"That you could make Lesbia your wife, if you found the cross. Yes, I did say that, and I still say it. If you get me the cross, you shall marry her and have the two thousand a year when I die. But it would be wiser for you to leave Lesbia alone and marry----"
"Marry whom?" asked George, his cheeks flaming.
"Maud Ellis," retorted Hale with a sneering laugh, and turned away.
[CHAPTER V]
MRS. WALKER'S OPINION
After that one extraordinary adventure which broke so remarkably the monotony of George Walker's life, things went very smoothly for a time. That is, they progressed in their usual humdrum way, which was trying to the young man's ambitious spirits. He wanted to marry Lesbia, to make a home for her, to attain a position, which her beauty would adorn; and he saw no means of doing so. He went regularly to the office, earned his small salary, and dreamed dreams which could never be realised, at least, there appeared to be no chance of realisation. What could a man of moderate attainments, with no money and no friends, hope to do in the way of cutting a figure in the world?
Mrs. Walker duly returned home, and Jenny gave her a highly-coloured account of the burglary, which she heard in stern silence. She was a tall, grim woman with a hard face and a stiff manner, and was invariably arrayed in plain black gowns devoid of any trimming whatever. Her hair, still dark in spite of her age, was smoothed over her temples in the plain early Victorian manner, and her pale countenance was as smooth as that of a young girl. That she was a gentlewoman could easily be seen, but her manner was repellent and suspicious. Also, her thin lips and hard grey eyes did not invite sympathy. How such a Puritanical person ever came to have a handsome, gracious son such as George, perplexed more than one person. The general opinion was that he inherited his looks and his charm of manner from his late father. Report credited the Honourable Aylmer Walker with more fascination than principle. And truth to tell, his posthumous reputation was better than that which he had enjoyed when living.
Having ascertained the facts of the burglary and the loss of the amethyst cross, Mrs. Walker held her peace, and did not discuss the subject with her son. George, indeed, ventured upon a lame explanation, which she received in dead silence. After the hint given by Mr. Hale, the young man was not desirous of disclosing his engagement to Lesbia, and a discussion about the stolen cross would inevitably lead to the truth becoming known to Mrs. Walker. Sooner or later he knew that he would have to speak, but he postponed doing so until he could see his future more clearly. If he could only procure a better post in the City, he could then afford to keep Lesbia in comparative comfort, and pass a love-in-a-cottage existence. But until he was in a position to do so, he avoided confiding in his mother. Also, Mrs. Walker was not a sympathetic mother, and would certainly not have encouraged the young man's love-dream.
But one evening Mrs. Walker unexpectedly broached the subject at dinner. This was seven days after the adventure of the cross, and during that time George had never set eyes on Lesbia. Several times he had rowed as usual to the garden's foot, but had waited in vain for the girl's appearance. An inquiry at the house provoked no response, as neither Tim nor Lesbia came to the fast-closed door. George in despair had written, but to his anxious letter had received no reply. Lesbia remained silent and the cottage barred and bolted, so George began to believe that Hale had smuggled away his daughter, lest she should elope with the lover of whom he so strongly disapproved. This state of uncertainty wore Walker's nerves thin, and he lost his appetite and his night's rest. Mechanically he went to Tait's office, did his daily work, and returned home again, fretting all the time after the girl who was beyond his reach. He even tried to see Mr. Hale, but that gentleman was conspicuous by his absence. Never was a lover in so dismal a situation.
On this especial evening George, in evening dress, faced his silent mother at the dinner-table. Mrs. Walker wore a plain black silk gown, perfectly cut, but wholly unadorned. Like Mr. Hale, she always insisted upon a certain style being observed and dined, so to speak, in state. The tiny room was well furnished with the remnants of her former prosperity, and looked like the abode of a gentlewoman. Nothing could have been more perfect than the table appointments and, if the food was plain, the way in which it was served left nothing to be desired. Jenny, neatly dressed, waited deftly and, at the conclusion of the dinner, placed a decanter of port before George, along with a silver box of cigarettes and a dainty silver spirit lamp.