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Updated: June 1, 2025
Nettlepoint competently stated. "However," she concluded, "Mr. Porterfield has taken this one seriously for some years. He has done his part to keep it alive. She says he adores her." "His part? Surely his part would have been to marry her by this time." "He has really no money." My friend was even more confidently able to report it than I had been.
"At least," I muttered to myself, "it will bring these damning doubts to a final trial. If they have been fools heretofore, opportunity will serve to madden them. We shall see we shall know all very soon; and then! Ay, then! Mrs Porterfield, good old lady, half blind, half deaf, infirm and gouty, but very good natured, easily complied with my request to accommodate my friend. My friend!
On the way to my cabin, when I came down, I met the stewardess in one of the passages and the idea entered my head to say to her 'Do you happen to know where Miss Mavis is? 'Why, she's in her room, sir, at this hour. 'Do you suppose I could speak to her? It had come into my mind to ask her why she had inquired of me whether I should recognise Mr. Porterfield.
"Worse in what way?" "Why, even less where the nice people live." "He oughtn't to say that," I returned. And I ventured to back it up. "Don't you call Mr. Porterfield a nice person?" "Oh it doesn't make any difference." She watched me again a moment through her veil, the texture of which gave her look a suffused prettiness. "Do you know him very little?" she asked. "Mr. Porterfield?" "No, Mr.
Porterfield had given me the first intimation. I remembered the words of Julia when she assured me that it was intended for me when she playfully challenged my curiosity, and implored me to acknowledge an anxiety to knew the contents. The pleading tenderness of her speech and manner now rose vividly to my recollection.
Porterfield, when she took up the instrument passively, and sung to it one of those ordinary negro-songs which are now so shockingly popular. I was surprised at this, for I well knew that she heartily detested the taste and spirit in which such things were conceived. Under the tuition of my demon, I immediately assumed this to be another proof of the decline of her delicacy.
Did I mean that she took it too easily that she didn't think as much as she ought about Mr. Porterfield? Didn't I believe she was attached to him didn't I believe she was just counting the hours until she saw him? That would be the happiest moment of her life. It showed how little I knew her, if I thought anything else.
I was going to reply that it was not odd if you knew Mr. Porterfield, but I reflected that that perhaps only made it odder. I told my companion briefly who he was that I had met him in the old days in Paris, when I believed for a fleeting hour that I could learn to paint, when I lived with the jeunesse des écoles, and her comment on this was simply 'Well, he had better have come out for her!
Porterfield and the physician met us at the entrance. We had come too late! She was dead. They had found her so when they despatched the servant in quest of me; but they were not certain of the fact, and the servant was instructed to say she was only very ill. The physician was called in as soon as possible; but had declared himself, as soon as he came, unable to do anything for her.
It was added that this Porterfeld, or Porterfield, was the real father of the child who had already received the name of James Stuart, and whom the king was educating as his son at the monastery of St. Andrews.
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