Gilbert Byfield picked up the letter again, and looked at it attentively; turned to the other man, and tapped the paper with a forefinger. "She's very well—and very happy," he said slowly. "Think of that, Quarle: for the first time in all her short life she is very well and very happy. I say to you—to the devil with your conventions and your laws—your prejudices and what not; this child is happy. I think you know in your heart that I shall do her no harm; in mercy let her remain where she is, for a little time at least, until I can decide what is to be done. Would you drag her back here again to slave for that drunken father and that lout of a brother; to face semi-starvation, and bills and duns, and every other sordid item that her life should never have known? Would you do that, Quarle?"
"Yes—I would," replied the other stoutly. "And keep her honest."
"She'll keep honest on her own account," said Gilbert. "For the present, I tell you the thing must remain as it is. Meggison won't speak, for his own sake; you won't speak—unless you want to break her heart."
"I'll promise nothing," said Quarle angrily. "You think you've got me in a corner so that I can't move—but I'll find a way to tell the truth without hurting her—or if I do hurt her a little it'll only be for her good. Oh—I wish I could make you understand what you're doing!"
"I tell you the thing was begun innocently enough," replied Gilbert. "I'm not responsible for what has happened—except that I ought to have known what kind of man Meggison was, and so have been prepared. For the present the thing must stand—and you must be silent."
"It shan't stand an hour longer than I can prevent," was Simon Quarle's final declaration as he went away.
Gilbert Byfield, reviewing the matter carefully so far as it had gone, was disposed first to be righteously indignant, and then to be amused. That which he had done on the mere quick generous impulse of the moment had suddenly turned into something so enormous, and yet so cunningly devised, that he did not quite see how he was to get out of it; on the other hand, the sheer audacity of it held his unwilling admiration even against his better judgment. At one moment he told himself that he must honestly and frankly declare what had happened, and must set himself right in the eyes of the girl; the next he saw that to do that would be to break down her self-respect completely, and to strip old Daniel Meggison of whatever virtues he possessed in the eyes of his daughter—both clearly possible. Therefore, not knowing what to do, he adopted what seemed to be the wisest course—and did nothing at all.
Arcadia Street having grown distasteful, alike because there was no Bessie Meggison next door, and because the stern face of Mr. Simon Quarle fronted him now and then on the staircase and in the street, he determined once more to go back to his own ordinary mode of life, at least for a week or two; and so came again in touch with Mr. Jordan Tant and the rest. If he thought at all of what might be happening at Fiddler's Green, he steadfastly strove to banish the matter from his mind, and told himself that in that he had succeeded. Nevertheless he was restless and unhappy; and his spirit hovered, as it were, in waking and sleeping moments alike, between Arcadia Street and Fiddler's Green, Sussex.
A fortnight later found him back again in Arcadia Street—there to discover another letter from Bessie, gently suggesting that he might have found time to write to her, and with a little general note of wistfulness in it that tugged at his heartstrings. Almost he determined to go down and see her; yet knew full well that he dared not do that, for the simple reason that he could not face those clear eyes and look into their depths. At last he told himself that he would get to work there in Arcadia Street, and would leave the problem to work itself out.
Like most problems it was destined to work itself out in a wholly unexpected fashion. It began to work itself out the very next day, with the arrival of Mr. Simon Quarle, who came in quickly, and closed the door, and looked at Byfield with a face of gloom. Gilbert waved his hand towards a chair to indicate that this unceremonious guest should sit down.