Each day Jasper came to inquire of his sisters if they had news from Wattleborough or from Marian Yule. He exhibited no impatience, spoke of the matter in a disinterested tone; still, he came daily.
One afternoon he found Dora working alone. Maud, he was told, had gone to lunch at Mrs Lane's.
'So soon again? She's getting very thick with those people. And why don't they ask you?'
'Maud has told them that I don't care to go out.'
'It's all very well, but she mustn't neglect her work. Did she write anything last night or this morning?'
Dora bit the end of her pen and shook her head.
'Why not?'
'The invitation came about five o'clock, and it seemed to unsettle her.'
'Precisely. That's what I'm afraid of. She isn't the kind of girl to stick at work if people begin to send her invitations. But Itell you what it is, you must talk seriously to her; she has to get her living, you know. Mrs Lane and her set are not likely to be much use, that's the worst of it; they'll merely waste her time, and make her discontented.'
His sister executed an elaborate bit of cross-hatching on some waste paper. Her lips were drawn together, and her brows wrinkled. At length she broke the silence by saying:
'Marian hasn't been yet.'
Jasper seemed to pay no attention; she looked up at him, and saw that he was in thought.
'Did you go to those people last night?' she inquired.
'Yes. By-the-bye, Miss Rupert was there.'
He spoke as if the name would be familiar to his hearer, but Dora seemed at a loss.
'Who is Miss Rupert?'
'Didn't I tell you about her? I thought I did. Oh, I met her first of all at Barlow's, just after we got back from the seaside. Rather an interesting girl. She's a daughter of Manton Rupert, the advertising agent. I want to get invited to their house; useful people, you know.'
'But is an advertising agent a gentleman?'
Jasper laughed.
'Do you think of him as a bill-poster? At all events he is enormously wealthy, and has a magnificent house at Chislehurst.
The girl goes about with her stepmother. I call her a girl, but she must be nearly thirty, and Mrs Rupert looks only two or three years older. I had quite a long talk with her--Miss Rupert, Imean--last night. She told me she was going to stay next week with the Barlows, so I shall have a run out to Wimbledon one afternoon.'
Dora looked at him inquiringly.
'Just to see Miss Rupert?' she asked, meeting his eyes.
'To be sure. Why not?'
'Oh!' ejaculated his sister, as if the question did not concern her.
'She isn't exactly good-looking,' pursued Jasper, meditatively, with a quick glance at the listener, 'but fairly intellectual.
Plays very well, and has a nice contralto voice; she sang that new thing of Tosti's--what do you call it? I thought her rather masculine when I first saw her, but the impression wears off when one knows her better. She rather takes to me, I fancy.'
'But--' began Dora, after a minute's silence.
'But what?' inquired her brother with an air of interest.
'I don't quite understand you.'
'In general, or with reference to some particular?'
'What right have you to go to places just to see this Miss Rupert?'
'What right?' He laughed. 'I am a young man with my way to make.
I can't afford to lose any opportunity. If Miss Rupert is so good as to take an interest in me, I have no objection. She's old enough to make friends for herself.'
'Oh, then you consider her simply a friend?'
'I shall see how things go on.'
'But, pray, do you consider yourself perfectly free?' asked Dora, with some indignation.
'Why shouldn't I?'
'Then I think you have been behaving very strangely.'
Jasper saw that she was in earnest. He stroked the back of his head and smiled at the wall.
'With regard to Marian, you mean?'
'Of course I do.'
'But Marian understands me perfectly. I have never for a moment tried to make her think that--well, to put it plainly, that I was in love with her. In all our conversations it has been my one object to afford her insight into my character, and to explain my position. She has no excuse whatever for misinterpreting me. And I feel assured that she has done nothing of the kind.'
'Very well, if you feel satisfied with yourself--'
'But come now, Dora; what's all this about? You are Marian's friend, and, of course, I don't wish you to say a word about her.
But let me explain myself. I have occasionally walked part of the way home with Marian, when she and I have happened to go from here at the same time; now there was nothing whatever in our talk at such times that anyone mightn't have listened to. We are both intellectual people, and we talk in an intellectual way. You seem to have rather old-fashioned ideas--provincial ideas. A girl like Marian Yule claims the new privileges of woman; she would resent it if you supposed that she couldn't be friendly with a man without attributing "intentions" to him--to use the old word. We don't live in Wattleborough, where liberty is rendered impossible by the cackling of gossips.'
'No, but--'
'Well?'
'It seems to me rather strange, that's all. We had better not talk about it any more.'
'But I have only just begun to talk about it; I must try to make my position intelligible to you. Now, suppose--a quite impossible thing--that Marian inherited some twenty or thirty thousand pounds; I should forthwith ask her to be my wife.'
'Oh indeed!'
'I see no reason for sarca**. It would be a most rational proceeding. I like her very much; but to marry her (supposing she would have me) without money would he a gross absurdity, simply spoiling my career, and leading to all sorts of discontents.'
'No one would suggest that you should marry as things are.'
