The Imaginary Marriage. Henry St. John Cooper
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Perhaps she was over-sensitive and a little unreasonable, but she would not admit it. She had been insulted by a man who had used her name lightly, who had proclaimed that he was her husband, a man who was a complete stranger to her. She had heard of him before from Marjorie Linden, when they were at school together.
Marjorie had spoken of this man in effusive admiration. Joan's lips curled with scorn. She did not question her own anger. She did not ask herself, was it reasonable? Had not the man some right to defend himself, to explain? If he had wanted to explain, he had had ample opportunity, and he had not taken advantage of it. No, it was a joke—a cruel, cowardly joke at her expense.
Poor and alone in the world, with none to defend her, she had been subjected to the odious attentions of Slotman. She was ready to regard all men as creatures of the same type. She had allowed poverty to narrow her views and warp her mind, and now—
"I beg your pardon, ma'am—"
She was walking along the road to the station. She turned, a man had pulled up in a small car; he touched his hat.
"My lady sent me after you, Mrs. Alston."
Joan gripped her hands tightly. She looked with blazing eyes at the man—"Mrs. Alston … " Even the servant!
"My lady begs that you will return with me. She would be very much hurt, ma'am, if you left the house like this, her ladyship begs me to say."
"Who was your message for?"
"For you, ma'am, of course," said the man.
"Ma'am—Mrs. Alston!" So this joke had been passed on even to the servants, and now she was asked to return.
"Go back and tell Lady Linden that I do not understand her message in the least. Kindly say that the person you overtook on the road was Miss Joan Meredyth, who is taking the next train to London." She bent her head, turned her back on him, and made her way on to the station.
Half an hour later she was leaning back wearily on the dusty seat of a third-class railway carriage, on her way back to the London she hated. Now she was going back again, because she had nowhere else to go. As she sat there with closed eyes, and the tears on her cheeks, she counted up her resources. They were so small, so slender, yet she had been so careful. And now this useless journey had eaten deeply into the little store.
She had no more than enough to keep her for another week, one more week, and then. … She shivered at the thought of the destitution that was before her.
Dinner at the boarding-house was over when she returned, but its unsavoury and peculiar smell still pervaded the place.
"Why, Miss Meredyth, I thought you were away for the week-end, at least," Mrs. Wenham said. "I suppose you won't want any dinner?"
"No," Joan said. "I shall not want anything. I—I—" She paused. "I was obliged to come back, after all. Perhaps you could let me have a cup of tea in my room, Mrs. Wenham?"
"Well, it's rather inconvenient with all the washing-up to do, and as you know I make it a rule that boarders have to be in to their meals, or go without—still—"
"Please don't trouble!" Joan said stiffly.
The woman looked up the stairs after the tall, slight figure.
"Very well, then, I won't!" she muttered. "The airs some people give themselves! Anyone would think she was a lady, instead of a clerk or something."
There was a letter addressed to Joan waiting for her in her room. She opened it, and read it.
"DEAR JOAN,
"I suppose you are in a temper with me, and I don't think you have acted quite fairly. A man can't do more than ask a girl to be his wife. It is not usually considered an insult; however, I say nothing, except just this: You won't find it easy to get other work to do, and if you like to come back here on Monday morning, the same as usual, I think you will be doing the sensible thing.
"Yours,
"PHILIP SLOTMAN."
She had never meant to go back. This morning she had thanked Heaven that she had looked her last on Mr. Philip Slotman, and yet a few hours can effect such changes.
The door was open to her; she could go back, and pick up her life again where she had dropped it before her journey to Cornbridge. After all, Slotman was not the only cad in the world. She would find others, it seemed to her, wherever she went.
At any rate, Slotman had opened the door by which she might re-enter. As he said, work would be very, very hard to get, and it was a bitter thing to have to starve.
"Perhaps," she said to herself wearily as she lay down on her bed, "perhaps I shall go back. It does not seem to matter so very much after all what I do—and I thought it did."
CHAPTER VI
"THE ONLY POSSIBLE THING"
For the first time since when, as a small, curly-headed boy, Hugh Alston had looked up at her ladyship with unclouded fearless eyes, that had appealed instantly to her, he and she were bad friends. Hugh had driven back to Hurst Dormer after a brief battle with her ladyship. He had seen Marjorie for a few moments, had soothed her, and told her not to worry, that it was not her fault. He had kissed her in brotherly fashion, and had wondered a little at himself for the slight feeling of impatience against her that came to him. He had never been impatient of her before, but her tears this afternoon unreasonably annoyed him.
"She's a dear, sweet little soul, and over tender-hearted. Of course, she got me into this mess, and of course, bless her heart, she is worrying over it; but it can't be helped. As for that other girl!" His lips tightened. It seemed to him that Miss Joan Meredyth had not shone any more than he had. She had taken the whole thing in bad part.
"No woman," said Hugh to himself, "has any sense of humour!" In which he was wrong, besides which, it had nothing to do with the case.
"I am disappointed in Hugh," Lady Linden said to her niece. "I don't often admit myself wrong; in this matter I do. I regarded Hugh Alston as a man utterly and completely open and above board. I find him nothing of the kind. I am deeply disappointed. I am glad to feel that my plans with regard to Hugh Alston and yourself will come to nothing."
"But, aunt—"
"Hold your tongue! and don't interrupt me when I am speaking. I have been considering the matter of you and Tom Arundel. Of course, your income is a small one, even if I released it, but—"
"Aunt—we—we wouldn't mind, I could manage on so little. I should love to manage for him." The girl clasped her hands, she looked with pleading eyes at the old lady.
"Well, well, we shall see!" her ladyship said indulgently. "I don't say No, and I don't say Yes. You are both young yet. By the way, write a letter to Tom and ask him to dine with us to-morrow."
"Thank you, aunt!" Marjorie flushed to her eyes. "Oh, thank you so much!"
"My good girl, there's nothing to get excited about. I don't suppose that he will eat more than about half a crown's worth."
Meanwhile, Hugh Alston had retired to his house at Hurst Dormer in a none too happy frame of mind. He had rowed with Lady Linden, had practically told her to mind her own business, which was a thing everyone had been wishing she would do for the past ten years, and no one had ever dared tell her to.
Altogether, he felt miserably unhappy, furious with himself and angry with Miss Joan Meredyth. The one and only person he did not blame was the one,