'Well, yes. Always remembering, of course, that I am only a man, and she----'
'Oh, Lord! Excuse me. Yes; you are only a man, as you so truly say; and she is--your landlady's daughter. Well, well, upon the whole, and giving her interests a fair show, I think my advice would be precisely the same--clear out to-morrow.'
'And what about her future?'
'My dear man, am I a reasoning human being, or a novelette-reading jelly-fish? Did I not say that having regard to the interests of both, that is my advice? Kindly credit me with the modicum of intelligence required for adequate consideration of both sides. It isn't an international complication, you know; neither is it a situation entirely without precedent in history. But, mind you, I'm perfectly well aware that no advice, however good, is ever of any practical use; least of all in circumstances of this order. It does, I believe, occasionally impel its victim in the direction opposite to the one indicated. Yes, and especially in such cases. Well, my friend, upon reconsideration then, my advice is that first thing to-morrow morning you proceed to Doctors' Commons, wherever and whatever that may be, procure a special licence, and many the girl. Only--don't you dare to ask me to have anything to do with it.'
The suggestion has a fantastic look, but I am more than half inclined to think Heron's final piece of advice did have its bearing upon my subsequent actions. For it started a train of thought in my mind regarding marriage. It gave a practical shape to mere vague imaginings. It set me looking into details. For example, I distinctly remember murmuring to myself as I turned the corner of Heron's street:
'Yes, after all, I suppose getting married is quite a simple job, really. There are registrar's offices, aren't there? I suppose it's pretty well as simple, really, as getting a new coat.'
How Heron would have grinned if he had been able to follow this soliloquy!
Fanny was on her knees before my hearth when I reached my room. The lamp burned clear and soft beside my blotting-pad. The fire glowed cheerily, and Fanny had just swept the hearth, so that no speck showed upon it. And my slippers were in the fender. Less than a year earlier my homecomings had been singularly different; a dark, cold room in a malodorous house, with very possibly a drunken couple brawling on the landing outside.
But there were tears in Fanny's eyes. The mother was in one of her vicious tempers, it seemed, and had gone to bed in her basement room with the keys of larder and kitchen, and a bottle of gin. The daughter's last meal had been whatever she could get for midday dinner. And it was now nine o'clock in the evening.
'Just you wait there. Don't stir from where you arc. I'll be back in three minutes,' I told her.