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Her sister, Myrtle Montague, was an ingenue in the little stock company at the Central Theatre, and Mrs. Povey kept house for her and Mr. Povey, who spent all his waking hours at the racetrack. George was furious to have this woman, whom he particularly detested, come in upon him thus informally, and find him at so great a disadvantage.
I told her that I was the promised wife of one Paul Montague, who was joined with Mr Melmotte in managing the new great American railway, and that Mr Paul Montague would be with me this morning. She was too far-seeing to doubt me, but had she doubted, I could have shown her your letters.
"He may have been at the house," she said, "but I am sure that I was never introduced to him." Montague thought that it was strange, but he would never have given further thought to the matter, had it not been for something which occurred the next morning. He went to the office rather early, on account of important work which he had to get ready.
"I would like to expose him," protested Lucy. "It would serve him right!" "It would not do him the least harm in the world," said Montague. "I can speak quite positively there, for I have seen it tried. You couldn't get a newspaper in New York to publish that story. All that you could do would be to have yourself blazoned as an adventuress." Lucy was staring, with clenched hands.
While Louis Hamblin and Mrs. Montague were engaged in the discussion mentioned in the preceding chapter, below stairs Mona sat in the sewing-room reading the paper of the previous evening. She was waiting for Mrs. Montague to come up to give her some directions about a dress which she was repairing before she could go on with it.
"It's taking a long chance," said Montague, and added, "I had thought of telling Prentice, who's an intimate friend of mine; but I don't suppose it will do him any good." "Poor old Prentice can't help himself," was the reply. "All you can do is to make him lose a night's sleep." Montague went out, with a new set of problems to ponder.
I really might imagine you a piece of rare statuary one of the Niobe group strayed from the Florentine gallery to meet the wistful gaze of the sight-seers of London!" Marguerite smiled, and the color rose to her cheeks. "I have dispelled the charm!" cried Montague Arnold, pointing to the vivid, life-like and roseate hue of the oval face.
Gamble chuckled gleefully over this witticism, which was evidently one which he relied upon for the making of conversation. "How do you do, Captain?" he said, to a man who was passing. "Mr. Montague, let me introduce my friend Captain Gill." Montague turned and faced a tall and dignified-looking naval officer. "Captain Henry Gill, of the Allegheny." "How do you, Mr. Montague?" said the Captain.
But her arguments in self-justification and her want of respect for the dead are unpardonable. Basil Montague, Mrs. Fenwick, and Miss Hayes continued their friendly help, and wrote several of the necessary letters for him. The following is from Miss Hayes to Mr. Hugh Skeys, the husband of Mary's friend. It is valuable because written by one who was with her in her last moments:
I like better the picture of Norwich I get in Sir James Mackintosh’s Life, where Basil Montague tells us how he and Mackintosh, when travelling the Norfolk circuit, always hastened to Norwich to spend their evenings in the circle of which Mrs. Taylor was the attraction and the centre.
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