“I ought to have been there. So I have no doubt for the present the Pagan remains stubborn. Gone on into Italy I hear; doing me, violating the laws of Nature, and roving about the world, with his own solitary hands in his bottomless pockets,—like the wandering Jew! But, as some slight set-off in my run of ill-luck, I find at the post-office a pleasanter letter than the one which brings me this news. A rich elderly lady, who has no family, wants to adopt a nice child; will take Sophy,—make it worth my while to let her have Sophy. ‘T is convenient in a thousand ways to settle one’s child comfortably in a rich house; establishes rights, subject, of course, to cheques which would not affront me,—a father! But the first thing requisite is to catch Sophy: ‘t is in that I ask your help; you are so clever. Best of creatures! what could I do without you? As you say, whenever I want a friend I come to you,—Bella!”
Mrs. Crane surveyed Jasper’s face deliberately. It is strange how much more readily women read the thoughts of men than men detect those of women. “You know where the child is,” said she, slowly.
“Well, I take it for granted she is with the old man; and I have seen him,—seen him yesterday.”
“Go on; you saw him,—where?”
“Near London Bridge.”
“What business could you possibly have in that direction? Ah! I guess, the railway station to Dover: you are going abroad?”
“No such thing; you are so horribly suspicious. But it is true I had been to the station inquiring after some luggage or parcels which a friend of mine had ordered to be left there; now, don’t interrupt me. At the foot of the bridge I caught a sudden glimpse of the old man,—changed, altered, aged, one eye lost. You had said I should not know him again, but I did; I should never have recognized his face. I knew him by the build of the shoulder, a certain turn of the arms, I don’t know what; one knows a man familiar to one from birth without seeing his face. Oh, Bella; I declare that I felt as soft,—as soft as the silliest muff who ever—” Jasper did not complete his comparison, but paused a moment, breathing hard, and then broke into another sentence. “He was selling something in a basket,—matches, boot-straps, deuce knows what. He! a clever man too! I should have liked to drop into that d——d basket all the money I had about me.”
“Why did not you?”
“Why? How could I? He would have recognized me. There would have been a scene,—a row, a flare up, a mob round us, I dare say. I had no idea it would so upset me; to see him selling matches too; glad we did not meet at Gatesboro’. Not even for that L100 do I think I could have faced him. No; as he said when we last parted, ‘The world is wide enough for both.’ Give me some brandy; thank you.”
“You did not speak to the old man; he did not see you: but you wanted to get back the child; you felt sure she must be with him; you followed him home?”