“Graves,” I said, “I hope you won’t thing I’ve been underhand or treacherous about this. I’d have told you, only that it came on pretty suddenly. I didn’t really know until this morning, and then it put everything else out of my head. I acted upon impulse, Graves—upon my word I did! I missed her so much in the office to-day—”
“Yes,” said he, with a sigh. “It was pretty bad, wasn’t it?”
“And I just hurried off, you know—to call upon her. Graves, old man, it’s—in fact, there’s nothing doing. She’s engaged—she’s been engaged for two years to some young—”
“Oh, I knew that,” said Graves.
“What?” I cried.
“She told me in the very beginning,” said Graves. “Naturally she didn’t want it talked about, but she explained it to me. It seems this fellow didn’t take her seriously enough. He had plenty of money, but he expected her to settle down there in Norfolk and just be his wife. She didn’t say so, but I gathered that he’s a domineering sort of young chap. She said that if they started in that way, they’d never be happy. She had to show him that she amounted to something on her own account; and he was impressed when she got a job here with us. She showed me a letter, or a part of a letter, from him about it. He got down from his high horse, I can tell you—said he knew she’d be making a sacrifice to give up her career and marry him, but he’d do his best to make it up to her, and so on.”
He paused.
“So you see,” he said, “it would have been a very bad thing for her—a very serious thing—if she’d been fired. Might have spoiled her whole future life. After she told me that, and appealed to me, why, I had to—don’t you see?”
“But, Graves,” said I, “didn’t you—weren’t you—personally—”
“Pshaw!” said Graves, turning red. “D’you know, my boy, I read a story once about a hangman who was a pretty good sort of fellow when he was at home. Ever occur to you that even the matador mayn’t be as black as he’s painted?[Pg 90]”