Marian was at work as usual in the Reading-room. She did her best, during the hours spent here, to convert herself into the literary machine which it was her hope would some day be invented for construction in a less sensitive material than human tissue.
Her eyes seldom strayed beyond the limits of the desk; and if she had occasion to rise and go to the reference shelves, she looked at no one on the way. Yet she herself was occasionally an object of interested regard. Several readers were acquainted with the chief facts of her position; they knew that her father was now incapable of work, and was waiting till his diseased eyes should be ready for the operator; it was surmised, moreover, that a good deal depended upon the girl's literary exertions. Mr Quarmby and his gossips naturally took the darkest view of things; they were convinced that Alfred Yule could never recover his sight, and they had a dolorous satisfaction in relating the story of Marian's legacy. Of her relations with Jasper Milvain none of these persons had heard; Yule had never spoken of that matter to any one of his friends.
Jasper had to look in this morning for a hurried consultation of certain encyclopaedic volumes, and it chanced that Marian was standing before the shelves to which his business led him. He saw her from a little distance, and paused; it seemed as if he would turn back; for a moment he wore a look of doubt and worry. But after all he proceeded. At the sound of his 'Good-morning,'
Marian started--she was standing with an open book in hand--and looked up with a gleam of joy on her face.
'I wanted to see you to-day,' she said, subduing her voice to the tone of ordinary conversation. 'I should have come this evening.'
'You wouldn't have found me at home. From five to seven I shall be frantically busy, and then I have to rush off to dine with some people.'
'I couldn't see you before five?'
'Is it something important?'
'Yes, it is.'
'I tell you what. If you could meet me at Gloucester Gate at four, then I shall be glad of half an hour in the park. But Imustn't talk now; I'm driven to my wits' end. Gloucester Gate, at four sharp. I don't think it'll rain.'
He dragged out a tome of the 'Britannica.' Marian nodded, and returned to her seat.
At the appointed hour she was waiting near the entrance of Regent's Park which Jasper had mentioned. Not long ago there had fallen a light shower, but the sky was clear again. At five minutes past four she still waited, and had begun to fear that the passing rain might have led Jasper to think she would not come. Another five minutes, and from a hansom that rattled hither at full speed, the familiar figure alighted.
'Do forgive me!' he exclaimed. 'I couldn't possibly get here before. Let us go to the right.'
They betook themselves to that tree-shadowed strip of the park which skirts the canal.
'I'm so afraid that you haven't really time,' said Marian, who was chilled and confused by this show of hurry. She regretted having made the appointment; it would have been much better to postpone what she had to say until Jasper was at leisure. Yet nowadays the hours of leisure seemed to come so rarely.
'If I get home at five, it'll be all right,' he replied. 'What have you to tell me, Marian?'
'We have heard about the money, at last.'
'Oh?' He avoided looking at her. 'And what's the upshot?'
'I shall have nearly fifteen hundred pounds.'
'So much as that? Well, that's better than nothing, isn't it?'
'Very much better.'
They walked on in silence. Marian stole a glance at her companion.
'I should have thought it a great deal,' she said presently, 'before I had begun to think of thousands.'
'Fifteen hundred. Well, it means fifty pounds a year, I suppose.'
He chewed the end of his moustache.
'Let us sit down on this bench. Fifteen hundred--h'm! And nothing more is to be hoped for?'
'Nothing. I should have thought men would wish to pay their debts, even after they had been bankrupt; but they tell us we can't expect anything more from these people.'
'You are thinking of Walter Scott, and that kind of thing'--Jasper laughed. 'Oh, that's quite unbusinesslike; it would be setting a pernicious example nowadays. Well, and what's to be done?'
Marian had no answer for such a question. The tone of it was a new stab to her heart, which had suffered so many during the past half-year.
'Now, I'll ask you frankly,' Jasper went on, 'and I know you will reply in the same spirit: would it be wise for us to marry on this money?'
'On this money?'
She looked into his face with painful earnestness.
'You mean,' he said, 'that it can't be spared for that purpose?'
What she really meant was uncertain even to herself. She had wished to hear how Jasper would receive the news, and thereby to direct her own course. Had he welcomed it as offering a possibility of their marriage, that would have gladdened her, though it would then have been necessary to show him all the difficulties by which she was beset; for some time they had not spoken of her father's position, and Jasper seemed willing to forget all about that complication of their troubles. But marriage did not occur to him, and he was evidently quite prepared to hear that she could no longer regard this money as her own to be freely disposed of. This was on one side a relief but on the other it confirmed her fears. She would rather have heard him plead with her to neglect her parents for the sake of being his wife. Love excuses everything, and his selfishness would have been easily lost sight of in the assurance that he still desired her.
'You say,' she replied, with bent head, 'that it would bring us fifty pounds a year. If another fifty were added to that, my father and mother would be supported in case the worst comes. Imight earn fifty pounds.'
'You wish me to understand, Marian, that I mustn't expect that you will bring me anything when we are married.'
His tone was that of acquiescence; not by any means of displeasure. He spoke as if desirous of saying for her something she found a difficulty in saying for herself.
