New Grub Street George Gissing (notion reading list TXT) 📖

see in her face that she was hungry. Just imagine! A beautiful girl absolutely hungry; it drove me frantic! But that was a great point gained. After that we saw each other almost every day, and at last⁠—she consented! Did indeed! I can hardly believe it yet. We shall be married in a fortnight’s time.”

“I congratulate you,” said Reardon.

“So do I,” sighed Biffen.

“The day before yesterday she went to Birmingham to see her father and tell him all about the affair. I agreed with her it was as well; the old fellow isn’t badly off; and he may forgive her for running away, though he’s under his wife’s thumb, it appears. I had a note yesterday. She had gone to a friend’s house for the first day. I hoped to have heard again this morning⁠—must tomorrow, in any case. I live, as you may imagine, in wild excitement. Of course, if the old man stumps up a wedding present, all the better. But I don’t care; we’ll make a living somehow. What do you think I’m writing just now? An author’s Guide. You know the kind of thing; they sell splendidly. Of course I shall make it a good advertisement of my business. Then I have a splendid idea. I’m going to advertise: ‘Novel-writing taught in ten lessons!’ What do you think of that? No swindle; not a bit of it. I am quite capable of giving the ordinary man or woman ten very useful lessons. I’ve been working out the scheme; it would amuse you vastly, Reardon. The first lesson deals with the question of subjects, local colour⁠—that kind of thing. I gravely advise people, if they possibly can, to write of the wealthy middle class; that’s the popular subject, you know. Lords and ladies are all very well, but the real thing to take is a story about people who have no titles, but live in good Philistine style. I urge study of horsey matters especially; that’s very important. You must be well up, too, in military grades, know about Sandhurst, and so on. Boating is an important topic. You see? Oh, I shall make a great thing of this. I shall teach my wife carefully, and then let her advertise lessons to girls; they’ll prefer coming to a woman, you know.”

Biffen leant back and laughed noisily.

“How much shall you charge for the course?” asked Reardon.

“That’ll depend. I shan’t refuse a guinea or two; but some people may be made to pay five, perhaps.”

Someone knocked at the door, and a voice said:

“A letter for you, Mr. Whelpdale.”

He started up, and came back into the room with face illuminated.

“Yes, it’s from Birmingham; posted this morning. Look what an exquisite hand she writes!”

He tore open the envelope. In delicacy Reardon and Biffen averted their eyes. There was silence for a minute, then a strange ejaculation from Whelpdale caused his friends to look up at him. He had gone pale, and was frowning at the sheet of paper which trembled in his hand.

“No bad news, I hope?” Biffen ventured to say.

Whelpdale let himself sink into a chair.

“Now if this isn’t too bad!” he exclaimed in a thick voice. “If this isn’t monstrously unkind! I never heard anything so gross as this⁠—never!”

The two waited, trying not to smile.

“She writes⁠—that she has met an old lover⁠—in Birmingham⁠—that it was with him she had quarrelled⁠—not with her father at all⁠—that she ran away to annoy him and frighten him⁠—that she has made it up again, and they’re going to be married!”

He let the sheet fall, and looked so utterly woebegone that his friends at once exerted themselves to offer such consolation as the case admitted of. Reardon thought better of Whelpdale for this emotion; he had not believed him capable of it.

“It isn’t a case of vulgar cheating!” cried the forsaken one presently. “Don’t go away thinking that. She writes in real distress and penitence⁠—she does indeed. Oh, the devil! Why did I let her go to Birmingham? A fortnight more, and I should have had her safe. But it’s just like my luck. Do you know that this is the third time I’ve been engaged to be married?⁠—no, by Jove, the fourth! And every time the girl has got out of it at the last moment. What an unlucky beast I am! A girl who was positively my ideal! I haven’t even a photograph of her to show you; but you’d be astonished at her face. Why, in the devil’s name, did I let her go to Birmingham?”

The visitors had risen. They felt uncomfortable, for it seemed as if Whelpdale might find vent for his distress in tears.

“We had better leave you,” suggested Biffen. “It’s very hard⁠—it is indeed.”

“Look here! Read the letter for yourselves! Do!”

They declined, and begged him not to insist.

“But I want you to see what kind of girl she is. It isn’t a case of farcical deceiving⁠—not a bit of it! She implores me to forgive her, and blames herself no end. Just my luck! The third⁠—no, the fourth time, by Jove! Never was such an unlucky fellow with women. It’s because I’m so damnably poor; that’s it, of course!”

Reardon and his companion succeeded at length in getting away, though not till they had heard the virtues and beauty of the vanished girl described again and again in much detail. Both were in a state of depression as they left the house.

“What think you of this story?” asked Biffen. “Is this possible in a woman of any merit?”

“Anything is possible in a woman,” Reardon replied, harshly.

They walked in silence as far as Portland Road Station. There, with an assurance that he would come to a garret-supper before leaving London, Reardon parted from his friend and turned westward.

As soon as he had entered, Amy’s voice called to him:

“Here’s a letter from Jedwood, Edwin!”

He stepped into the study.

“It came just after you went out, and it has been all I could do to resist the temptation to open it.”

“Why shouldn’t you have