“I think the less said the better,” said Mrs. Jansenius, uneasily observant of the curiosity and surprise this dialogue was causing. “But understand this, Mr.—”
“Smilash, dear lady; Jeff Smilash.”
“Mr. Smilash, whatever arrangement you may have made with your wife, it has nothing to do with me. You have behaved infamously, and I desire to have as little as possible to say to you in future! I desire to have nothing to say to you — nothing,” said Mr. Jansenius. “I look on your conduct as an insult to me, personally. You may live in any fashion you please, and where you please. All England is open to you except one place — my house. Come, Ruth.” He offered his arm to his wife; she took it, and they turned away, looking about for Agatha, who, disgusted at the gaping curiosity of the rest, had pointedly withdrawn beyond earshot of the conversation.
Miss Wilson looked from Smilash — who had watched Mr. Jansenius’s explosion of wrath with friendly interest, as if it concerned him as a curious spectator only — to her two visitors as they retreated. “Pray, do you consider this man’s statement satisfactory?” she said to them. “I do not.”
“I am far too common a man to be able to make any statement that could satisfy a mind cultivated as yours has been,” said Smilash, “but I would ‘umbly pint out to you that there is a boy yonder with a telegram trying to shove hisself through the ‘iborn throng.”
“Miss Wilson!” cried the boy shrilly.
She took the telegram; read it; and frowned. “We have had all our trouble for nothing, ladies and gentlemen,” she said, with suppressed vexation. “Mrs. Trefusis says here that she has gone back to London. She has not considered it necessary to add any explanation.”
There was a general murmur of disappointment.
“Don’t lose heart, ladies,” said Smilash. “She may be drowned or murdered for all we know. Anyone may send a telegram in a false name. Perhaps it’s a plant. Let’s hope for your sakes that some little accident — on the railway, for instance — may happen yet.”
Miss Wilson turned upon him, glad to find someone with whom she might justly be angry. “You had better go about your business,” she said. “And don’t let me see you here again.”
“This is ‘ard,” said Smilash plaintively. “My intentions was nothing but good. But I know wot it is. It’s that young varmint a-saying that the young lady kissed me.”
“Inspector,” said Miss Wilson, “will you oblige me by seeing that he leaves the college as soon as possible?”
“Where’s my wages?” he retorted reproachfully. “Where’s my lawful wages? I am su’prised at a lady like you, chock full o’ moral science and political economy, wanting to put a poor man off. Where’s your wages fund? Where’s your remuneratory capital?”
“Don’t you give him anything, ma’am,” said the inspector. “The money he’s had from the lady will pay him very well. Move on here, or we’ll precious soon hurry you.”
“Very well,” grumbled Smilash. “I bargained for ninepence, and what with the roller, and opening the soda water, and shoving them heavy tables about, there was a decomposition of tissue in me to the tune of two shillings. But all I ask is the ninepence, and let the lady keep the one and threppence as the reward of abstinence. Exploitation of labor at the rate of a hundred and twenty-five per cent., that is. Come, give us ninepence, and I’ll go straight off.”
“Here is a shilling,” said Miss Wilson. “Now go.”
“Threppence change!” cried Smilash. “Honesty has ever been—”
“You may keep the change.”
“You have a noble ‘art, lady; but you’re flying in the face of the law of supply and demand. If you keep payin’ at this rate, there’ll be a rush of laborers to the college, and competition’ll soon bring you down from a shilling to sixpence, let alone ninepence. That’s the way wages go down and death rates goes up, worse luck for the likes of hus, as has to sell ourselves like pigs in the market.”
He was about to continue when the policeman took him by the arm, turned him towards the gate, and pointed expressively in that direction. Smilash looked vacantly at him for a moment. Then, with a wink at Fairholme, he walked gravely away, amid general staring and silence.
CHAPTER V
What had passed between Smilash and Henrietta remained unknown except to themselves. Agatha had seen Henrietta clasping his neck in her arms, but had not waited to hear the exclamation of “Sidney, Sidney,” which followed, nor to see him press her face to his breast in his anxiety to stifle her voice as he said, “My darling love, don’t screech I implore you. Confound it, we shall have the whole pack here in a moment. Hush!”
“Don’t leave me again, Sidney,” she entreated, clinging faster to him as his perplexed gaze, wandering towards the entrance to the shrubbery, seemed to forsake her. A din of voices in that direction precipitated his irresolution.
“We must run away, Hetty,” he said “Hold fast about my neck, and don’t strangle me. Now then.” He lifted her upon his shoulder and ran swiftly through the grounds. When they were stopped by the wall, he placed her atop of it, scrabbled over, and made her jump into his arms. Then he staggered away with her across the fields, gasping out in reply to the inarticulate remonstrances which burst from her as he stumbled and reeled at every hillock, “Your weight is increasing at the rate of a stone a second, my love. If you stoop you will break my back. Oh, Lord, here’s a ditch!”
“Let me down,” screamed Henrietta in an ecstasy of delight and apprehension. “You will hurt yourself, and — Oh, DO take—”
He struggled through a dry ditch as she spoke, and came out upon a grassy place that bordered the towpath of the canal. Here, on the bank of a hollow where the moss was dry and soft, he seated her, threw himself prone on his elbows before her, and said, panting:
“Nessus carrying off Dejanira was nothing to this! Whew! Well, my darling, are you glad to see me?”
“But—”
“But me no buts, unless you wish me to vanish again and for ever. Wretch that I am, I have longed for you unspeakably more than once since I ran away from you. You didn’t care, of course?”
“I did. I did, indeed. Why did you leave me, Sidney?”
“Lest a worse thing might befall. Come, don’t let us waste in explanations the few minutes we have left. Give me a kiss.”
“Then you are going to leave me again. Oh, Sidney—”
“Never mind tomorrow, Hetty. Be like the sun and the meadow, which are not in the least concerned about the coming winter. Why do you stare at that cursed canal, blindly dragging its load of filth from place to place until it pitches it into the sea — just as a crowded street pitches its load into the cemetery? Stare at ME, and give me a kiss.”
She gave him several, and said coaxingly, with her arm still upon his shoulder: “You only talk that way to frighten me, Sidney; I know you do.”
“You are the bright sun of my senses,” he