“About money or love?”
“About neither, as it happens.”
“I thought there were only two things worried men, and the want of money was the worst. Well, we must all have it; but I have been more than worried, I have been upset; I have seen a ghost!”
“A ghost?”
“Yes, the ghost of a dead love! There, can you guess what I mean? Well, I suppose not, so I must tell you. But I have really been shocked; I have seen John Temple in the flesh, though looking so awfully ill that he was much more like a dead man than a living one.”
“Where did you see him?” asked Webster, quickly.
“I will tell you. Yesterday morning I drove down to see Mr. Harrison, the solicitor, as I wanted to be quite certain whether John Temple is the man who has come into the fortune, as Dereham was so positive that he was. Well, you know Harrison’s offices are at Westminster, and I saw the old boy sure enough, but he was as sly as a fox. He did not deny that John Temple was the man ‘that ultimately, mind ultimately, my dear madam,’ he kept repeating, would succeed to his uncle’s estate or estates. ‘But his position at present is unchanged,’ he added, and he threw ice on my suggestion that I should have an increased allowance. ‘When Mr. John Temple succeeds to the property the question can then be mooted,’ and so on. In fact I got no satisfaction for my trouble, and when I came out of the office in a very bad humor I told the cabman to drive over Westminster bridge and back again, as I thought the river air might improve my temper.”
“And you went?” asked Webster, eagerly.
“I went; I was in a hansom, and when we got to the other end of the bridge I told the man to turn back. He did so, and there was a block as we re-crossed, and I was bending out of the cab to see what was going to happen, when my eyes fell on the figure of a man leaning on the parapet of the bridge, and staring into the river below. As I was looking at him, he lifted his head and looked around, and I saw a ghost—the ghost of John Temple! But, oh, so horribly changed! He looked haggard, worn, and old, and a sort of pity—such fools are women—crept into my heart as I looked at him. I felt sorry for him; I thought he must be in some terrible trouble, and so I felt I should like to speak to him. I pulled out my handkerchief and waved it to attract his attention, and someone told him of this, for he looked quickly up at the cab, and our eyes met! I wish you had seen the look of horror that came over his face, of shuddering horror, as he recognized me. It was hatred! He glared at me just for a moment, and then turned and fled as if the devil himself were after him. There, what do you think of that? The end of a dead love!”