“Markham, can you suppose for a moment that I think it less honourable?” said Fairfax; “quite otherwise. But does it mean——? Stop, I must tell you something before I ask you any questions. That little beggar who calls himself your brother——”
“I believe he is my brother,” said Paul, formally; and then he added with another laugh: “that is the noble development to which the house of Markham has come.”
“He is there. Yes, in the dining-room, waiting for his luncheon. One moment, Markham!—we were at the inn in the village together, and he has hung himself on to me. What could I do? he knew nothing about London; he is as helpless as a baby. And the ladies,” said Fairfax, his countenance changing, “the ladies—take it as a sign that I am siding with him against you.”
He felt a quiver come over his face like that of a boy who is complaining of ill-usage, and for the moment could scarcely subdue a rueful laugh at his own expense; but Paul laughed no more. He became more than ever like the head of an office, too young for his post, and solemnised by the weight of it. His face shaped itself into still more profound agreement with the solemnity of those black clothes.
“Pardon me, my good fellow,” he said. Paul was not one of the men to whom this mode of address comes natural. There was again a theatrical heroism in his look. “Pardon me; but in such a matter as this I don’t see what your siding could do for either one or the other. It is fact that is in question, nothing else.”
And with a hasty good day he turned and went down the steps where they had been talking. Fairfax was left alone, and never man stood on the steps of a club and looked out upon the world and the passing cabs and passengers with feelings more entirely uncomfortable. He had not been unfaithful in a thought to his friend, but all the circumstances were against him. For a few minutes he stood and reflected what he should do. He could not go and sit down at table comfortably with the unconscious little man who had made the breach; and yet he could not throw him over. Finally he sent a message by one of the servants to tell Gus that he had been called unexpectedly away, and set off down the street at his quickest pace. He walked a long way before he stopped himself. He was anxious to make it impossible that he should meet either Gus again or Paul. Soon the streets began to close in. A dingier and darker part of London received him. He walked on, half interested, half disgusted. How seldom, save perhaps in a hansom driven at full speed, had he ever traversed those streets leading one out of another, these labyrinths of poverty and toil. As he went on, thinking of many things that he had thought of lightly enough in his day, and which were suggested by the comparison between the region in which he now found himself and that which he had left—the inequalities and unlikeness of mankind, the strange difference of fate—his ear was suddenly caught by the sound of a familiar voice. Fairfax paused, half thinking that it was the muddle in his mind, caused by that association of ideas with the practical drama of existence in which he found himself involved, which suggested this voice to him; but looking round he suddenly found himself, as he went across one of the many narrow streets which crossed the central line of road, face to face with the burly form of Spears.
CHAPTER IV.
“You here, too,” said the demagogue; “I thought this was a time when all you fine folks were enjoying yourselves, and London was left to the toilers and moilers.”
“Am I one of the fine folks? I am afraid that proves how little you know of them, Spears.”
“Well, I don’t pretend to know much,” said Spears. “Markham’s here, too. And what is all this about Markham? I don’t understand a word of it.”