“No,” said Miss Scarlett to our representative who had called upon the clever and original young performer to ascertain when her marriage with Mr. Arthur Madden of “Somebody is sitting in the sunset” fame would take place. “No, Arthur and I have decided to wait till June. Frankly, we can’t afford to be married yet....”
and so on, with what was described as a portrait of Miss Sylvia Scarlet inset, but which without the avowal would probably have been taken for the thumbprint of a paperboy.
“This is all terribly vulgar,” Sylvia bewailed, but Jack, Arthur, and Olive were all firm in the need for thorough advertisement, and she acquiesced woefully. In January she and Arthur parted for their respective tours. Jack, before she went away, begged Sylvia for the fiftieth time to take back the money she had settled on her godchildren. He argued with her until she got angry.
“Jack, if you mention that again I’ll never come to your house any more. One of the most exquisite joys in all my life was when I was able to do that, and when you and Olive were sweet enough to let me, for you really were sweet and simple in those days and not purse-proud bourgeois, as you are now. Please, Jack!” She had tears in her eyes. “Don’t be unkind.”
“But supposing you have children of your own?” he urged.
“Jack, don’t go on. It really upsets me. I cannot bear the idea of that money’s belonging to anybody but the twins.”
“Did you tell Arthur?”
“It’s nothing to do with Arthur. It’s only to do with me. It was my present. It was made before Arthur came on the scene.”
With great unwillingness Jack obeyed her command not to say anything more on the subject.
Sylvia earned a good enough salary to pay off nearly all her debts by May, when her tour brought her to the suburban music-halls and she was able to amuse herself by house-hunting for herself and Arthur. All her friends, and not the least old ones like Gladys and Enid, took a profound interest in her approaching marriage. Wedding-presents even began to arrive. The most remarkable omen of the gods’ pleasure was a communication she received in mid-May from Miss Dashwood’s solicitors to say that Miss Dashwood had died and had left to Sylvia in her will the freehold of Mulberry Cottage with all it contained. Olive was enraptured with her good fortune, and wanted to telegraph to Arthur, who was in Leeds that week; but Sylvia said she would rather write: