  On the morning after the dance Dr Congleton summoned Dr Escott to his room. “Escott,” he began, “we must keep a little sharper eye on Mr Beveridge.” “Indeed, sir?” said Escott; “he seems to me harmless enough.” “Nevertheless, he must be watched. Lady Grillyer was considerably alarmed by his conduct last night, and a client who has confided so many of her relatives to my care must be treated with the greatest regard. I receive pheasants at Christmas from no fewer than fourteen families of title, and my reputation for discretion is too valuable to be risked. When Mr Beveridge is not under your own eyes you must see that Moggridge always keeps him in sight.” Accordingly Moggridge, a burly and seasoned attendant on refractory patients, was told off to keep an unobtrusive eye on that accomplished gentleman. His duties appeared light enough, for, as I have said, Mr Beveridge’s eccentricities had hitherto been merely of the most playful nature. After luncheon on this same day he gave Escott twelve breaks and a beating at billiards, and then having borrowed and approved of one of his cigars, he strolled into the park. If he intended to escape observation, he certainly showed the most skilful strategy, for he dodged [pg 33] All at once he heard something move on the far side of the wall: he paused to make sure, and then he whistled, “An uncommonly happy idea,” he said to himself, looking at the missive with the air of one versed in these matters. Then he leisurely proceeded to unfold and read the note. “To my friend,” he read, “if I may call you a friend, since I have known you only such a short time—may I? This is just to express my sympathy, and although I cannot express it well, still perhaps you will forgive my feeble effort!!” At this point, just as he was regarding the double mark of exclamation with reminiscent entertainment, a plaintive voice from the other side of the wall cried in a stage whisper, “Have you got it?” [pg 34]Mr Beveridge composed his face, and heaving his shoulders to his ears in the effort, gave vent to a prodigious sigh. “A million thanks, my fairest and kindest of friends,” he answered in the same tone. “I read it now: I drink it in, I——” He kissed the back of his hand loudly two or three times, sighed again, and continued his reading. “I wish I could help you,” it ran, “but I am afraid I cannot, as the world is so censorious, is it not? So you must accept a friend’s sympathy if it does not seem to you too bold and forward of her!!! Perhaps we may meet again, as I sometimes go to Clankwood. Au revoir.—Your sympathetic well-wisher. A. À. F.” He folded it up and put it in his waistcoat-pocket, then he exclaimed in an audible aside, his voice shaking with the most affecting thrill, “Perhaps we may meet again! Only perhaps! O Alicia!” And then dropping again into a stage whisper, he asked, “Are you still there, Lady Alicia?” A timorous voice replied, “Yes, Mr Fortescue. But I really must go now!” “Now? So soon?” “I have stayed too long already.” “’Tis better to have stayed too long than never to wear stays at all,” replied Mr Beveridge. There was no response for a moment. Then a low voice, a little hurt and a good deal puzzled, asked with evident hesitation, “What—what did you say, Mr Fortescue?” [pg 35]“I said that Lady Alicia’s stay cannot be too long,” he answered, softly. “But—but what good can I be?” “The good you cannot help being.” There was another moment’s pause, then the voice whispered, “I don’t quite understand you.” “My Alicia understands me not!” Mr Beveridge soliloquised in another audible aside. Aloud, or rather in a little lower tone, he answered, “I am friendless, poor, and imprisoned. What is the good in your staying? Ah, Lady Alicia! But why should I detain you? Go, fair friend! Go and forget poor Francis Beveridge!” There came a soft, surprised answer, “Francis Beveridge?” “Alas! you have guessed my secret. Yes, that is the name of the unhappiest of mortals.” As he spoke these melancholy words he threw away the stump of his cigar, took another from his case, and bit off the end. The voice replied, “I shall remember it—among my friends.” Mr Beveridge struck a match. “H’sh! Whatever is that?” cried the voice in alarm. “A heart breaking,” he replied, lighting his cigar. “Don’t talk like that,” said the voice. “It—it distresses me.” There was a break in the voice. “And, alas! between distress and consolation there are fifteen perpendicular feet of stone and mortar and the relics of twelve hundred bottles of Bass,” he replied. [pg 36]“Perhaps,”—the voice hesitated—“perhaps we may see each other some day.” “Say to-morrow at four o’clock,” he suggested, pertinently. “If you could manage to be passing up the drive at that hour.” There was another pause. “Perhaps——” the voice began. At that moment he heard the sharp crack of a branch behind him, and turning instantly he spied the uncompromising countenance of Moggridge peering round a tree about twenty paces distant. Lack of presence of mind and quick decision were not amongst Mr Beveridge’s failings. He struck a theatrical attitude at once, and began in a loud voice, gazing up at the tops of the trees, “He comes! A stranger comes! Yes, my fair friend, we may meet again. Au revoir, but only for a while! Ah, that a breaking heart should be lit for a moment and then the lamp be put out!” Meanwhile Moggridge was walking towards him. “Ha, Moggridge!” he cried. “Good day.” “Time you was goin’ in, sir,” said Moggridge, stolidly; and to himself he muttered, “He’s crackeder than I thought, a-shoutin’ and a-ravin’ to hisself. Just as well I kept a heye on ’im.” Like most clever people, Mr Beveridge generally followed the line of least resistance. He slipped his arm through his attendant’s, shouted a farewell apparently to some imaginary divinity overhead, and turned towards the house. “This is an unexpected pleasure,” he remarked. [pg 37]“Yes, sir,” replied Moggridge. “Funny thing your turning up. Out for a walk, I suppose?” “For a stroll, sir—that’s to say——” he stopped. “That on these chilly afternoons the dear good doctor is afraid of my health?” “That’s kind o’ it, sir.” “But of course I’m not supposed to notice anything, eh?” Moggridge looked a trifle uncomfortable and was discreetly silent. Mr Beveridge smiled at his own perspicacity, and then began in the most friendly tone, “Well, I feel flattered that so stout a man has been told off to take care of me. What an arm you’ve got, man.” “Pretty fair, sir,” said Moggridge, complacently. “And I am thankful, too,” continued Mr Beveridge, “that you’re a man of some sense. There are a lot of fools in the world, Moggridge, and I’m somewhat of an epicure in the matter of heads.” “Mine ’as been considered pretty sharp,” Moggridge admitted, with a gratified relaxation of his wooden countenance. “Have a cigar?” his patient asked, taking out his case. “Thank you, sir, I don’t mind if I do.” “You will find it a capital smoke. I don’t throw them away on every one.” Moggridge, completely thawed, lit his cigar and slackened his pace, for such frank appreciation of his merits was rare in a critical world. [pg 38]“You can perhaps believe, Moggridge,” said Mr Beveridge, reflectively, “that one doesn’t often have the chance of talking confidentially to a man of sense in Clankwood.” “No, sir, I should himagine not.” “And so one has sometimes to talk to oneself.” This was said so sadly that Moggridge began to feel uncomfortably affected. “Ah, Moggridge, one cannot always keep silence, even when one least wants to be overheard. Have you ever been in love, Moggridge?” The burly keeper changed countenance a little at this embarrassingly direct question, and answered diffidently, “Well, sir, to be sure men is men and woming will be woming.” “The deuce, they will!” replied Mr Beveridge, cordially; “and it’s rather hard to forget ’em, eh?” “Hindeed it is, sir.” “I remembered this afternoon, but I should like you as a good chap to forget. You won’t mention my moment of weakness, Moggridge?” “No, sir,” said Moggridge, stoutly. “I suppose I hought to report what I sees, but I won’t this time.” “Thank you,” said Mr Beveridge, pressing his arm. “I had, you know, a touch of the sun in India, and I sometimes talk when I shouldn’t. Though, after all, that isn’t a very uncommon complaint.” And so it happened that no rumour prejudicial either to his sanity or to the progress of his friendship with the Lady Alicia reached the ears of the authorities. |
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