Читать книгу The Golden Rose - Fred M. White - Страница 5

Table of Contents

"I invented them," Lethbridge said curtly. "They were the first success which encouraged me. The idea came to me nearly four years ago, and it took me a year to bring it to a successful issue. At that time I knew a man who was more or less interested in my researches; indeed, he was going to finance me, only he changed his mind and went to America instead. I don't know whether he was a rascal or not because I can never prove it. But he got the best of me and managed to place the striped carnation on the American market. I think if you ask your uncle he will tell you that the seeds of his striped Dianthus came from the States."

"I believe that is so," Mary Grover replied.

"Ah, I am certain of it. Perhaps you would like to hear the story of the way in which the inventor of a new flower was deprived of the fruits of his industry. It won't take many minutes. I need not tell you what my feelings were when I found that no fewer than four of my carnations were new striped hybrids. You will recollect that they are marked all across in straight bands of colour like a coat of arms. When I showed those plants to my friend he was deeply interested. He told me, however, that the colours would be likely to fade and would have no permanent value. He knew what he was talking about, and I was profoundly impressed by what he said. I did not allow more than three blooms to each plant, for naturally I wanted their heads to be as fine as possible. You can imagine my dismay next morning when I found that the yellow bands had entirely disappeared, and that each bloom had become a washed-out crimson. My friend was in town, but when he came back I showed him what had happened. I told him I felt certain that in the course of time I could remove this extraordinary blemish, but he did not seem disposed to echo my enthusiasm. At any rate, he made some excuse for not giving me the money he had promised. I was so disgusted that I tore up my carnations and threw them on the rubbish heap. I turned my attention to something else, but you can imagine my surprise when, a few months later, the very flower I had invented was introduced into this country from America. Oh, don't ask me to explain how it came about. All I know is that I was deceived, and that my false friend was reaping the product of my brain. Since then I have never heard from him, but if we do meet—"

Lethbridge paused and drew a long breath. The girl's eyes were turned upon him sympathetically.

"Did your friend know you had thrown those plants away?" she asked. "Did he see you do it? I understand that carnations are hardy things and stand any amount of transplanting."

"My word! I never thought of that," Lethbridge exclaimed energetically. "And yet I have brooded over this mystery till the thing has haunted me. And you have solved it by a single question. But I am afraid that make my position little better than it was before."

"Isn't there another point of view which you have overlooked?" the girl asked. "Of course, it is possible your friend deceived you and made use of the plants you had thrown away, but that would not account for the blooms changing colour."

"I hadn't thought of that," Lethbridge replied. "What a strange thing it is I should be talking to you like this when an hour ago I was not aware of your existence!"

Mary Grover smiled brightly. She was frankly enjoying the conversation, the more because her life with Jasper Payn was dull and monotonous. It was the first time for years that she had had an opportunity of talking to a man of her own age and station, for Jasper Payn kept himself rigidly to himself; indeed, the only man who saw him at all was a local inspector of police, an enthusiastic amateur gardener, whose acquaintance Payn had cultivated more for his own protection than anything else, for the old man had never lost his haunting fears, and lived in constant dread of being robbed of his discoveries as he had been on the occasion which led to the quarrel between himself and John Lethbridge.

These things Mary chattered about idly enough. She saw that her companion was interested, and she grew vivacious. She could not know why Lethbridge was so eager to discover her life's history. He would tell her the truth presently, and then this little episode would be finished. But he would not tell her yet; he would get every possible enjoyment out of the interview first. It was so pleasant to stand chatting there, watching the play of expression upon that beautiful face, and observing how the shadows changed in her eyes. Then, with an effort, John Lethbridge braced himself to the inevitable. The rain had ceased to beat upon the roof of the greenhouse, and the wind had died away in the trees.

"I think it is fine now," Lethbridge suggested.

"Oh, is it?" the girl asked half-regretfully. "In that case I must he getting back home. My uncle will wonder what has become of me. But what have you here?"

She pointed to a small doorway at the end of the greenhouse which led into a compartment beyond, where another electric light was burning soft and subdued behind a pink shade. The girl laid her hand upon the door-knob when Lethbridge came to her side. His face had suddenly grown severe.

"Not there," he said shortly. "I have shown you a good deal, but there are certain things I cannot tell you. Some day, perhaps—. But I beg your pardon. I fear I have annoyed you."

Mary Grover's face flushed crimson and her lips trembled. Perhaps Lethbridge was not aware of the note of sternness which had crept into his voice.

"I don't want to be curious," the girl said coldly.

"Of course not," Lethbridge replied eagerly. "I quite understand. Still, there are certain matters which one cannot speak of."

A constraint seemed to fall upon them and Mary moved towards the door. The rain had ceased; a few heavy drops were dripping from the trees; the whole air was fragrant with the smell of fresh flowers. Mary hesitated for a moment, and then held out her hand timidly.

"You must let me come with you as far as your garden gate," Lethbridge replied. "I don't like the idea of your going alone. You mistook your way before, and you might do it again."

Lethbridge was not to be denied. He strode along by her side quieter and more subdued than he had been, for he had something on his mind. He would have to tell the girl who he was; he was too proud to make her acquaintance under false pretences. She would probably regard him from the same standpoint as his uncle had. She would look upon him as a man without honour or integrity. Possibly if they met again she would decline to speak to him. But this alternative had to be faced.

Still, there was no occasion to hurry it. The truth would keep to the last moment, and Mary Grover was chatting freely and easily. She had forgotten her curiosity and the incident of the green house. The garden gate of Jasper Payn's establishment was close at hand. The girl paused at length, and turned a bright face to her companion.

"Let me thank you once more," she said. "I should like to ask you to come in, but I'm afraid my uncle would not like it. He is so suspicious of strangers."

Here was Lethbridge's opening, and he took it lest his courage should fail him.

"Perhaps your uncle is right," he said, not without a touch of bitterness in his tone. "Probably he would be less than pleased to see me when he recognised—"

The speaker paused abruptly, for all of a sudden a loud outcry broke on the startled air. There was a noise of broken glass, followed by the rustle of some object in the bushes close by. What the object was Lethbridge could not make out, for it was very dark and the foliage was thick. Before Lethbridge could make up his mind what it was the outcry broke forth again.

"That is my uncle," Mary said in a startled voice. "I fear he has met with some accident, or worse. Won't you come with me, please? I dare not go alone."

For Lethbridge had hesitated. He had not had the slightest intention of meeting his eccentric relative again. He had merely made up his mind to tell the girl who he was and go his way, leaving her to decide whether or not she would continue the acquaintance. But now he had no alternative. It would have been cowardly to allow the girl to face the unseen danger alone, and whatever Lethbridge's faults lack of courage was not one of them.

"What is the matter?" the girl asked impatiently. "Why do you stand there when my poor uncle—"

"Say no more," Lethbridge replied. "You will know presently why I hesitated. Lead the way, please. Is not this the path that goes up to the house?"