The Swindler by Ethel May Dell (100 books to read in a lifetime .txt) 📕

me?"
"No," said Rivington deliberately, "I don't. I lie myself--when necessary."
"He was furious," she said. "He swore that no other man should stand in his way. And then--I don't know how it was; perhaps I wasn't very convincing--he began to suspect that I had lied. That drove me into a corner. I didn't know what to say or do. And then, quite suddenly, in my extremity, I thought of you. I really don't know what made me. I didn't so much as know if you were in town. And in a flash I thought of sending that announcement to the paper. That would convince him if nothing else would, and it would mean at least a temporary respite. It was a mad thing to do, I know. But I thought you were elderly and level-headed and a confirmed bachelor and--and a sort of cousin as well----"
"To the tenth degree," murmured Rivington.
"So I told him," she hurried on, unheeding, "that we were engaged, and it was just going to be announced. When he heard that, he lost his head. I really think he was mad for the moment. He sprang straight at me like a wild beast, and I--I simply turned and fled. I'm pretty nimble, you know, when--when there are mad bulls about." Her quick smile flashed across her face and was gone. "That's all," she said. "I tore up to my room, and scribbled that paragraph straight away. I dared not wait for anything. And then I wrote to you. You had my letter with the paper this morning."
"Yes, I had them." Rivington spoke absently. She had a feeling that his eyes were fixed upon her without seeing her. "So that's all, is it?" he said slowly.
Again nervously her hands moved beneath his.
"I've been very headlong and idiotic," she said impulsively. "I've put you in an intolerable position. You must write at once and contradict it in the next issue."
"Do you mind not talking nonsense for a minute?" he said mildly. "I shall see my way directly."
She dropped into instant silence, sitting tense and mute, scarcely even breathing, while the pale blue eyes opposite remained steadily and unblinkingly fixed upon her face.
After a few moments he spoke.
"When does your mother return?"
"To-morrow morning." She hesitated for a second; then, "Of course she will be furious," she said. "You won't be able to argue with her. No one can."
Rivington's eyes looked faintly quizzical.
"I don't propose to try," he said. "She is, as I well know, an adept in the gentle art of snubbing. And I am no match for her there. She has, moreover, a rooted objection to poor relations, for which I can hardly blame her--a prejudice which, however, I am pleased to note that you do not share."
He smiled at her with the words, and she flashed him a quick, answering smile, though her lips were quivering.
"I am not a bit like my mother," she said. "I was always dad's girl--while he lived. It was he who called me Chirpy. No one else ever did--but you."
"A great piece of presumption on my part," said Rivington.
"No. I like you to. It makes you seem like an old friend, which is what I need just now, more than anything."
"Quite so," said Rivington. "That qualifies me to advise, I suppose. I hope you won't be shocked at what I am going to suggest."
She met his eyes with complete confidence. "I shall do it whatever it is," she said.
"Don't be rash," he rejoined. "It entails a sacrifice. But it is the only thing that occurs to me for the moment. I think if you are wise you will leave London to-night."
"Leave London!" she echoed, looking startled.
"Yes. Just drop out for a bit, cut everything, and give this business a chance to blow over. Leave a note behind for mamma when she arrives, and tell her why. She'll understand."
"But--but--how can I? Dinghra will only follow me, and I shall be more at his mercy than ever in the country."
"If he finds you," said Rivington.
"But mother would tell him directly where to look."
"If she knew herself," he returned drily.
"Oh!" She stared at him with eyes of grave doubt. "But," she said, after a moment, "I have no money. I can't live on nothing."
"I do," said Rivington. "You can do the same."
She shook her head instantly, though she smiled.
"Not on the same nothing, Mr. Rivington."
He took his hand abruptly from hers.
"Look here, Chirpy," he said; "don't be a snob!"
"I'm not," she protested.
"Yes, you are. It's atrocious to be put in my place by a chit like you. I won't put up with it." He frowned at her ferociously. "You weren't above asking my help, but if you are above taking it--I've done with you."
"Oh, not really!" she pleaded. "It was foolish of me, I admit, because you really are one of the family. Please don't scowl so. It doesn't suit your style of beauty in the least, and I am sure you wouldn't like to spoil a good impression."
But he continued to frown uncompromisingly, till she stretched out a conciliatory hand to him across the table.
"Don't be cross, Knight Errant! I know you are only pretending."
"Then don't do it again," he said, relaxing, and pinching her fingers somewhat heartlessly. "I'm horribly sensitive on some points. As I was saying, it won't hurt you very badly to live on nothing for a bit, even if you are a lady of extravagant tastes."
"Oh, but I can work," she said eagerly. "I can change my name, and go into a shop."
"Of course," he said, mildly sarcastic. "You will doubtless find your vocation sooner or later. But that is not the present point. Now, listen! In the county of Hampshire is a little place called Weatherbroom--quite a little place, just a hamlet and a post-office. Just out of the hamlet is a mill with a few acres of farm land attached. It's awfully picturesque--a regular artists' place. By the way, are you an artist?"
"Oh, no. I sketch a little, but----"
"That'll do. You are not an artist, but you sketch. Then you won't be quite stranded. It's very quiet, you know. There's no society. Only the miller and his wife, and now and then the landlord--an out-at-elbows loafer who drifts about town and, very occasionally, plays knight errant to ladies in distress. There isn't even a curate. Can you possibly endure it?"
She raised her head and laughed--a sweet, spontaneous laugh, inexpressibly gay.
"Oh, you are good--just good! It's the only word that describes you. I always felt you were. I didn't know you were a landed proprietor, though."
"In a very small way," he assured her.
"How nice!" she said eagerly. "Yes, I'll go. I shall love it. But"--her face falling--"what of you? Shall you stay in town?"
"And face the music," said the Poor Relation, with his most benign smile. "That is my intention. Don't pity me! I shall enjoy it."
"Is it possible?" Again she looked doubtful.
"Of course it's possible. I enjoy a good row now and then. It keeps me in condition. I'll come down and see you some day, and tell you all about it." He glanced at his watch. "I think we ought to be moving. We will discuss arrangements as we go. I must send a wire to Mrs. Perkiss, and tell her you will go down by the seven-thirty. I will see you into the train at this end, and they will meet you at the other with the cart. It's three miles from the railway."
As they passed out together, he added meditatively, "I think you'll like the old mill, Chirpy. It's thatched."
"I'm sure I shall," she answered earnestly.


V
THE KNIGHT ERRANT TAKES THE FIELD

Rivington returned to his rooms that night, after dining at a restaurant, with a pleasing sense of having accomplished something that had been well worth the doing. He chuckled to himself a little as he walked. It was a decidedly humorous situation.
He was met at the top of the stairs by his servant, a sharp-faced lad of fifteen whom he had picked out of the dock of a police-court some months before, and who was devoted to him in consequence.
"There's a gentleman waitin' for you sir; wouldn't take 'No' for an answer; been 'ere best part of an hour. Name of Sin, sir. Looks like a foreigner."
"Eh?" The blue eyes widened for a moment, then smiled approbation. "Very appropriate," murmured Rivington. "All right, Tommy; I know the gentleman."
He was still smiling as he entered his room.
A slim, dark man turned swiftly from its farther end to meet him. He had obviously been prowling up and down.
"Mr. Rivington?" he said interrogatively.
Rivington bowed.
"Mr. Dinghra Singh?" he returned.
"Have you seen me before?"
"At a distance--several times."
"Ah!" The Indian drew himself up with a certain arrogance, but his narrow black moustache did not hide the fact that his lips were twitching with excitement. His dark eyes shone like the eyes of a beast, green and ominous. "But we have never spoken. I thought not. Now, Mr. Rivington, will you permit me to come at once to business?"
He spoke without a trace of foreign accent. He stood in the middle of the room, facing Rivington, in a commanding attitude.
Rivington took a seat on the edge of the table. He was still faintly smiling.
"Go ahead, sir," he said. "Won't you sit down?"
But Dinghra preferred to stand.
"I am presuming that you are the Mr. Cecil Mordaunt Rivington whose engagement to Miss Ernestine Cardwell was announced in this morning's paper," he said, speaking quickly but very distinctly.
"The same," said Rivington. He added with a shrug of the shoulders, "A somewhat high-sounding name for such a humble citizen as myself, but it was not of my own choosing."
Dinghra ignored the remark. He was very plainly in no mood for trivialities.
"And the engagement really exists?" he questioned.
The Englishman's brows went up.
"Of course it exists."
"Ah!" It was like a snarl. The white teeth gleamed for a moment. "I had no idea," Dinghra said, still with the same feverish rapidity, "that I had a rival."
"Are we rivals?" said Rivington, amiably regretful. "It's the first I have heard of it."
"You must have known!" The green glare suddenly began to flicker with a ruddy tinge as of flame. "Every one knew that I was after her."
"Oh yes, I knew that," said Rivington. "But--pardon me if I fail to see that that fact constitutes any rivalry between us. We were engaged long before she met you. We have been engaged for years."
"For years!" Dinghra took a sudden step forward. He looked as if he were about to spring at the Englishman's throat.
But Rivington remained quite unmoved, all unsuspecting, lounging on the edge of the table.
"Yes, for years," he repeated. "But we have kept it to ourselves till now. Even Lady Florence had no notion of it. There was nothing to be gained by talking. It was a case of--" He dug his hands into his trousers pockets and pulled them inside out with an eloquent gesture. "So, of course, there was nothing for it but to wait."
"Then why have you published the engagement now?" demanded Dinghra.
Rivington smiled.
"Because we are tired of waiting," he said.
"You are in a position to marry, then? You are--"
"I am as poor as a church mouse, if you want to know," said Rivington.
"And you will marry on nothing?"
"I dare say we sha'n't starve," said Rivington optimistically.
"Ah!" Again that beast-like snarl. There was no green glare left in the watching eyes--only red, leaping flame. "And--you like