“And you fell in love with him, of course,” said Mary.
“Bosh! Fell in love with old Tommy Tarleton! This is not a romance, but a prosaic Gower Street narrative. I never thought about him after we came here until a month ago, when I saw that he was taking a company to Windsor. I always wanted to go on the stage, because nowadays a woman must be either an actress or nothing. So I wrote to him for an engagement, and sent him my photograph.”
“Oh, Madge!”
“Why not? His company was playing opera boufTe; and I knew he wanted good looks as much as talent. You don’t suppose I sent it as a love token. He wrote back that he had no part open that I could take, but that if I wished to accustom myself to the stage and would find my own dresses, he would let me walk on every night in the chorus, and perhaps find me a small part to understudy.”
“Very kind, indeed. And what did you say to his noble offer?”
“I accepted it, and was very glad to get it. It was better than sitting here quarreling with the girls, and going over the same weary argument with father about disgracing the family. I managed it easily enough, after all. There is a woman who keeps a lodging house in Church Street here, who is a sister of the landlady at Gower Street, and knows all about us. She has a second sister whose daughter is a ballet girl, and who is used to theatres. I ran away to Church Street — five minutes’ walk; told Polly what I had done; and made her send for Mrs Wilkins, the other sister, whom I carried off to Windsor as chaperon that evening. But the company turned out to be a thirdrate one; and I wasn’t comfortable with them: they were rather rowdy. However, I did not stay long. I was recognized on the very first night by someone — I don’t know whom — who told Colonel Beatty. He wrote to my father; and I was captured on the third day. You can imagine the scene when the poor old governor walked suddenly into our lodging. He tried to be shocked and stern, and of course only succeeded in being furious. I was stubborn — I can be very mulish when I like; but I was getting tired of walking on in the chorus at night and spending the day with Mrs Wilkins; so I consented to go back with him. He took my purse, which I was foolish enough to leave within his reach whilst I was putting on my bonnet, and so left me without a farthing, helplessly dependent on him. He would not give it me back; and to revenge myself I became very uncivil to him; and then he forbade me to speak. I took him at his word, and made him still madder by taking no notice of the homilies on duty and respectability which he poured forth as we drove to the train.”
“Yes: I can quite imagine that. And so you came home and returned to the ways of well conducted girls.”
“Not at all. You have only heard the prologue to my real adventure. When we got to the railway station, father, who intended to preach at me during the whole journey, bribed the guard to prevent people from coming into our compartment. The train started, and I had just been requested to attend to something very that must be said to me, when there was an uproar on the platform, and a man burst headlong into the carriage, sat down, folded his arms, and stared majestically at father, who began to abuse him furiously for intruding on us. They quarreled all the way up to London. When they had exhausted the subject of our carriage being private, the man objected to the window being shut — I think because I had done so just before, though perhaps it was more from love of contradiction. Then father objected to his grinding his teeth. Then I interfered and was bidden to hold my tongue. Up jumped the man and asked father what he meant by speaking so to me. He even said — you will not repeat this, please, Mary.”
“No. Why? What did he say?”
“He said — it sounded ridiculous — that he would not permit a young and beautiful woman to be tyrannized over.”
“Oh! Was he very handsome?”
“N — no. He was not conventionally handsome; but there was something about him that I cannot very well describe. It was a sort of latent power. However, it does not matter, as I suppose I shall never see him again.”
“I think I can understand what you mean,” said Mary thoughtfully. “There are some men who are considered quite ugly, but who are more remarkable than pretty people. You often see that in artists.”
“This man was not in the least like your Adrian, though, Mary. No two people could be more different.”
“I know. I was thinking of a very different person.”
“Father speaks of him as though he were a monster; but that is perfect nonsense.”
“Well, what was the upshot of this interference?”
“Oh, I thought they would have come to blows at first. Father would fight duels every day if they were still in fashion. But the man made an admirable speech which shewed me that his opinions were exactly the same as mine; and father could say nothing in reply. Then they accused each other of being insane, and kept exchanging insults until we came to Paddington, where the guard wanted to give the man to the police for getting into the train after it had started. At last we all got out; and then I committed my capital crime — it really was a dreadful thing to do. But ever since father had taken my purse and made a prisoner of me, I had been thinking of how I could give him the slip and come home just how and when I pleased. Besides, I was quite resolved to apply to a London agent for a regular engagement in some theatre. So when father got into a passion about my box not being found instantly, and went off to look for it, leaving me by myself, the idea of escaping and going to the agent at once occurred to me. I made up my mind and unmade it twenty times in every second. I should not have hesitated a moment if I had had my purse but as it was, I had only my ring;, so that I should have had to stop the cab at the nearest pawnbrokers and I was ashamed to go into such a place — although we sometimes used to send Mrs. Wilkina there, without letting father know, in the Gower Street days. Then the porter came up and said that the cab was waiting and I knew he would expect something then and there from me if I went off by myself. What do you think I did? I went straight up the the man who had travelled with us — he was standing close by, watching me, I think — and asked him to buy my ring.”
“Well. Madge: really — :”
“It was an impulse I don’t know what put it into my head but the desperate necessity paying the porter hurried me into obeying it. I said I had no money and asked him for a little in exchange for the ring. The man looked at me in the most terrifying way; and just as I was expecting him to seize me and deliver me up to father, he plunged his hand into his pocket and gave me a handful of money. He would not count it, nor touch the ring. I was insisting on his taking either the ring or the money, when he suddenly shouted at me that father was coming, and bundled me me into the cab before I had collected my wits. Then he startled the driver with another shout; and away went the cab. I managed to give the ring to the porter for him. I drove to the agents in Bond Street, and on my way counted the money: two sovereigns, three half-sovereigns, thirteen and sixpence in silver, and seven pennies.”
“Four pounds, four, and a penny,” said Mary.
“He must have been mad. But there was something chivalrous about it, especially for a nineteenth century incident at Paddington.”
“I think it was sheer natural nobility of heart, Mary. Father enrages me by saying that he was a thief, and made fifty pounds profit out of my innocence. As if his refusing the ring was not an absolute proof to the contrary. He got our address from father afterwards, and promised to send us his; but he has never done so.”
“I wonder why. He certainly ought to. Your ring is worth a great deal more than four pounds.”
“He