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Updated: May 6, 2025
And so, in a few words, he told her of West's abortive attempt to plunge a second time into the black depths from which he had so recently escaped, of the man's absolutely selfless devotion, of his rigid refusal to suffer even her love for him to move him from this attitude. Cynthia listened with her bright eyes fixed unswervingly upon Babbacombe's face.
"You will do exactly as you please," he said. "You're generous," she responded. "Well, I'll tell you. I was busy burying my poor foolish little romance." A deep glow showed suddenly upon Babbacombe's face. He was driving slowly, but he kept his eyes fixed steadily upon the stretch of muddy road ahead. "Is it dead, then?" he asked, his voice very low.
He never once spoke of his past life, never once referred to the future. He merely accepted Babbacombe's hospitality in absolute silence, without question, without gratitude, smoked his cigarettes eternally, drank his wines without appreciation, rode his horses without comment.
"I have been waiting for you in the library for the last hour. I sent you a message, but I conclude it was not delivered. Can I speak to you for a few seconds on a matter of business?" He spoke with his eyes fixed steadily upon Babbacombe's face, ignoring the woman's presence as if he had not even seen her. Babbacombe was momentarily disconcerted.
"I am to understand then that you have robbed me that you have forged my signature to do so that you great heavens, man" Babbacombe's amazement burst forth irresistibly "it's incredible! Are you mad, I wonder? You can't have done it in your sober senses. You would never have been so outrageously clumsy." West shrugged his shoulders. "I am quite sane only a little out of practice."
"It was," said West. "Then this cheque this cheque for two hundred and fifty pounds where did it come from, West?" There was a note of entreaty in Babbacombe's voice. West jerked up his head at the sound. It was a gesture openly contemptuous. "Can't you guess?" he said. Babbacombe stiffened at the callous question. "You refuse to answer me?" he asked. "That is my answer," said West.
"Well, since you are determined to brave the risk of being let down, I needn't quibble at it any further. I accept." Babbacombe's attitude changed in an instant. He held out his hand. "You won't let me down, West," he said, with confidence. West hesitated for a single instant, then took the proffered hand into a grip of iron. His blue eyes looked hard and straight into Babbacombe's face.
Babbacombe's guests departed upon the following day. Cynthia was among the first to leave. With a flushed face and sparkling eyes she made her farewells, and even Babbacombe, closely as he observed her, detected no hint of strain in her demeanour. Returning from the station in the afternoon after speeding some of his guests, he dropped into the local bank to change a cheque.
The smallest digression on Babbacombe's part he invariably ignored as unworthy of his attention, till even Babbacombe, with all his courtly consideration for others, began to regard him as a mere automaton, and almost to treat him as such. Had he realised in the faintest degree what West was enduring at that time, his heart must have warmed to the man, despite his repellent exterior.
He has been there for five years now. My solicitor knows that I take an interest in him. He calls it philanthropy." Cynthia smiled faintly into the fire. "I was one of the people he swindled," she said. "But he paid me back." She rose and went across the room to a bureau in a corner. She unlocked a drawer, and took something from it. Returning, she laid a packet of notes in Babbacombe's hands.
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