For a moment or two Andrew played with the rose in his buttonhole, and looked down at her with a strange fire in his dark eyes. At last he spoke in a broken, uncertain voice:
"Rose, just before that troublesome man came in I told you that I loved you. Then there was the crash, a rather illomened crash," he added with a little laugh as though uttering a thought aloud, and paused.
She made no answer, unless a sigh could be so described.
"Now I repeat it," he went on, "in case you should have forgotten in the interval."
Still she made no answer, being one of those women who feel that their greatest strength lies in silence and forget that it is generally taken to mean consent. Her tender beauty, the grace of her form, the scent that rose from her rippling hair, the loveliness of her eyes into which the twilight seemed to have crept, in their sum intoxicated him who for the first time had passed beneath the yoke of passion. He fell to his knees before her; he cast his arms about her slender waist; he kissed her dress, her hands and then, growing reckless or unknowing, drew her down towards him and pressed his lips upon her face, her eyes, her hair; yes, and on her lips also.
She did not resist him, she let him have his way, only she never kissed him back. While she refrained from that, according to her peculiar code, the rest did not matter. Gently she pushed him away from her and rose. He also rose and stood trembling, ashamed of what he had done.
"I love you! I love you!" he repeated. "You are my angel and my star."
She smiled a little. Somehow it had never occurred to her to think of herself as either an angel or as a star. Nor did she particularly wish to fill those parts however figuratively, who was quite content to remain just a beautiful young woman in the flesh.
"I know," she murmured indefinitely, then paused.
"Oh! say more than that," he went on with passion. "Say that you love me also."
"I don't know," she replied still more indefinitely.
"But you must; you must. It is impossible that I can love so much and not be loved back again. You must love me. You must marry me, Rose."
At these words she looked up quickly. So he was going all the wayhe meant marriage.
"I have never thought much of love, Andrew, and you are very young to talk of marriage. Also, how could we marry when we have nothing to live on?"
"I have something," he answered, "a couple of hundred a year or so, and my profession."
"I'm afraid that won't be worth much to you for a long while, especially as you have made up your mind to work in Whitechapel where everybody expects to be doctored for nothing."
Now an idea occurred to Andrew, namely, to tell her that he had other prospects of a sort. He rejected it, however, first because they could not materialize except through the death of others, on which it seemed mean and unworthy to speculate, and secondly for the reason that he shared Dr. Watson's prejudices about rankto a certain extent his contempt for it, and in short held the whole business sordid, not mete for discussion with this divine and adorable creature. Perhaps it was the greatest mistake of his life, or the wisest act. It depends in what light it is regarded in view of all that was to come. What could such things matter, he reflected, when love, holy, unalterable love and nothing less was at stake? So of those prospects he said nothing.
"Besides," went on Rose, who had employed the interval in marshalling her arguments, "there is my father to be considered. If I married, he would be quite alone, and I promised my mother that I would always look after him. I could never break that promise, Andrew, just to please myself."
"You might look after us both," he suggested.
She shook her delicate head, and said:
"Three in a house would never agree, especially when both had such claims. You would grow jealous and he would be sore, and what would a poor woman do between you?"
"Then do you refuse me?" he asked bluntly. "Oh! don't tell me that you refuse me."
"I never said so," she replied, looking down. "I must have time to think."
"Oh! take it then," he answered. "I can come back tomorrow."
"You silly, Andrew! I mean a long time, at least a year. So many things happen in a year and by then I should knowmy own heart. In a year, too, you would know if you really cared about me. You must remember that in a way I am the first girl you have met, and doubtless you will see others whom you may think more suitable for many reasons andbetterlooking."
"I shall see no others," he replied sternly.
"Well, even if you do not, surely you would not wish to take advantage of my weakness and inexperience to press me to an irrevocable decision. It would not be like you to do so, because you know that a girl who is openly engaged is always tarnished if after all it should come to nothingwhatever the reason."
As it happened no argument could have been used more likely to appeal to Andrew. He tarnish Rose? Perish the thought! Sooner would he die.
"I see," he said. "I never looked at it in that light. Take your year. At the end of it I shall claim you, and you will give me the answer that I want."
She smiled in a dazzling fashion and avoiding that issue, said:
"Very well, so it is agreed. Meanwhile we will be the dearest of friends and you will say nothing as to an engagement, and I will say nothing even to my father. And now, dear Andrew, good night. I hope you will always think of me as I think of you and come to see me whenever you can. Oh! I never said that you might kiss me again, but after all, one more makes no difference."
Chapter IV
Somerville Black
It is doubtful whether all London held a happier man than was Andrew that night. Of course he was not finally and openly engaged, but then how good were Rose's reasons against such a course. How noble and unselfish! She thought of her father as a loving daughter should; she thought of him, Andrew, believingthough what put such a mad idea into her head he could not conceivethat he might wish to change his mind; she thought of what he would feel if by any chance their open betrothal came to an end, and he knew that thereby he had caused her name to be breathed upon; she thought, too, of how he might be hampered if he married very young and without sufficient means. In short, she thought of everybody and everything but herself. Oh! indeed she was a pearl above price, a woman whom a king might be glad to marry, an angel, one almost too good for this world. And she had let him kiss her, not once but often, and he knewoh! full surelythat never, never would she have allowed this unless her heart told her that he was the one man on earth to whom she wished to give that holy right.
He walked back to Justice Street treading so lightly that figuratively he seemed to float, a precious sensation which is granted occasionally to the young. Mrs. Josky saw him coming from her point of vantage on the doorstep and, like Dr. Somerville Black, at once diagnosed the case.
"He's been and gone and done it," she said to herself. "Poor young man!"
Then she fled to prepare the supper.
A little later she arrived with that meal to find Andrew gazing rapturously at the ceiling.
"Anything wrong with the plaster, Mr. West?" she asked, "or are you expecting an angel to come down into Justice Street, because if so, I fancy you will have to wait a long while."
"I was only thinking, Mrs. Josky."
"What of? Medicines and suchlike?" Then her eye fell upon the rose. "You had better put it in water," she said, pointing to that flower, "for I think you've seen the best of it. Or perhaps you would like to press it, for then, being wired, it will hold together a long time, until you want to throw it away or get another."
"I was only thinking, Mrs. Josky."
"What of? Medicines and suchlike?" Then her eye fell upon the rose. "You had better put it in water," she said, pointing to that flower, "for I think you've seen the best of it. Or perhaps you would like to press it, for then, being wired, it will hold together a long time, until you want to throw it away or get another."
"That's a good idea," said Andrew, and going to a shelf he took down a massive medical work (it chanced to be on diseases of the heart), and reverently deposited the rose between the pages.
"Better put some tissuepaper round it," suggested Mrs. Josky, "or it will stain the pretty picture" (which was one of the pectoral cavity cut open to reveal the organs within).
Again Andrew obeyed while Mrs. Josky watched him gloomily.
"Is that a very rare sort of rose, Mr. West," she asked while she pretended to arrange the plates, "that you take such particular care of it? Or is there some other reason?"
Andrew could resist no longer. He must communicate his joy, and here was an ideal confidante, one who would triumph with him, and understand.
"There is another reason, Mrs. Josky," he said solemnly. "This flower means a great deal to me; it is the gift of the lady whom I love."
"Is it, indeed, Mr. West? Well, it is pretty and it didn't cost her much, but does the lady love you?"
"Oh! yes, I think so. There are some things which young and innocent girls don't say right out, you know, Mrs. Josky. But in view of what passed" and he paused.
"Ah! kisses and the rest, I suppose. I've heard of them before, I have indeed. But what did pass, Mr. West? If you feel moved to tell me, I'll tell you what I think."
So Andrew told her at great length and with an extraordinary wealth of detail, nor, although it agonized her to know that the chops were getting cold, did Mrs. Josky attempt to cut him short.
"I forgot," said Andrew, when at length the history came to an end. "I promised secrecy; however, as you don't know who the lady is, it doesn't matter."
"No, I don't know, so of course it doesn't matter. But I was trying to think this business out, Mr. West. You are kind of engaged to some one you met suddenlike, but she isn't engaged to you?"
"No, now you mention it, Mrs. Josky, not exactly engaged."
"In short, the hook's in your mouth, but not in hers, and a year hence you are to find out whether she likes the taste of the bait."
"I should never have thought of calling it a hook, Mrs. Josky."
"Of course not, nobody does who is the right side of thirty. But somehow I didn't treat Josky like that, all take and no give, so to speak; and what's more, I don't think he would have stood it, if I had, for he wasn't romantic, wasn't Josky. 'Now you make up your mind, Emma,' he said to me, 'for I've got five minutes to spare for this job and no longer.'"
"Perhaps," suggested Andrew, "the temperament of the late Mr. Josky and my own differ somewhat."
"There ain't no doubt about that, Mr. West. They differs a lot. Well, there it is, you've gone through the top and one day you'll come out at the bottom, and then you'll know how you like it. Everybody does that kind of thing; why, I did myself before I met Josky. And now I'll take those chops down and warm them up."
"I don't want any chops," murmured Andrew.
"But you'll eat them all the same to support you through the trials of this mortal life," and she departed, leaving him wondering.
Somehow the tale of his perfect romance had not been as enthusiastically received as he could have hoped. But then Mrs. Josky waswell, Mrs. Josky, and could hardly be expected to understand.
As a matter of fact that good woman understood with almost painful clearness.
"She's a baggage, is that Rose Watson," she said, addressing a vagrant blackbeetle in the kitchen which she had failed to squash, "with no more heart than a dead heifer. She's keeping him hanging on, poor boy, while she looks round to see if she can't do better. Well, after all, her looks are her fortune, as the saying goes, and she mustn't be blamed if she takes them to the highest market. Still, I'm sorry for him, poor boy, for he thinks the world of her. It's just like the measles and he's got to get through with them, and that's all there is about it."
Three days later Andrew went to tea again at Red Hall, but somehow never got a word alone with Rose, for Sister Angelica and a friend were constantly in evidence, and however long he sat seemed determined to sit longer. On the famous Elizabethan table, however, he observed a new setout of china which, being a young man of taste and having some knowledge of such things, he was well aware must have been as costly as it was beautiful.
"What a pretty teaservice," he remarked.
"Yes," replied Rose, colouring. "Isn't it kind of Doctor Somerville Black? He sent them to me with a charming note to make up for those which he broke in the passage."
"Oh!" said Andrew. "I thought Sister Angelica broke them by running the tray into his back."
"Yes, I did," said Angelica, "it was so dark with all the doors shut and no gas lit."
Then the subject dropped, but Andrew left the rest of his tea undrunk in the lovely Sèvres cup. Rose observed it as she observed everything, and took an opportunity to touch his hand and give him one of her most angelic glances. Also, when he went away, she pressed it and gave him another heavenly look, and once more he walked home on air, yet feeling as if there were something just a little wanting. Also, he wished that the opulent Somerville Black would keep his antique Sèvres teaservices to himself.
As time went on he wished it a great deal more, since Somerville Black always seemed to be about the place. His interest in the young woman with the three personalities was apparently insatiable; also, it spread to other of Dr. Watson's cases. As it happened, however, Andrew saw very little of him. Chance, or something else, so arranged matters that they did not come across each other. Once they met upon the doorstep of Red Hall when the jovial doctor favoured him with a jest or two, asking him which member of the "floral kingdom" attracted his attention in the house. At first Andrew could not understand the riddle, but afterwards remembered that there is a plant called Angelica and another named Rose. Occasionally he saw the fine carriage drawn by highstepping horses speeding down the Whitechapel streets and inside of it caught sight of the doctor, looking more imposing and larger than ever in a resplendent furlined coat. One cold day, about this time too, he met Rose in the street, and noticed that she also was wearing a very beautiful long fur garment made of the finest sealskin with a collar and cuffs apparently of sable, which became her graceful figure very well indeed. He told her so, whereon she coloured and changed the subject. Afterwards he remembered that his cousin Clara had a somewhat similar coat which their uncle, Lord Atterton, had given to her and that she had told him it cost a hundred guineas. So he supposed that Rose's garment must be an imitation, or perhaps one that she had inherited from her mother, since he was sure that her father could never have afforded to pay so much for such an article.
He made some allusion to the matter to Sister Angelica, who acknowledged it with a watery and vacuous smile and, like Rose, changed the subject. After this, although he was the most innocent and unsuspecting of men, it must be confessed that Andrew did sometimes wonder whence had come those wondrous furs.
So perhaps did her own father, who once then they came from visiting a patient together, observed Rose passing them on the further side of the road, remarked in his distrait manner that she seemed to be very finely dressed, then coloured a little as though a thought had struck him, and looked down at the pavement.