The Beetle Richard Marsh (most romantic novels TXT) 📖

so fickle as the other. To my certain knowledge, with how many girls have you been in love⁠—and out again. It is true that, to the best of my knowledge and belief, you have never been in love with me before⁠—but that’s the merest accident. Believe me, my dear, dear Sydney, you’ll be in love with someone else tomorrow⁠—if you’re not halfway there tonight. I confess, quite frankly, that, in that direction, all the experience I have had of you has in nowise strengthened my prophetic instinct. Cheer up!⁠—one never knows!⁠—Who is this that’s coming?”

It was Dora Grayling who was coming⁠—I went off with her without a word⁠—we were halfway through the dance before she spoke to me.

“I am sorry that I was cross to you just now, and⁠—disagreeable. Somehow I always seem destined to show to you my most unpleasant side.”

“The blame was mine⁠—what sort of side do I show you? You are far kinder to me than I deserve⁠—now, and always.”

“That is what you say.”

“Pardon me, it’s true⁠—else how comes it that, at this time of day, I’m without a friend in all the world?”

“You!⁠—without a friend!⁠—I never knew a man who had so many!⁠—I never knew a person of whom so many men and women join in speaking well!”

“Miss Grayling!”

“As for never having done anything worth doing, think of what you have done. Think of your discoveries, think of your inventions, think of⁠—but never mind! The world knows you have done great things, and it confidently looks to you to do still greater. You talk of being friendless, and yet when I ask, as a favour⁠—as a great favour!⁠—to be allowed to do something to show my friendship, you⁠—well, you snub me.”

“I snub you!”

“You know you snubbed me.”

“Do you really mean that you take an interest in⁠—in my work?”

“You know I mean it.”

She turned to me, her face all glowing⁠—and I did know it.

“Will you come to my laboratory tomorrow morning?”

“Will I!⁠—won’t I!”

“With your aunt?”

“Yes, with my aunt.”

“I’ll show you round, and tell you all there is to be told, and then if you still think there’s anything in it, I’ll accept your offer about that South American experiment⁠—that is, if it still holds good.”

“Of course it still holds good.”

“And we’ll be partners.”

“Partners?⁠—Yes⁠—we will be partners.”

“It will cost a terrific sum.”

“There are some things which never can cost too much.”

“That’s not my experience.”

“I hope it will be mine.”

“It’s a bargain?”

“On my side, I promise you that it’s a bargain.”

When I got outside the room I found that Percy Woodville was at my side. His round face was, in a manner of speaking as long as my arm. He took his glass out of his eye, and rubbed it with his handkerchief⁠—and directly he put it back he took it out and rubbed it again, I believe that I never saw him in such a state of fluster⁠—and, when one speaks of Woodville, that means something.

“Atherton, I am in a devil of a stew.” He looked it. “All of a heap!⁠—I’ve had a blow which I shall never get over!”

“Then get under.”

Woodville is one of those fellows who will insist on telling me their most private matters⁠—even to what they owe their washerwomen for the ruination of their shirts. Why, goodness alone can tell⁠—heaven knows I am not sympathetic.

“Don’t be an idiot!⁠—you don’t know what I’m suffering!⁠—I’m as nearly as possible stark mad.”

“That’s all right, old chap⁠—I’ve seen you that way more than once before.”

“Don’t talk like that⁠—you’re not a perfect brute!”

“I bet you a shilling that I am.”

“Don’t torture me⁠—you’re not. Atherton!” He seized me by the lapels of my coat, seeming half beside himself⁠—fortunately he had drawn me into a recess, so that we were noticed by few observers. “What do you think has happened?”

“My dear chap, how on earth am I to know?”

“She’s refused me!”

“Has she!⁠—Well I never!⁠—Buck up⁠—try some other address⁠—there are quite as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it.”

“Atherton, you’re a blackguard.”

He had crumpled his handkerchief into a ball, and was actually bobbing at his eyes with it⁠—the idea of Percy Woodville being dissolved in tears was excruciatingly funny⁠—but, just then, I could hardly tell him so.

“There’s not a doubt of it⁠—it’s my way of being sympathetic. Don’t be so down, man⁠—try her again!”

“It’s not the slightest use⁠—I know it isn’t⁠—from the way she treated me.”

“Don’t be so sure⁠—women often say what they mean least. Who’s the lady?”

“Who?⁠—Is there more women in the world than one for me, or has there ever been? You ask me who! What does the word mean to me but Marjorie Lindon!”

“Marjorie Lindon?”

I fancy that my jaw dropped open⁠—that, to use his own vernacular, I was “all of a heap.” I felt like it.

I strode away⁠—leaving him mazed⁠—and all but ran into Marjorie’s arms.

“I’m just leaving. Will you see me to the carriage, Mr. Atherton?” I saw her to the carriage. “Are you off?⁠—can I give you a lift?”

“Thank you⁠—I am not thinking of being off.”

“I’m going to the House of Commons⁠—won’t you come?”

“What are you going there for?”

Directly she spoke of it I knew why she was going⁠—and she knew that I knew, as her words showed.

“You are quite well aware of what the magnet is. You are not so ignorant as not to know that the Agricultural Amendment Act is on tonight, and that Paul is to speak. I always try to be there when Paul is to speak, and I mean to always keep on trying.”

“He is a fortunate man.”

“Indeed⁠—and again indeed. A man with such gifts as his is inadequately described as fortunate.⁠—But I must be off. He expected to be up before, but I heard from him a few minutes ago that there has been a delay, but that he will be up within half-an-hour.⁠—Till our next meeting.”

As I returned into the house, in the hall I met Percy Woodville. He had his hat on.

“Where are you off to?”

“I’m off to the House.”

“To hear Paul Lessingham?”

“Damn Paul Lessingham!”

“With all