Читать книгу Lady Jim of Curzon Street - Fergus Hume - Страница 10

"How can't I, you mean," he replied, smiling; "do you think I am as cold as the snow?"

"I don't know if you're as nice," pouted Joan, "or you would have asked me to walk with you this morning."

"No, dear," he said, gravely: "I could not have taken you to see Harold Garth. The poor fellow is too ill. But we can walk now. I have nothing to do, and--Joan, where are you going?"

"Back to the house. I won't be taken for a walk on nothing-to-do terms."

"You silly child!"

"You cruel boy!"

Then they kissed and made it up in full view of a red-breast, who cocked his head on one side and wondered why these human beings looked so pleased. Joan said "Shoo!" and he flew away to tell his wife, while the couple walked sedately through the gates, and into a world which their love created for themselves alone.

All the same, their conversation was a trifle prosaic. They read a letter which Joan had received from her mother about trouble over the Christmas gifts to the poor of the parish, and discussed this old woman who lived in a chilly garret, and that old man who dwelt like a troglodyte in a damp cellar, till the conversation became as sober as the looks of the village sexton whom they met. And he was a teetotaller.

But however enthusiastic human nature may be in the talking and doing of good works, love after all takes precedence of philanthropy, and shortly they began discussing themselves and their happiness. What they said does not matter much. Although foolish, it was sweet to them, and Joan's eyes sparkled like the icicles on the bleak hedge-rows at the looks her lover gave her. They walked in the pleasant Land of Tenderness, and down the by-lane of First Love. Joan had never seen the old French chart of that country, with its quaint names and odd geography, but neither Lionel nor herself needed its guidance. They had skimmed through the country before, and knew the lie of it extremely well.

The pair soared pretty nearly to the gates of their transcendental heaven, until the strain became too great for mere human effort, and they folded their wings of thought to drop earthward. That unfailing timepiece, the human interior, announced the hour of luncheon, and with some haste they turned homeward.

"I am hungry," said Lionel, ogreishly.

"Don't eat me," laughed Miss Tallentire; "you look as though you could!"

"You be Red Ridinghood and I the wolf," suggested Lionel.

"No. Do be serious, Lionel! I want you to tell me about this poor man you saw."

"Garth? Ah, he'll never see another Christmas. Consumption is wasting him to a shadow. In another three or four months----" Lionel broke off with a sigh, "Poor man!"

"Can't anything be done?" asked Joan, sympathetically.

"Everything possible is being done, Joan. The Duke is looking after Garth in every way--you know how kind he is. He even sent Demetrius to cure him, and if Demetrius can't, no one else can."

"But if he was taken to a warmer climate----"

"The end would only be retarded for a few months," interrupted the curate. "Demetrius says there is no hope. And I don't think the poor fellow is sorry to go, Joan. He has no relatives, and few friends. I fancy he has had a lonely life."

The tears filled Joan's brown eyes. "Poor fellow!" she echoed, stealing one hand into that of her lover's. "Fancy, if we----"

"I can't fancy it with you by my side. And what is more, I don't intend to fancy it," said Lionel, hastily. "Please God, you and I have many happy and useful years before us. How do you like the Firmingham vicarage, Joan?"

"Oh, it's lovely, and such a sweet church. But I fear it's too good to be true."

"Perhaps it's not what you want," joked the curate. "If I were the Duke, now!"

"Ah, that's impossible," she laughed, amused at the idea of being a duchess; "the very idea frightens me."

"It needn't," Lionel assured her: "you will never be called upon to wear strawberry leaves, unless the Duke and Frith and Jim all go the way poor Garth is taking. And then Frith's wife may have a little Lord Firmingham. I sincerely hope so, as it would never do for Jim to be the Duke of Pentland."

"You don't like him?"

"Not passionately," said the curate, dryly.

"His wife would make a splendid duchess."

"In looks, I have no doubt. But with fifty thousand a year and a great position, she and Jim would do good to neither God nor man."

"Lady James Kaimes seems very kind," observed Joan, timidly.

"It's all seeming. Of real, true, self-sacrificing kindness she knows absolutely nothing."

"But she is so beautiful, Lionel."

"So was Jezebel, I expect."

"Oh, Lionel!"

"Oh, Joan!" he mimicked. "Don't worry your head over Lady Jim. She will always get on well in this world, though I am very doubtful about her position in the next. Come," he pointed down the incline of the lane, "I'll race you to the bottom."

"We might meet some one."

"I don't care--I'm out for a holiday;" and away flew Lionel down the snowy lane, with his clerical coattails fluttering in the wind.

Joan, girlish and simple and extremely young, sped after him, and with rosy cheeks arrived at the goal before her lover.

"Come," said the curate, wiping his heated brow, "considering I won three flat races at the 'varsity, that's not bad, Joan."

"You humbug, as if I didn't see that you let me win.

"I'll be a tyrant after marriage," said Lionel, merrily. "Enjoy your little day, my love!"

"I am enjoying this day," said Joan, as they walked rapidly towards the park gates; "but what will Lady Canvey say?"

"Pooh! What does it matter? She was young herself a century ago."

"She's a dear old woman."

"No," contradicted Lionel, critically; "she is old and clever, but I should not call her a dear. That word suits some one else."

"Me," cried Joan, triumphantly.

"How clever of you to guess that! Hulloa, who is this?"

The gates were opened and a sledge issued, drawn by two black ponies. In it sat Lady Jim, who was driving, and Dr. Constantine Demetrius.

"What is she up to now?" Lionel asked himself. He was intensely distrustful of Lady Jim, but he did not explain this to Joan.