"Nonsense," replied Dr. Jim, "she has no thought of me. I like her very much but in my present state of poverty I could not ask her to be my wife."
Joyce said nothing more, but the next week took his leave. He was much missed in Saxham where his bright talk and merry face had made him a general favourite. The Biff's especially were sorry. Bess had foregathered with Joyce on the common ground of literature, and she lamented when he departed.
"Why can't you stay here?" she said in her blunt way, "you can work better in the country."
"No, Miss Bess. I am like Charles Lamb; London is my home. I cannot get enough of the divine fire in this tame locality."
"There is nothing tame about it," cried Bess fired with indignation.
Joyce laughed. "Not to you perhaps; but I prefer London myself. However, I hope you will let me come down and see you at times. And we can correspond. And if you have any manuscripts you think well of, send them to me. I will see what I can do with them."
This arrangement was made, and Robin, taking a friendly leave of Jim went back to his West Kensington fiat. He wrote frequently at first, but after a time his letters became rarer. Herrick was sorry, but on the whole somewhat relieved to be rid of such a burden. For Robin was one of those people who are delightful to meet and terrible to live with. Had he been ill or in trouble the conscientious Jim would have stayed with him. But since he had been particularly well after that attack of nerves when the body was discovered, there was no necessity for Herrick to martyrise himself further.
And besides Jim had fallen seriously in love with Ida Endicotte. When Mrs. Marsh was fairly on the road to recovery, Stephen had taken Jim over to Saxham and introduced him to the Biffs. They lived in a tumbledown house of considerable size, down a deep and leafy lane. At one time the Endicottes had been great folks, but the late Mr. Endicotte who had married the daughter of an Earl, had squandered the revenues of the family. His wife Lady Arabella had died of sheer worry, and Mr. Endicotte had found himself alone with five children and an impoverished estate.
For a time he did his best to keep things together, but ultimately died--as it was said--of a broken heart. It seemed probable that the five children would go on the parish. "What a fall for the haughty Endicotte."
It was at this juncture that Lord Gartham stepped in. He was an Irish peer, and poor himself, but he could not see his sister's children entirely penniless. Ida the eldest was twenty-four when her father died; Bess, had reached the age of twenty-three; and Sidney the youngest, was sixteen. The five Endicottes were all handsome, and had high spirits; but poorer than the proverbial church mouse. What was to be done?