The Beetle by Richard Marsh (read e books online free txt) 📕

With the merest inclination of her head to both of us she straightway left the room. Lindon would have stopped her.

“S-stay, y-y-y-you⁠—” he stuttered.

But I caught him by the arm.

“If you will be advised by me, you will let her go. No good purpose will be served by a multiplication of words.”

“Atherton, I⁠—I’m disappointed in you. You⁠—you haven’t behaved as I expected. I⁠—I haven’t received from you the assistance which I looked for.”

“My dear Lindon, it seems to me that your method of diverting the young lady from the path which she has set herself to tread is calculated to send her furiously along it.”

“C-confound the women! c-confound the women! I don’t mind telling you, in c-confidence, that at⁠—at times, her mother was the devil, and I’ll be⁠—I’ll be hanged if her daughter isn’t worse.⁠—What was the tomfoolery she was talking to you about? Is she mad?”

“No⁠—I don’t think she’s mad.”

“I never heard such stuff, it made my blood run cold to hear her. What’s the matter with the girl?”

“Well⁠—you must excuse my saying that I don’t fancy you quite understand women.”

“I⁠—I don’t⁠—and I⁠—I⁠—I don’t want to either.”

I hesitated; then resolved on a taradiddle⁠—in Marjorie’s interest.

“Marjorie is high-strung⁠—extremely sensitive. Her imagination is quickly aflame. Perhaps, last night, you drove her as far as was safe. You heard for yourself how, in consequence, she suffered. You don’t want people to say you have driven her into a lunatic asylum.”

“I⁠—good heavens, no! I⁠—I’ll send for the doctor directly I get home⁠—I⁠—I’ll have the best opinion in town.”

“You’ll do nothing of the kind⁠—you’ll only make her worse. What you have to do is to be patient with her, and let her have peace.⁠—As for this affair of Lessingham’s, I have a suspicion that it may not be all such plain sailing as she supposes.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean nothing. I only wish you to understand that until you hear from me again you had better let matters slide. Give the girl her head.”

“Give the girl her head! H-haven’t I⁠—I g-given the g-girl her h-head all her l-life!” He looked at his watch. “Why, the day’s half gone!” He began scurrying towards the front door, I following at his heels. “I’ve got a committee meeting on at the club⁠—m-most important! For weeks they’ve been giving us the worst food you ever tasted in your life⁠—p-played havoc with my digestion, and I⁠—I’m going to tell them if⁠—things aren’t changed, they⁠—they’ll have to pay my doctor’s bills.⁠—As for that man, Lessingham⁠—”

As he spoke, he himself opened the hall door, and there, standing on the step was “that man Lessingham” himself. Lindon was a picture. The Apostle was as cool as a cucumber. He held out his hand.

“Good morning, Mr. Lindon. What delightful weather we are having.”

Lindon put his hand behind his back⁠—and behaved as stupidly as he very well could have done.

“You will understand, Mr. Lessingham, that, in future, I don’t know you, and that I shall decline to recognise you anywhere; and that what I say applies equally to any member of my family.”

With his hat very much on the back of his head he went down the steps like an inflated turkeycock.

To have received the cut discourteous from his future father-in-law might have been the most commonplace of incidents⁠—Lessingham evinced not a trace of discomposure. So far as I could judge, he took no notice of the episode whatever, behaving exactly as if nothing had happened. He merely waited till Mr. Lindon was well off the steps; then, turning to me, he placidly observed,

“Interrupting you again, you see.⁠—May I?”

The sight of him had set up such a turmoil in my veins, that, for the moment, I could not trust myself to speak. I felt, acutely, that an explanation with him was, of all things, the thing most to be desired⁠—and that quickly. Providence could not have thrown him more opportunely in the way. If, before he went away, we did not understand each other a good deal more clearly, upon certain points, the fault should not be mine. Without a responsive word, turning on my heels, I led the way into the laboratory.

Whether he noticed anything peculiar in my demeanour, I could not tell. Within he looked about him with that purely facial smile, the sight of which had always engendered in me a certain distrust of him.

“Do you always receive visitors in here?”

“By no means.”

“What is this?”

Stooping down, he picked up something from the floor. It was a lady’s purse⁠—a gorgeous affair, of crimson leather and gleaming gold. Whether it was Marjorie’s or Miss Grayling’s I could not tell. He watched me as I examined it.

“Is it yours?”

“No. It is not mine.”

Placing his hat and umbrella on one chair, he placed himself upon another⁠—very leisurely. Crossing his legs, laying his folded hands upon his knees, he sat and looked at me. I was quite conscious of his observation; but endured it in silence, being a little wishful that he should begin.

Presently he had, as I suppose, enough of looking at me, and spoke.

“Atherton, what is the matter with you?⁠—Have I done something to offend you too?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Your manner seems a little singular.”

“You think so?”

“I do.”

“What have you come to see me about?”

“Just now, nothing.⁠—I like to know where I stand.”

His manner was courteous, easy, even graceful. I was outmanoeuvred. I understood the man sufficiently well to be aware that when once he was on the defensive, the first blow would have to come from me. So I struck it.

“I, also, like to know where I stand.⁠—Lessingham, I am aware, and you know that I am aware, that you have made certain overtures to Miss Lindon. That is a fact in which I am keenly interested.”

“As⁠—how?”

“The Lindons and the Athertons are not the acquaintances of one generation only. Marjorie Lindon and I have been friends since childhood. She looks upon me as a brother⁠—”

“As a brother?”

“As a brother.”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Lindon regains me as a son.