publicly glorified--perched on the
pedestal of a great
complimentary pension?"
I braced myself. "Taking one form of public
recognition with
another it seems to me on the whole I should be able to bear it.
When I see the compliments that are paid right and left I ask
myself why this one shouldn't take its course. This
therefore is
what you're entitled to have looked to me to mention to you. I've
some evidence that perhaps would be really dissuasive, but I
propose to invite Mss Anvoy to remain in
ignorance of it."
"And to invite me to do the same?"
"Oh you don't require it--you've evidence enough. I speak of a
sealed letter that I've been requested to deliver to her."
"And you don't mean to?"
"There's only one
consideration that would make me," I said.
Gravener's clear handsome eyes plunged into mine a minute, but
evidently without
fishing up a clue to this motive--a
failure by
which I was almost wounded. "What does the letter contain?"
"It's sealed, as I tell you, and I don't know what it contains."
"Why is it sent through you?"
"Rather than you?" I wondered how to put the thing. "The only
explanation I can think of is that the person sending it may have
imagined your relations with Miss Anvoy to be at an end--may have
been told this is the case by Mrs. Saltram."
"My relations with Miss Anvoy are not at an end," poor Gravener
stammered.
Again for an
instant I thought. "The offer I propose to make you
gives me the right to address you a question
remarkably direct.
Are you still engaged to Miss Anvoy?"
"No, I'm not," he slowly brought out. "But we're
perfectly good
friends."
"Such good friends that you'll again become
prospective husband and
wife if the
obstacle in your path be removed?"
"Removed?" he
anxiously repeated.
"If I send Miss Anvoy the letter I speak of she may give up her
idea."
"Then for God's sake send it!"
"I'll do so if you're ready to assure me that her sacrifice would
now
presumably bring about your marriage."
"I'd marry her the next day!" my
visitor cried.
"Yes, but would she marry YOU? What I ask of you of course is
nothing less than your word of honour as to your
conviction of
this. If you give it me," I said, "I'll engage to hand her the
letter before night."
Gravener took up his hat; turning it
mechanically round he stood
looking a moment hard at its unruffled
perfection. Then very
angrily
honestly and gallantly, "Hand it to the devil!" he broke
out; with which he clapped the hat on his head and left me.
"Will you read it or not?" I said to Ruth Anvoy, at Wimbledon, when
I had told her the story of Mrs. Saltram's visit.
She debated for a time probably of the briefest, but long enough to
make me
nervous. "Have you brought it with you?"
"No indeed. It's at home, locked up."
There was another great silence, and then she said "Go back and
destroy it."
I went back, but I didn't destroy it till after Saltram's death,
when I burnt it unread. The Pudneys approached her again
pressingly, but,
prompt as they were, The Coxon Fund had already
become an operative benefit and a general amaze: Mr. Saltram,
while we gathered about, as it were, to watch the manna descend,
had begun to draw the
magnificentincome. He drew it as he had
always drawn everything, with a grand abstracted
gesture. Its
magnificence, alas, as all the world now knows, quite quenched him;
it was the
beginning of his decline. It was also naturally a new
grievance for his wife, who began to believe in him as soon as he
was blighted, and who at this hour accuses us of having bribed him,
on the whim of a meddlesome American, to
renounce his glorious
office, to become, as she says, like everybody else. The very day
he found himself able to publish he
wholly ceased to produce. This
deprived us, as may easily be imagined, of much of our occupation,
and especially deprived the Mulvilles, whose want of self-support I
never measured till they lost their great
inmate. They've no one
to live on now. Adelaide's most
frequentreference to their
destitution is embodied in the remark that dear far-away Ruth's
intentions were
doubtless good. She and Kent are even yet looking
for another prop, but no one presents a true
sphere of usefulness.
They
complain that people are self-sufficing. With Saltram the
fine type of the child of
adoption was scattered, the grander, the
elder style. They've got their
carriage back, but what's an empty
carriage? In short I think we were all happier as well as poorer
before; even including George Gravener, who by the deaths of his
brother and his
nephew has
lately become Lord Maddock. His wife,
whose fortune clears the property, is criminally dull; he hates
being in the Upper House, and hasn't yet had high office. But what
are these accidents, which I should perhaps apologise for
mentioning, in the light of the great eventual boon promised the
patient by the rate at which The Coxon Fund must be rolling up?
End