Its familiar commonplaces both comforted and jarred upon him. He felt like a convalescent from some near-mortal illness, welcoming back life while half-regretting his balked escape from it. But the direction he instinctively took brought solace to him with every step. It was over Miss Halifax’s desk that the apparition had bent; it was to Miss Halifax that he turned for reassurance and explanation.
Would she have gone to bed? He put on agitated pace with the thought. The flat was close by, and he was not long in reaching it. Finding the lift-porter absent, he ran up the stairs in his impatience, and came upon the gentleman himself in whispering colloquy with the maid at the young lady’s door. The two were full of confusion; he put it and them pleasantly by, intimating that he would announce himself. A sound of music came from the drawing-room, and, without ceremony in his urgency, he opened the door softly and entered. Miss Halifax was seated at the piano, and over her, his arm familiarly wreathed about her neck, stood Herbert Nestle.
They both started, and, turning on the instant, the girl rose to her feet.
“Mr Balm!” she whispered. The colour fled from her face as he looked at her; the secretary stood, as he had stepped suddenly back, hanging his head sheepishly. Without a moment’s hesitation, and with a smile on his lips, Gilead shut the door and hurried forward.
“O! you must forgive me,” he said. “It is quite undesigned—quite. But, being so, let us all congratulate ourselves on this accident. I have long suspected this, believe me, and I wish you both happiness with all my heart. But why would you never tell me? Be assured I should have honoured and rejoiced in the confidence.”
Vera’s lips moved, but no sound came from them. She glanced at the secretary; he lifted his head and cleared his throat in a sudden spasm. His face was as pale as the young lady’s; his eyes, seen through his glasses, expressed even a magnified perturbation.
“I—I was on the point of going, sir,” he said. “You—you imply—you anticipate, at least.”
“I hope not; I am sure not,” answered Gilead gravely. “You must balance the significance of your words, Nestle. You should know me sufficiently by this time to trust in the fullness of my sympathy. There is no reason in the world why this should longer be kept a secret; and if you ever had any doubts as to my personal approval, so far as it is in question, rest convinced that I could imagine no union more ideally conceived. You will not consider yourselves,” he said, his voice quivering a little, “when wedded and because wedded, the less wedded to our joint interests, I am certain.”
With tears springing to her eyes, the young lady took an impulsive step forward.
“Mr Balm,” she began—“this mistake—”