“Earnshaw!” he cried, dropping his voice low, “I have not asked you yet—how did you get on, poor fellow, up at the Square?”
“I don’t quite know,” said Edgar—“better than I hoped; but I must see Mr. Thornleigh, or write to him. Which will be the best?”
“Look here,” said Mr. Tottenham, “I’ll do that for you. I know Thornleigh; he’s not a bad fellow at bottom, except when he’s worried. He sees when a thing’s no use. I daresay he’d make a stand, if there was any hope; but as you’re determined, and Gussy’s determined——”
“We are,” said Edgar. “Don’t think I don’t grudge her as much as anyone can to poverty and namelessness; but since it is her choice——”
“So did Mary,” said Mr. Tottenham, following out his own thoughts, with a comprehensible disregard of grammar. “They stood out as long as they could, but they had to give in at last; and so must everybody give in at last, if only you hold to it. That’s the secret—stick to it!—nothing can stand against that.” He wrung Edgar’s hand, and patted him on the back, by way of encouragement. “But don’t tell anyone I said so,” he added, nodding, with a humorous gleam out of his grey eyes.
Edgar found more letters awaiting him at his club—letters of the same kind as yesterday’s, which he read with again a totally changed sentiment. Clare had gone into the background, Gussy had come uppermost. He read them eagerly, with his mind on the stretch to see what might be made of them. Everybody was kind. “Tell us what you can do—how we can help you,” they said. After all, it occurred to him now, in the practical turn his mind had taken, “What could he do?” The answer was ready—“Anything.” But then this was a very vague answer, he suddenly felt; and to identify any one thing or other that he could do, was difficult. He was turning over the question deeply in his mind, when a letter, with Lord Newmarch’s big official seal, caught his eye. He opened it hurriedly, hoping to find perhaps a rapid solution of his difficulty there. It ran thus:—
“My dear Earnshaw,
“I am sorry to be obliged to inform you that, after keeping us in a state of uncertainty for about a year, Runtherout has suddenly announced to me that he feels quite well again, and means to resume work at once, and withdraw his resignation. He attributes this fortunate change in his circumstances to Parr’s Life Pills, or something equally venerable. I am extremely sorry for this contretemps, which at once defeats my desire of serving you, and deprives the department of the interesting information which I am sure your knowledge of foreign countries would have enabled you to transmit to us. The Queen’s Messengers seem indeed to be in a preternaturally healthy condition, and hold out few hopes of any vacancy. Accept my sincere regrets for this disappointment, and if you can think of anything else I can do to assist you, command my services.
“Believe me, dear Earnshaw,
“Very truly yours,
“Newmarch.
“P.S.—What would you say to a Consulship?”