V
“And what are you going to do now?” inquired practical Pip.
“I don’t know, I daren’t go back. Dad would kill me.”
The girl shuddered, and turned to Pip appealingly, as a woman, however strong her will may be, always turns to a man she knows she can trust.
Pip reflected in his deliberate fashion.
“You had better go to London,” he said at last. “You know your way about there, I expect. I think you should go on the stage again. You like it, and it will make you independent. I suppose you can get an engagement?”
“Yes, I can manage that,” said the Principal Boy. “Drive on now, Jack, and take me to Hunsford Station. It can’t be more than a mile or two from here.”
Once more the car sped through the gathering darkness.
“I’ll go round to the ‘Crown,’” continued Lottie more briskly, “first thing to-morrow morning. Jim Lister will get me a shop of some sort, if it’s only in the chorus. That’ll do to go on with.”
“He must be a good chap,” said Pip.
“He is,” said Lottie warmly.
Presently they reached the little station. Inquiries elicited the news that there would be a train for London in half an hour.
“I’ll stay with you till it starts,” said Pip.
He ran the car under a wall out of the wind, and continued talking. He was in an unusually communicative mood, for him.
“I was wondering,” he said, “why your feelings changed so suddenly in that interview, after you had quite made up your mind to—for the other thing.”
“Don’t know, I’m sure,” said Lottie. “I can’t think now what made me agree to the idea, even for a moment. Jack, would you have thought very badly of me if—”
“I think I know what it was,” continued Pip, who had been following his own train of thought; “you must have been kee—fond of somebody else all the time, fonder than you really knew, and when the critical moment came, the thought of—of him, though you didn’t know it, prevented you from making yourself cheap. Is that it? Don’t answer if it isn’t a fair question.”
“Yes, Jack, it’s a fair question.”
“And am I right?”
There was a silence. Pip saw a rather strange look settle on the girl’s face. Presently she answered, in a low voice,—
“I believe you are.”
“Then why not—go to him?”
“Perhaps—perhaps he doesn’t want me.”
“Are you sure? Is it Jim Lister?”
“No. He’s a good boy, but it’s not him.”
“Ah! That’s a pity.”
Another pause. Lottie sat very still. She understood now why the idea of marrying the Honourable had become suddenly repugnant to her. The reason was sitting beside her, wondering what the reason could be. Lottie excelled in woman’s favourite pastime—playing with fire—but this time she had burnt her fingers.
Pip talked to her a good deal during the next half-hour. Once he said,—
“I wonder what made you confide in me about all this. I expect it was because you spotted that I was a kindred spirit—in the same state as yourself.”
“What state?”
“In love,” said Pip simply.
“In love? Who with?” asked Lottie, ungrammatically but earnestly.
“I’ll tell you if you like,” said Pip. He launched into a description of Elsie, reciting his hopes and fears with all the complete abandon of the reticent man when once he lets himself go.
“It isn’t often,” he concluded, descending to earth again, “that I reveal my feelings to anybody. But I suppose things are rather out of the common to-day.”
“Does she care for you?”
“I don’t see how she possibly can,” said Pip, with absolute sincerity. “But I’m going to ask her for all that.”
“When?”
“As soon as I get on my legs again—financially.”
“Ah, but when will that be? Debts are awful millstones, Jack.”
“Debts? What? Oh, I forgot. Well, they are off.”
“How?”
“This morning,” said Pip, “I got a letter. It was from old Gresley, the head of the Motor Works where I am employed. His son used to be a friend of mine at Cambridge. The old man’s letter is the most astonishing affair. He offers to take me into partnership! He seems to—to have taken a sort of liking for me,” he added apologetically. “Isn’t it like a fairy tale?”
(What old Gresley had said was this: “Partly because you have always been a good friend to my son, but chiefly because you combine first-class mechanical ability with sound common sense and the power of managing men, I write to ask if you will enter the firm as a partner, on equal terms with Harry. He has brains and you have ballast. Between you, you should sweep the board. I am getting old. Once the business is fairly gripped by you, I shall retire and leave you to run the show together. Give up your present post and come here at once, so that we may discuss matters more fully and settle details.”)
“Then you’ll be rich again?” said Lottie wonderingly.
“Well enough off, at any rate,” said Pip, “to go and have it out—”
“With her?”
“Yes. Here’s your train. I’ll get your ticket.”
Pip put the Principal Boy into an empty first-class carriage, and having shut the door conversed with her through the open window. The engine gave an impatient whistle, but the line was not clear, and the starting-signal remained obstinately red.
“Got any money?” said Pip awkwardly.
“Yes, thanks. Enough to keep me going.”
The train still delayed, and Pip said,—
“I say, will you take my advice?”
“Depends on what it is.”
“Go to Jim Lister.”
“Well—I’ll see,” said the girl rather brokenly. She had borne up bravely till now, but the prospect of parting from her protector and the coming plunge into the unknown were telling their tale. Suddenly she looked up.
“Jack,” she whispered, “come with me!”
The two gazed at each other steadily. Never was there a more direct invitation, and no man knows what thoughts passed through Pip’s heart, or how great the battle that was fought and won during that brief minute. At length he spoke.
“I am still your father’s paid servant, and until I have seen him and thrown up my billet I must stay here.”
Lottie bowed her head submissively. She knew her man.
“But I’ll tell you what,” continued Pip. “To-morrow I shall be in town. If you still want help, send a line to me at the Oxford and Cambridge Club, and I’ll come to you.”
“You promise?”
“I promise. But you must promise not to write unless you really need me.”
Lottie, a little mystified, agreed.
Suddenly the red signal-light turned to green. The guard at the rear of the train broke off an engrossing conversation with the only porter, and waved his lantern. The engine gave a preliminary quiver.
Lottie and Pip shook hands. The girl’s eyes were full of tears. Poor Principal Boy! Kindness which asked for nothing in return had been a rarity in her life. Suddenly she said,—
“Give us a kiss, Jack!”
Pip complied, with a satisfactory thoroughness that elicited a humorous expostulation from the only porter, who was passing by.
“Good-bye!” he said. “You’ll be all right when you get to King’s Cross.”
Which cryptic remark was the last he ever addressed to the Principal Boy, for the train glided out of the station, and he never saw her again.
Before leaving the station Pip despatched the following telegram:—
Lister, Crown Theatre, Strand, London.
Arriving King’s Cross 7.30. Can you meet me? Want help badly.
Lottie.
The following morning, having discarded his chauffeur’s attire and departed from Broadoak Manor, after listening to an eloquent and most enjoyable valedictory address from its tenant, Pip returned to London. At the end of a highly satisfactory interview with the Gresleys he turned his steps in the direction of the Oxford and Cambridge Club, which he had not entered for three years.
He made himself known to those in authority, and announced that he had now returned from “abroad.” He then asked if there was any letter for “Armstrong,” which, he explained rather lamely, had been sent him under that name, “by mistake.”
Yes, there was a note left by a messenger that afternoon. He opened it. It contained a single line—
All’s well; and we thank you—both of us!
Lottie Lister.