The Soft Side (New York: The Macmillan Company, 1900)/The Given Case/Chapter 4
IV
On hearing from Mrs. Despard that she must see him, Philip Mackern's action was immediate: she had named the morrow for his call, but he knocked at her door, on the chance, an hour after reading her note. The footman demurred, but at the same moment Barton Reeve, taking his departure, appeared in the hall, and Mackern instantly appealed to him.
'She is at home, I judge—isn't she?' The young man was so impatient that it was only afterwards he took into account a queerness of look on Reeve's part—a queerness that seemed to speak of a different crisis and that indeed something in his own face might, to his friend's eyes, remarkably have matched. Like two uneasy Englishmen, at any rate, they somehow passed each other, and when, a minute later, in the drawing-room, Mrs. Despard, who, with her back presented, was at the window, turned about at the sound of his name, she showed him an expression in which nothing corresponded to that of her other visitor. It may promptly be mentioned that, even through what followed, this visitor's presence was, to Mackern's sense, still in the air; only it was also just one of the things ministering, for our friend, to the interest of retrospect that such a fact—the fact that Mrs. Despard could be so 'wonderful'—conveyed a reminder of the superior organisation of women. 'I know you said to-morrow,' he quickly began; 'but I'll come to-morrow too. Is it bad or good?' he went on—'I mean what you have to tell me. Even if I just know it's bad, I believe I can wait—if you haven't time now.'
'I haven't time, at all, now,' Mrs. Despard replied very sweetly. 'I can only give you two minutes—my dressmaker's waiting. But it isn't bad,' she added.
'Then it's good?' he eagerly asked.
'Oh, I haven't the least idea you'll think it so! But it's because it's exactly what I myself have been wanting and hoping that I wrote to you. It strikes me that the sooner you know the better. I've just heard from Bombay—from Amy Warden.'
'Amy Warden?' Philip Mackern wondered.
'John Grove-Stewart's sister—the nice one. He comes home immediately—doesn't wait till the autumn. So there you are!' said Mrs. Despard.
Philip Mackern looked straight at the news, with which she now presented herself as brilliantly illuminated. 'I don't see that I'm anywhere but where I've always been. I haven't expected anything of his absence that I shan't expect of his presence.'
Mrs. Despard thought a moment, but with perfect serenity. 'Have you expected quite fatally to compromise her?'
He gave her question an equal consideration. 'To compromise her?'
'That's what you are doing, you know—as deliberately as ever you can.'
Again the young man thought. They were in the middle of the room—she had not asked him to sit down. 'Quite fatally, you say?'
'Well, she has just one chance to save herself.'
Mackern, whom Mrs. Despard had already, more than once, seen turn pale under the emotion of which she could touch the spring, gave her again—and with it a smile that struck her as strange—this sign of sensibility. 'Yes—she may have only one chance. But it's such a good one!' he laughed. 'What is Mr. Grove-Stewart coming home for?'
'Because it has reached him that the whole place is filled with the wonder of her conduct. Amy Warden thinks that, as so intimate a friend, I should hear what he has decided to do. She takes for granted, I suppose—though she doesn't say it—that I'll let Margaret know.'
Philip Mackern looked at the ceiling. 'She doesn't know yet?'
Mrs. Despard hesitated. 'I suppose he means it as a surprise.'
'So you won't tell her?'
'On the contrary—I shall tell her immediately. But I thought it best to tell you first.'
'I'm extremely obliged to you,' said Philip Mackern.
'Of course you hate me—but I don't care!' Mrs. Despard declared. 'You've made her talked about in India—you may be proud!'
Once more Philip Mackern considered. 'I'm not at all proud—but I think I'm very glad.'
'I think you're very horrible then. But I've said what I wanted. Good-bye.' Mrs. Despard had nodded at the foot man, who, returning, had announced her carriage. He had left, on retiring, the door open, and as she followed him to go to her room her visitor went out with her. She gave Mackern, on the landing, a last word. 'Her one chance is to marry him as soon as he arrives.'
Mackern's strange smile, in his white face, was now fixed. 'Her one chance, dear lady, is to marry me.'
His hostess, suddenly flushing on this, showed a passion that startled him. 'Stuff!' she crudely cried, and turned away with such impatience that, quitting her, he passed half downstairs. But she more quickly turned back to him; calling his name, she came to the top, while, checked, he looked up at her. Then she spoke with a particular solemnity. 'To marry you, Mr. Mackern,'—it was quite portentous,—'will be the very worst thing for her good name.'
The young man stood staring, then frankly emulated his friend. 'Rubbish!' he rang out as he swiftly descended.