The Paying Guest - George Gissing (story read aloud txt) 📗

At dinner-time she had not returned. It being Saturday, Mumford was back early in the afternoon, and Miss Derrick’s absence caused no grief. Emmeline could play with baby in the garden, whilst her husband smoked his pipe and looked on in the old comfortable way. They already felt that domestic life was not quite the same with a stranger to share it. Doubtless they would get used to the new restraints; but Miss Derrick must not expect them to disorganise their mealtimes on her account. Promptly at half-past seven they sat down to dine, and had just risen from the table, when Louise appeared.

She was in excellent spirits, without a trace of the morning’s ill-humour. No apologies! If she didn’t feel quite free to come and go, without putting people out, there would be no comfort in life. A slice of the joint, that was all she wanted, and she would have done in a few minutes.

‘I’ve taken tickets for Toole’s Theatre on Monday night. You must both come. You can, can’t you?’

Mumford and his wife glanced at each other. Yes, they could go; it was very kind of Miss Derrick; but—

‘That’s all right, it’ll be jolly. The idea struck me in the train, as I was going up; so I took a cab from Victoria and booked the places first thing. Third row from the front, dress circle; the best I could do. Please let me have my dinner alone. Mrs. Mumford, I want to tell you something afterwards.’

Clarence went round to see his friend Fentiman, with whom he usually had a chat on Saturday evening. Emmeline was soon joined by the guest in the drawing-room.

‘There, you may read that,’ said Louise, holding out a letter. ‘It’s from Mr. Cobb; came yesterday, but I didn’t care to talk about it then. Yes, please read it; I want you to.’

Reluctantly, but with curiosity, Emmeline glanced over the sheet. Mr. Cobb wrote in ignorance of Miss Derrick’s having left home. It was a plain, formal letter, giving a brief account of his doings in Ireland, and making a request that Louise would meet him, if possible, on Streatham Common, at three o’clock on Saturday afternoon. And he signed himself—‘Very sincerely yours.’

‘I made up my mind at once,’ said the girl, ‘that I wouldn’t meet him. That kind of thing will have to stop. I’m not going to think any more of him, and it’s better to make him understand it at once—isn’t it?’

Emmeline heartily concurred.

‘Still,’ pursued the other, with an air of great satisfaction, ‘I thought I had better go home for this afternoon. Because when he didn’t see me on the Common he was pretty sure to call at the house, and I didn’t want mother or Cissy to be talking about me to him before he had heard my own explanation.’

‘Didn’t you answer the letter?’ asked Emmeline.

‘No. I just sent a line to mother, to let her know I was coming over to-day, so that she might stay at home. Well, and it happened just as I thought. Mr. Cobb came to the house at half-past three. But before that I’d had a terrible row with Cissy. That isn’t a nice expression, I know, but it really was one of our worst quarrels. Mr. Bowling hasn’t been near since I left, and Cissy is furious. She said such things that I had to tell her very plainly what I thought of her; and she positively foamed at the mouth! “Now look here,” she said, “if I find out that he goes to Sutton, you’ll see what will happen.” “What will happen?” I asked. “Father will stop your allowance, and you’ll have to get on as best you can.” “Oh, very well,” I said, “in that case I shall marry Mr. Bowling.” You should have seen her rage! “You said you wouldn’t marry him if he had ten thousand a year!” she screamed. “I dare say I did; but if I’ve nothing to live upon—” “You can marry your Mr. Cobb, can’t you?” And she almost cried; and I should have felt sorry for her if she hadn’t made me so angry. “No,” I said, “I can’t marry Mr. Cobb. And I never dreamt of marrying Mr. Cobb. And—”’

Emmeline interposed.

‘Really, Louise, that kind of talk isn’t at all ladylike. What a pity you went home.’

‘Yes, I was sorry for it afterwards. I shan’t go again for a long time; I promise you I won’t. However, Mr. Cobb came, and I saw him alone. He was astonished when he heard what had been going on; he was astonished at me, too—I mean, the way I spoke. I wanted him to understand at once that there was nothing between us; I talked in rather a—you know the sort of way.’ She raised her chin slightly, and looked down from under her eyelids. ‘Oh, I assure you I behaved quite nicely. But he got into a rage, as he always does, and began to call me names, and I wouldn’t stand it. “Mr. Cobb,” I said, very severely, “either you will conduct yourself properly, or you will leave the house.” Then he tried another tone, and said very different things—the kind of thing one likes to hear, you know; but I pretended that I didn’t care for it a bit. “It’s all over between us then?” he shouted at last; yes, really shouted, and I’m sure people must have heard. “All over?” I said. “But there never was anything—nothing serious.” “Oh, all right. Good-bye, then.” And off he rushed. And I dare say I’ve seen the last of him—for a time.’

‘Now do try to live quietly, my dear,’ said Emmeline. ‘Go on with your music, and read a little each day—’

‘Yes, that’s just what I’m going to do, dear Mrs. Mumford. And your friends will be here tomorrow; it’ll be so quiet and nice. And on Monday we shall go to the theatre, just for a change. And I’m not going to think of those people. It’s all settled. I shall live very quietly indeed.’

She banged on the piano till nearly eleven o’clock, and went off to bed with a smile of virtuous contentment.

The guests who arrived on Sunday morning were Mr. and Mrs. Grove, Mr. Bilton, and Mr. Dunnill. Mrs. Grove was Emmeline’s elder sister, a merry, talkative, kindly woman. Aware of the circumstances, she at once made friends with Miss Derrick, and greatly pleased that young lady by a skilful blending of “superior” talk with easy homeliness. Mr. Bilton, a stockbroker’s clerk, represented the better kind of City young man—athletic, yet intelligent, spirited without vulgarity a breezy, good-humoured, wholesome fellow. He came down on his bicycle, and would return in the same way. Louise at once made a resolve to learn cycling.

‘I wish you lived at Sutton, Mr. Bilton. I should ask you to teach me.’

‘I’m really very sorry that I don’t,’ replied the young man discreetly.

‘Oh, never mind. I’ll find somebody.’

The fourth arrival, Mr. Dunnill, was older and less affable. He talked chiefly with Mr. Grove, a very quiet, somewhat careworn man; neither of them seemed able to shake off business, but they did not obtrude it on the company in general. The day passed pleasantly, but in Miss Derrick’s opinion, rather soberly. Doing her best to fascinate Mr. Bilton, she felt a slight disappointment at her inability to engross his attention, and at the civil friendliness which he thought a sufficient reply to her gay sallies. For so good-looking and well-dressed a man he struck her as singularly reserved. But perhaps he was “engaged”; yes, that must be the explanation. When the guests had left, she put a plain question to Mrs. Mumford.

‘I don’t think he is engaged,’ answered Emmeline, who on the whole was satisfied with Miss Derrick’s demeanour throughout the day.

‘Oh! But, of course, he may be, without you knowing it. Or is it always made known?’

‘There’s no rule about it, my dear.’

‘Well, they’re very nice people,’ said Louise, with a little sigh. ‘And I like your sister so much. I’m glad she asked me to go and see her. Is Mr. Bilton often at her house?—Don’t misunderstand me, Mrs. Mumford. It’s only that I do like men’s society; there’s no harm, is there? And people like Mr.