin, his heart gave quite a jump.
It was from Miss Truscott, as sure as fate: the first letter from his love?