Of course a blow followed. When Abednego had pulled himself together, and wiped the blood from his face, he said, in tones now quivering with rage,—
“You young scoundrel, you shall suffer for this!”
That was the end of the interview. Jermyn withdrew at once, wrathful and defeated, and next day the bill for “a monkey” was dishonoured.
Now, strange as it may appear, Harry Jermyn had really married Baby Somerville of the Frivolity, a shapely, vain, and heartless woman, incapable of an affection, except perhaps for some brute of a chorus man. There was a period in her career, however, when she was considered chic by a certain number of men about town. Jermyn unfortunately allowed his passion to take an honourable direction. He wanted to have her all to himself; and she, knowing him to be heir to a baronetcy, without any conventional coyness consented to be his wife. But at the time of his marriage, and until he heard it on the day before his bill was dishonoured, he had no suspicion that Abednego had been among the admirers of his wife; and when he taxed her with it, she denied the fact with such accent of sincerity that he clasped her to his heart and called her by a hundred endearing names. He was, you see, an indubitable mauvais sujet.
Mr. and Mrs. Jermyn were spending the early days of their married life on the upper Thames, where, to her credit be it said, the lady affected a pretty interest in waving corn, and floating lily leaves, and shrilling larks, and other beauties which, I am told, abound in the neighbourhood of that incomparable stream; and, on the Sunday following the unpleasant interview with the magnate of Throgmorton Street, Mr. Jermyn was sculling his young bride in the skiff which he had purchased for her, and called after her name.
It was a glorious July day, and the river was crowded with craft of every description.
The lock at — was open and half full when they reached it. Jermyn took his skiff gently in, and held on to the side of a launch, the deck of which was crowded with laughing women and men in gorgeous array. In the cabin a lunch was laid, and cases of champagne reposed pleasantly in the stern. Jermyn cursed his indiscretion a moment after, when he discovered that a number of the sirens on deck were members of the Frivolity chorus. But the worst was to come. Abednego, flashing with diamonds, exquisitely raddled as to his cheeks, stood at the tiller, and addressing Mrs. Jermyn, said, with an air of easy familiarity,—
“Hallo, Baby, how are you gettin’ on, eh?”
That was bad enough, but when Harry turned sharply round on his wife, he saw her big eyes turned longingly on the resplendent Hebrew, and her smile cast boldly on his painted countenance. At that moment the devil entered into Jermyn’s soul as surely as ever it took possession of the Gadarene swine. His lips turned blue, his face was livid; but he made no other sign. His was the last boat to leave the lock. He rowed steadily on, and never spoke to the woman he had loved so well and so unwisely.
Mr. Abednego had enjoyed a real good time on board the launch, and on his way down stopped at the famous riparian village of —. Here also Jermyn landed some time after. He sent his wife home by train, and put up at the same hotel as that occupied by his opulent rival.