‘Alone. Now, if we could only find Margaret Boulton’——
Eleanor rose from her seat, and approached Mr Carver slowly. Then she said calmly: ‘There is no difficulty about that; she is at my house now. I found her only last night on Waterloo Bridge—in fact, I saved her.’
‘Saved her? Didn’t I say there was a providence in it? Saved her?’
‘From suicide!’
A quarter of an hour later, Eleanor was standing outside Mr Carver’s office, evidently seeking a companion. From the bright flush on her face and the sparkle in her eyes, hope—and a strong hope—had revived. She stood there, quite unconscious of the admiration of passers-by, sweeping the street in search of her quest. Presently the object she was seeking came in view. He was a tall man, of slight figure, with blue eyes deeply sunk in a face far from handsome, but full of intellectual power and great character; a heavy, carelessly trimmed moustache hid a sensitive mouth, but did not disguise a bright smile. That face and figure was a famous one in London, and people there turned in the busy street to watch Jasper Felix, and admire his rugged powerful face and gaunt figure. He came swinging down the street now with firm elastic step, and treated Eleanor to one of his brightest smiles.
‘Did you think I had forgotten you?’ he said. ‘I have been prowling about Gray’s Inn Road, for, sooth to say, the air of Bedford Row does not agree with me.’
‘I hope I have not detained you,’ said Eleanor timidly; ‘I know how valuable your time is to you.’
‘My dear child, don’t mention it,’ replied the great novelist lightly; ‘my time has been well occupied. First, I have been watching a fight between two paviors. Do you know it is quite extraordinary how those powerful men can knock each other about without doing much harm. Then I have been having a long chat with an intellectual chimney-sweep—a clever man, but a great Radical. I have spent quite an enjoyable half-hour.’
‘A half-hour! Have I been so long? Mr Felix, I am quite horrified at having taken up so much of your time.’