“You had better make up your mind,” said Magdalen impatiently.
“Well, Madge, I have made up my mind,” said Mary, perching her spectacles and looking composedly at her friend. “I will stay.”
“Very well.” Said Madge, not with a very good grace: “I suppose we must not go to Mr. Jack, so he had better come to us. Polly go and tell him that two ladies wish to see him.”
“You had better say on business.” added Mary.
“And don’t mention our names I want to see whether he will know me again.” said Magdalen. Mary looked hard at her.
“D’ye really mean it, Miss Madge?”
“Good gracious, yes!” replied Magdalen angrily.
The landlady, after lingering a moment in doubt and wonder went out. Silence ensued. Magdalen’s color brightened; and she moved her chair to a place whence she could see herself in the mirror. Mary closed her lips, and sat motionless and rather pale. Not a word passed between them until the door opened abruptly and Jack, with his coat buttoned up to his chin, made a short step into the room. Recognizing Mary, he stopped and frowned.
“How do you do, Mr Jack?* she said, bowing steadily to him. He bowed slightly, and looked around the room. Seeing Magdalen, he was amazed. She bowed too, and he gave her a scared nod.
“Won’t you sit down, Mr Jack?” said the landlady, assuming the manner in which she was used to receive company.
“Have you pawned that ring yet?” he said, turning suddenly to her.
“No,” she retorted, scandalized.
“Then give it back to me.” She did so; and he looked at Magdalen, saying, “You have come just in time.”
“I came to thank you.”
“You need not thank me. I was sorry afterwards for having helped a young woman to run away from her father. If I were not the most hotheaded fool in England, I should have stopped you. I hope no harm came of it.”
“I am sorry to have caused you any uneasiness,” said Magdalen, coloring. “The young woman drove straight home after transacting some business that she wished to conceal from her father. That was all.”
“So much the better. If I had known you were at home, I should have sent you your ring.”
“My father expected you to write.”
“I told him I would; but I thought better of it. I had nothing to tell him.”
“You must allow me to repay you the sum you so kindly lent me that day, Mr. Jack,” said Magdalen in a lower voice, confusing herself by an unskilled effort to express gratitude by her tone and manner.
“It will be welcome, he replied moodily. Magdalen slowly took out a new purse. “Give it to Mrs. Simpson,” he added, turning away. The movement brought him face to face with Mary, before whom his brow gathered portentously. She bore his gaze steadily, but could not trust herself to speak.
“I have some further business, Mr Jack,” said Magdalen.
“I beg your pardon,” said he, turning again towards her.
“ Mrs. Simpson told me—”
“Ah!” said he, interrupting her, and casting a threatening look at the landlady. “It was she who told you where I was located, was it?”
“Well, I don’t see the harm if I did,” said Mrs. Simpson. “If you look on it as a liberty on my part to recommend you, Mr. Jack, I can easily stop doing it.”
“Recommend me! What does she mean, Miss Brailsford — you are Miss Brailsford, are you not?”
“Yes, I was about to say that Mrs Simpson told me that you gave — that is — I should perhaps explain first that I intend to go on the stage.”
“What do you want to go on the stage for?”
“The same as anybody else, I suppose,” said Mrs Simpson indignantly.
“I wish to make it my profession,” said Magdalen.
“Do you mean make your living by it?”
“I hope so.”
“Humph!”
“Do you think I should have any chance of success?”
“I suppose, if you have intelligence and perseverance, and can drudge and be compliant, and make stepping stones of your friends — but there! I know nothing about success. What have I got to do with it? Do you think, as your father did, that I am a theatrical agent?”
“Well I must say, Mr. Jack,” exclaimed the landlady, “that those who try to befriend you get very little encouragement. I am right sorry, so I am, that I brought Miss Madge to ask you for lessons.”
“Lessons!” said Jack. “Oh! I did not understand. Lessons in what? Music?”
“No,” said Magdalen. “I wanted lessons in elocution and so forth. At least, I was told the other day that I did not know how to speak.”
“Neither do you. That is true enough,” said Jack thoughtfully. “Well, I don’t profess to prepare people for the stage; but I can teach you to speak, if you have anything to say or any feeling for what better people put into your mouth.”
“You are not very sanguine as to the result, I fear.”
“The result, as far as it goes, is certain, if you practice. If not, I shall give you up. After all, there is no reason why you should not do something better than be a fine lady. Your appearance is good: all the rest can be acquired — except a genius for tomfoolery, which you must take your chance of. The public want actresses, because they think all actresses bad. They don’t want music or poetry because they know that both are good. So actors and actresses thrive, as I hope you will; and poets and composers starve, as I do. When do you wish to begin?”
It was soon arranged that Magdalen should take lessons in Mrs Simpson’s sitting room, and in her presence, every second weekday, and that she should pay Mr Jack for them at the rate of three guineas a dozen. The first was to take place on the next day but one. Then the two ladies rose to go. But Magdalen first drew Mrs Simpson aside to pay her the money which Jack had lent her; so that he was left near the door with Mary, who had only spoken once since he entered the room.
“Mr. Jack,” she said, in an undertone: “I fear I have intruded on you. But I assure you I did not know who it was that we were coming to see.”
“Else you would not have come.”
“Only because I should have expected to be unwelcome.”
“It does not matter. I am glad to see you, though I have no reason to be. How is Mr Adrian?”
“Mr Herbert”
“I beg his pardon. Mr Herbert, of course.
“He is quite well, thank you.”
Jack rubbed hands stealthily, and looked at Mary as though the recollection of Adrian tickled his sense of humor. As she tried to look coldly at him, he said, with a shade of pity in his tone, “Ah, Miss Sutherland, it one thing to be very fond of music: it is quite another to be able to compose.”
“Is it?” said Mary, puzzled.
He shook his head. “You don’t see the relevance of that,” said he. “Well, never mind.”
She looked at him uneasily, and hesitated. Then she said slowly, “Mr. Jack: some people at Windsor, friends of mine, have been asking about you. I think, if you could come down once a week, I could get a music class together for you.”
“No doubt,” he said. his angry look returning. “They will take lessons because you ask them to be charitable to your discarded tutor. Why did you discard