New Grub Street - George Gissing (e book reader free TXT) 📗

companionship of his mother and sisters, and this time he seemed anxious to get to the end of his holiday. For all that, there was no continuance of the domestic bickering which had begun. Whatever the reason, Maud behaved with unusual mildness to her brother, and Jasper in turn was gently disposed to both the girls.

On the morning of the third day⁠—it was Saturday⁠—he kept silence through breakfast, and just as all were about to rise from the table, he made a sudden announcement:

“I shall go to London this afternoon.”

“This afternoon?” all exclaimed. “But Monday is your day.”

“No, I shall go this afternoon, by the 2:45.”

And he left the room. Mrs. Milvain and the girls exchanged looks.

“I suppose he thinks the Sunday will be too wearisome,” said the mother.

“Perhaps so,” Maud agreed, carelessly.

Half an hour later, just as Dora was ready to leave the house for her engagements in Wattleborough, her brother came into the hall and took his hat, saying:

“I’ll walk a little way with you, if you don’t mind.”

When they were in the road, he asked her in an offhand manner:

“Do you think I ought to say goodbye to the Yules? Or won’t it signify?”

“I should have thought you would wish to.”

“I don’t care about it. And, you see, there’s been no hint of a wish on their part that I should see them in London. No, I’ll just leave you to say goodbye for me.”

“But they expect to see us today or tomorrow. You told them you were not going till Monday, and you don’t know but Mr. Yule might mean to say something yet.”

“Well, I had rather he didn’t,” replied Jasper, with a laugh.

“Oh, indeed?”

“I don’t mind telling you,” he laughed again. “I’m afraid of that girl. No, it won’t do! You understand that I’m a practical man, and I shall keep clear of dangers. These days of holiday idleness put all sorts of nonsense into one’s head.”

Dora kept her eyes down, and smiled ambiguously.

“You must act as you think fit,” she remarked at length.

“Exactly. Now I’ll turn back. You’ll be with us at dinner?”

They parted. But Jasper did not keep to the straight way home. First of all, he loitered to watch a reaping-machine at work; then he turned into a lane which led up the hill on which was John Yule’s house. Even if he had purposed making a farewell call, it was still far too early; all he wanted to do was to pass an hour of the morning, which threatened to lie heavy on his hands. So he rambled on, and went past the house, and took the field-path which would lead him circuitously home again.

His mother desired to speak to him. She was in the dining-room; in the parlour Maud was practising music.

“I think I ought to tell you of something I did yesterday, Jasper,” Mrs. Milvain began. “You see, my dear, we have been rather straitened lately, and my health, you know, grows so uncertain, and, all things considered, I have been feeling very anxious about the girls. So I wrote to your uncle William, and told him that I must positively have that money. I must think of my own children before his.”

The matter referred to was this. The deceased Mr. Milvain had a brother who was a struggling shopkeeper in a Midland town. Some ten years ago, William Milvain, on the point of bankruptcy, had borrowed a hundred and seventy pounds from his brother in Wattleborough, and this debt was still unpaid; for on the death of Jasper’s father repayment of the loan was impossible for William, and since then it had seemed hopeless that the sum would ever be recovered. The poor shopkeeper had a large family, and Mrs. Milvain, notwithstanding her own position, had never felt able to press him; her relative, however, often spoke of the business, and declared his intention of paying whenever he could.

“You can’t recover by law now, you know,” said Jasper.

“But we have a right to the money, law or no law. He must pay it.”

“He will simply refuse⁠—and be justified. Poverty doesn’t allow of honourable feeling, any more than of compassion. I’m sorry you wrote like that. You won’t get anything, and you might as well have enjoyed the reputation of forbearance.”

Mrs. Milvain was not able to appreciate this characteristic remark. Anxiety weighed upon her, and she became irritable.

“I am obliged to say, Jasper, that you seem rather thoughtless. If it were only myself I would make any sacrifice for you; but you must remember⁠—”

“Now listen, mother,” he interrupted, laying a hand on her shoulder; “I have been thinking about all this, and the fact of the matter is, I shall do my best to ask you for no more money. It may or may not be practicable, but I’ll have a try. So don’t worry. If uncle writes that he can’t pay, just explain why you wrote, and keep him gently in mind of the thing, that’s all. One doesn’t like to do brutal things if one can avoid them, you know.”

The young man went to the parlour and listened to Maud’s music for awhile. But restlessness again drove him forth. Towards eleven o’clock he was again ascending in the direction of John Yule’s house. Again he had no intention of calling, but when he reached the iron gates he lingered.

“I will, by Jove!” he said within himself at last. “Just to prove I have complete command of myself. It’s to be a display of strength, not weakness.”

At the house door he inquired for Mr. Alfred Yule. That gentleman had gone in the carriage to Wattleborough, half an hour ago, with his brother.

“Miss Yule?”

Yes, she was within. Jasper entered the sitting-room, waited a few moments, and Marian appeared. She wore a dress in which Milvain had not yet seen her, and it had the effect of making him regard her attentively. The smile with which she had come towards him passed from her face, which was perchance a little warmer of hue than commonly.

“I’m sorry your