"No, no, mother; you are wrong there," cried Mr. Fanning; "she does not belong to us at present."

"It's all the same," said Mrs. Fanning; "don't talk nonsense to me.

When a girl is engaged to a man--"

"Engaged! Good heavens!" I heard Lady Thesiger mutter, and then she sat very still, and fixed her eyes for a moment on my face, with a sort of glance which seemed to say, "Are you quite absolutely mad?"

"Yes, engaged," continued Mrs. Fanning. "It is a very queer engagement, it seems to me, but it is a _bona fide_ one for all that."

"As _bona fide_," said Mr. Fanning, with a profound sigh, "as there is a sky in the heavens. As _bona fide_ as there is a day and a night; as _bona fide_ as that I am in existence; but the marriage is not to be consummated until the 1st of June of next year. That is in the bond, and we have nothing to complain of if--if Westenra"--here his voice dropped to a sound of absolute tenderness--"if Westenra would rather not come with us now."

"Please explain," said Lady Thesiger. "I knew nothing of this. Do you mean to tell me, madam, that my friend Westenra Wickham is engaged to--to whom?"

"To my son Albert," said Mrs. Fanning, with great emphasis and with quite as much pride as Lady Thesiger's own.

"Is that the case, Westenra?" continued Jasmine, looking at me.

I bowed my head. I was silent for a moment; then I said, "I am engaged to Albert Fanning. I mean to marry him on the 1st of June next year."

"Then, of course, I have nothing to say. Do you wish to go away with the Fannings, Westenra? You must do what you wish."

I looked at her and then I looked at Mrs. Fanning, and then I looked at Albert, whose blue eyes were fixed on my face with all the soul he possessed shining out of them. He came close to me, took my hand, and patted it.

"You must do just as you please, little girl," he said; "just exactly as you please."

"Then I will write and let you know," I answered. "I cannot tell you to-day."

"That is all right--that is coming to business," said Mrs. Fanning; "that is as it should be. Albert, we are not wanted here, and we'll go. You'll let us know to-morrow, my dearie dear. Don't keep us waiting long, for we have to order rooms in advance at the big hotels in Switzerland at this time of year. Your ladyship, we will be wishing you good morning, and please understand one thing, that though we may not be quite so stylish, nor quite so up in the world as you are, yet we have got money enough, money enough to give us everything that money can buy, and Westenra will have a right good time with my son Albert and me. Come, Albert."

Albert Fanning gave me a piteous glance, but I could not reply to it just then, and I let them both go away, and felt myself a wretch for being so cold to them, and for their society so thoroughly.

When they were gone, and the sound of wheels had died away in the street, Jasmine turned to me.

"What does it mean?" she cried. "It cannot be true--you, Westenra, engaged to that man! Jim Randolph wants you; he loves you with all his heart; he has been chivalrous about you; he is a splendid fellow, and he is rich and in your own set, and you choose that man!"

"Yes, I choose Albert Fanning," I said. "I can never marry James Randolph."

"But why, why, why?" asked Jasmine.

CHAPTER XXIX

HAVE I LOST YOU?

I told her everything, not then, but on the evening of the same day.

She came into my room where I was lying on a sofa, for I was thoroughly prostrated with grief for my mother and--and other great troubles, and she held my hand and I told her. I described Jane's anxiety in the boarding-house, the debts creeping up and up, the aspect of affairs getting more and more serious; I told her about Mrs.

Fanning and Albert, and the chocolate-coloured brougham, and the drive to Highgate, and the rooms all furnished according to Albert's taste, and the garden, and the proposal he made to me there, and my horror.

And then I told her about mother's gradual fading and the certainty that she would not live long, and the doctor's verdict, and the one caution impressed and impressed upon me--that she was to have no shock of any sort, that everything was to be made smooth and right for her.

I described, further, Jane Mullins' agitation, her despair, her difficulty in going on at all, the dreadful news which had reached us with regard to Jim, the almost certainty that he was drowned.

Then I told her of the awful day when I went to try and borrow a thousand pounds from the d.u.c.h.ess, and how I could not see the d.u.c.h.ess, for she was too ill to see any one, all on account of Jim's supposed death; and then I told her what I found when I came back--the awful greasy little man in the dining-room--the man in possession. I described his att.i.tude that day at dinner, and the surprise and astonishment of the boarders; and then I explained how he had gone and why he had gone, and I told her of my visit to Albert Fanning in Paternoster Row, and what Albert Fanning had said, and how kind he was to me; and, notwithstanding his want of polish, how really chivalrous he was in his own way, and how really he loved me and wanted to help me. I made the very best of him, and I went on still further, and told her of the man who had burst into mother's presence in the drawing-room, and rudely demanded payment for his debt, and then how I had yielded, and told Albert Fanning that I would marry him, and how, after that, everything was smooth, and all the worries about money had disappeared as if by magic.

"I gave him my bond," I said at the conclusion. "I said that I would marry him at the end of a year, and he was satisfied, quite satisfied, and he paid up everything, and mother went to her grave happy. She was sure that all was well with me, and indeed I gave her to understand that all was very well, and she died; and never guessed that 17 Graham Square was an absolute, absolute failure--a castle in the clouds, which was tumbling about our heads."

I paused at the end of my story. Jasmine had tears in her eyes; they were rolling down her cheeks.

"Why didn't you come to me, Westenra?" she said; "my husband is very rich, and we would have lent you the money. Oh! to think that a thousand pounds could have saved you!"

"I did not think of you," I replied. "You must acknowledge, Jasmine, that you were cold and indifferent, and did not help me with a cheery word, nor with much of your presence, during my time in the boarding-house; and when the d.u.c.h.ess failed me, troubles came on too thick and fast to wait for any chance help from outside. I just took the help that was near, and in my way was grateful."

"I see," said Jasmine; "it is a most piteous--most terrible story."

"Do not say that," I answered. "Help me to bear it; don't pity me too much. Help me to see the best, all the best in those two good people with whom I am in future to live. Albert Fanning is not polished, he is not a gentleman outwardly, but he has--O Jasmine! he has in his own way a gentleman's heart, and his mother is a dear old soul, and even for Jim I would not break my bond, no, not for fifty Jim Randolphs; but I love Jim--oh, I love him with all my heart and soul."

I did not cry as I said the words; I was quite past tears that evening, and Jasmine continued to sit near me and to talk in soft tones, and after a time she relapsed into silence, a sort of despairing silence, and I lay with my eyes closed, for I could not look at her, and presently I dropped asleep.

At an early hour the next day I wrote to the Fannings to tell them that I would go with them to Switzerland. I went and saw Jasmine after I had written the note.

"I am going with the Fannings to Switzerland on the 4th of August," I said; "will this interfere with your plans? I mean, may I stay on here until they start?"

"Oh yes, you can stay on here, Westenra," she replied. She looked at me fixedly. I thought she would say something to dissuade me, but she did not. She opened her lips once, but no words came. She simply said--

"Is that the letter?"

"Yes."

"I am going out," she said then; "I will post it for you."

"Thank you," I answered. I went back to the drawing-room. I heard Jasmine go downstairs and out, and then I sat quiet. Everything seemed to have come to a sort of end; I could not see my way any further. In a fortnight's time I should have truly stepped down out of sight of those who were my friends. I should have left them for ever and ever. It would be a final stepping down for me. Nevertheless, the faintest thought of being unfaithful to the promise I had made, I am glad to think now, never for a single moment occurred to me.

Jasmine returned to lunch, and after lunch we went to the drawing-room, and she asked me if I would like to drive with her. I said--

"Yes, but not in the Park." Perhaps she guessed what I meant.

"Jim has come back," she remarked; "I had a line from him, and he wants to see you this evening."

"Oh, I cannot see him," I answered.

"I think you must. You ought to tell him yourself; it is only fair to him. Tell him just what you told me; he ought to know, and it will pain him less to hear it from your lips."

I thought for a moment.

"What hour is he coming?" I asked then.

"He will look in after dinner about nine o'clock. I am going to a reception with Henry; you will have the drawing-room to yourselves."