Martin Gurwood started. From the time that Humphrey commenced to hesitate, a strange expression had crept over the face of his friend listening to him; but he was so enwrapped in the exposition of his own feelings that he scarcely noticed it.
'You, Humphrey Statham, in love with Alice Claxton!'
'Yes, I! I, whom every one had supposed to be so absorbed in business as to have no time, no care for what my City friends would doubtless look upon as sentimental nonsense. I knew better than that myself; I knew that my heart had by nature been created capable of feeling love; I knew that from experience, Martin; but I thought that the power of loving had died out, never to come again. I was wrong; it has come again, thank God! Never in my life have I been under the influence of a feeling so deep, so true and tender, as that which I have for Alice Claxton.'
As Humphrey ceased speaking, Mr. Collins put his head into the room, and told his chief that Mr. Brevoort was in his carriage at the end of the court, and desired to see him. In an instant Humphrey resumed his business-like manner.
'Excuse me an instant, Martin; Mr. Brevoort is half paralysed, and cannot leave his carriage, so I must go to him. I shall be back in five minutes; wait here and think over what I have just said to you.--Now, Collins!' And he was gone.
Think over what had just been said to him! Martin Gurwood could do that without a second bidding. The words were ringing in his ears; the sense they conveyed seemed clogging and deadening his brain. Humphrey Statham in love with Alice Claxton--with his Alice--with the woman whom he had come to look upon as his own, and in whose sweet companionship he had fondly hoped to pass the remainder of his life! Her attraction must be great, indeed, if she could win the affections of such a man as Statham--calm, shrewd, and practical, not likely to be influenced merely by a pretty face or an interesting manner. The news came upon Martin like a thunderbolt. In all the long hours which he had devoted to the consideration of his love for Alice--to self-probing and examination--the idea of any rivalry had never entered into his mind. Not that, owing to Alice's secluded life or peculiar position, Martin had imagined himself secure; but the idea had never crossed his mind. She was there, and he loved her; that was all he knew. Something like a pang of jealousy, indeed, he experienced, on reading Humphrey's letter, telling of Mr. Henrich Wetter's visits to Pollington-terrace; but that, though it had the effect of inducing him to start for London, was but a temporary trouble. He had guessed from what Humphrey wrote, he was sure from what Humphrey said, that this Wetter was not the style of man to captivate a woman of Alice's refinement; and he felt that the principal reason for putting a stop to his visits would be the preventing any chance of Alice's being exposed to annoyance or insult.
But what he had just heard placed matters in a very different light. Here was Humphrey Statham avowing his love for Alice; Humphrey, his own familiar friend, whom he had consulted in his trouble when the story of the Claxton mystery was first revealed to shim by Doctor Haughton; Humphrey, who had been the first to see Alice with a view of opening negotiations with her at the time when they so misjudged her real character and position, and who, as Martin well recollected, even then was impressed with her beauty and her modesty, and returned to fight her battles with him. Yes, Humphrey Statham had been her first champion; but that was no reason he should be her last. That gave him no monopoly of right to love and tend her. Was there any baseness, any treachery, Martin wondered, in his still cherishing his own feelings towards Alice, after having heard his friend's confession? Let him think it out then and there; for that was the crowning moment of his life.
He sat there for some minutes, his head bowed, his hands clasped together on his knees. All that he had gone through since he first heard in the drawing-room at Great Walpole-street the true story of John Calverley's death; his first feelings of repulsion and aversion to the woman whom he believed to have been the bane of his mother's life; his colloquies with Statham; his first visit to Hendon; his meeting with Pauline, and their plot for keeping Alice in ignorance of the fact that the funeral had taken place: all this passed through Martin Gurwood's mind during his reverie. Passed through his mind also a recollection of the gradual manner in which he softened to the heartbroken, friendless girl, recognising her as the victim instead of the betrayer, and finding in her qualities which were rare amongst those of her sex who stood foremost and fearless in the approbation of the world. Was the day-dream in which he had of late permitted himself to indulge to vanish in this way? Was he to give up the one great hope of gladdening his life, the mere anticipation of which seemed to have changed the current of his being? No; that was his determination. Humphrey Statham was the best, the truest, the dearest fellow in the world; but this was almost a matter of life and death, in which no question of sentimental friendship should have weight. He would tell Humphrey frankly and squarely what were his own feelings for Alice Claxton, and they would go in then, in rancourless rivalry, each to do his best to win her. And as he arrived at this decision the door opened, and Humphrey Statham returned.
'Well!' he cried, running up in his boisterous way with outstretched hands, 'you have been lost in reflection, I suppose--chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancy. Not bitter though, I hope; there is no bitterness to you, Martin, in my avowal; nor to any one else, I fancy, for the matter of that, unless it be that precious article, Mr. Wetter.'
'I have been thinking over what you told me, Humphrey; and I was going to--'