II.
It is six months later and mid-winter, and the time is again the evening. The day has been gloomy, with a fog heavy enough to cause the offices to be lit with gas, so that the eyes of all London are red and the heads of all London are heavy.
Lily stepped outside the post-office, work done. She was going home.
At the door stood her sweetheart, waiting for her. She tossed her head and made as if she would pass him without speaking. But he stepped after and walked beside her.
“No, Lily,” he said, “I will speak to you; even if you don’t answer my letters you shall hear me speak.”
“You have disgraced yourself,” she said.
“Yes, I know. But you will forgive me. It is the first time. I swear it is the first time.”
Well, it was truly the first time that she had seen him in such a state.
“Oh, to be a drunkard!” she replied. “Oh, could I ever believe that I should see you rolling about the street?”
“It was the first time, Lily, and it shall be the last. Forgive me and 443 take me on again. If you give me up I shall go to the devil!”
“Charley”—her voice broke into a sob—“you have made me miserable—I was so proud of you. No other girl, I thought, had such a clever sweetheart; and last Tuesday—oh! it’s dreadful to think of.”
“Yes, Lily, I know. There’s only one excuse. I spoke for more than an hour, and I was exhausted. So what I took went to my head. Another time I should not have felt it a bit. And when I found myself staggering I was going home as fast as possible, and as bad luck would have it, I must needs meet you.”
“Good luck, I call it. Else I might never have found it out till too late.”
“Lily, make it up. Give me another chance. I’ll swear off. I’ll take the pledge.”
He caught her hand and held it.
“Oh, Charley,” she said, “if I can only trust you.”
“You can, you must, Lily. For your sake I will take the pledge. I will do whatever you ask me to do.”
She gave way, but not without conditions.
“Well,” she said, “I will try to think no more about it. But, Charley, remember, I could never, never, never marry a man who drinks.”
“You never shall, dear,” he replied, earnestly.
“And then, another thing, Charley. This speaking work—oh! I know it is clever and that—but it doesn’t help us forward. How long is it since you determined to learn shorthand, because it would advance you so much? And French, because a clerk who can write French is worth double? Where are your fine resolutions?”
“I will begin again—I will practise hard; see now, Lily, I will do all you want. I will promise anything to please you—and do it, too. See if I won’t. Only not quite to give up the speaking. Think how people are beginning to look up to me. Why, when we get a 444 reformed House, and the members are paid, they will send me to Parliament—me! I shall be a member for Camden Town. Then I shall be made Home Secretary, or Attorney General, or something. You will be proud, Lily, of your husband when he is a distinguished man. There’s a splendid time for us—ahead!”
“Yes, dear. But first you know you have got to get a salary that we can live on.”
He left her at her door with a kiss and a laugh, and turned to go home. In the next street he passed a public-house. He stopped, he hesitated, he felt in his pocket, he went in and had a go, just a single go—Lily would never find out—of Scotch, cold. Then he went home and played at practising shorthand for an hour. He had promised his Lily. She should see how well he could keep his promise.