"Know him?" Rathbone said. "My dear Charliewood, surely you see that it's impossible that I should meet a man to whom I have unconsciously done such a great injury."
"Ah," Charliewood answered, "you don't know William. It is just the possibility which makes his character so fine. Practically, what he said to me was this. 'You know this young fellow, Eustace. Is he a decent sort of man? A gentleman in ideas, as well as in position, clean living and all that?' 'As far as I know,' I answered, 'he's just so in every way.'"
Once more Rathbone coloured up to the eyes.
Charliewood went on.
"Then William unburdened himself to me fully. 'I only want Marjorie Poole to be happy,' he said, 'and when the proper time arrives I shall just write and tell her so. I was fond of her, deeply fond of her; what man would not be? I thought if she cared for me that she would be a worthy mistress of my house, and an ideal partner to share my fortune and the position I have won. But I am much older than she is. I am immersed, as you know, in grave, scientific pursuits, and I quite realize that I could not give her what as a young girl she has a right to expect. I don't say that I relinquish my claim upon her without a pang, but I have other interests, and my wife and love could in any case only be a part of my life. Do you know what I should like to do more than anything else, Eustace?' 'What?' I said. 'Why,' he continued, 'to meet this young Mr. Rathbone. To tell him all that I am telling you, perfectly frankly, to shake him by the hand, and, by Jove, to be the best man at his wedding, if he'd let me. Then I shall get back to my inventions with a quiet mind, knowing that the only girl who has ever touched me in the least degree is safe and happy.'"
Rathbone pushed back his chair and jumped up.
"Why, heavens," he said, "what a noble fellow! There's a man, if you like. I can quite see it all, Charliewood, and you've relieved my mind of a tremendous weight. I can see it all quite distinctly. One of the most distinguished and charming men of the day sees a beautiful and intellectual girl and thinks the time has come when he must marry. Of course, he can't really know what love is, like a younger man or a man who has not made his mark in the world. He can't feel what I feel, for instance. And so he bows to the inevitable, and in the kindest and most chivalrous way wants to make every one happy. Charliewood! It's just like a story-book!"
"I don't read 'em myself much, the papers do for me. But, 'pon my soul, since you put it in that way, so it is."
Mr. Charliewood quite forgot to add what sort of story-book. Even the most popular novels of to-day don't always have the traditional happy ending.
"Sit down, old fellow," Charliewood said with great kindness. "You mustn't miss this chicken, it is a rather special dish, and I'm going to ring for William."