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The fact that in those days Rainham avoided Lightmark's name, once so often quoted; his demeanour, when the more ignorant or less tactical of their mutual acquaintances pressed him with inquiries as to the well-being and work of his former friend, had not failed to suggest to the intimate circle that there had been a rupture, a change, something far more significant than the general severance which had gradually been effected between them, the unreclaimed children of the desert, and Richard Lightmark, the brilliant society painter; something as to which it seemed that explanation would not be forthcoming, as to which questions were undesirable.
But, of course, Dick had a perfect right to finish and exhibit his picture, even if he knew that Oswyn was thinking of the same thing." McAllister assented hastily. "No doubt, no doubt; though Oswyn was just wild about it you know his uncivilized ways and I must admit I was a bit astonished myself, at first, when I saw the picture at Burlington House with Lightmark's signature to it.
His eyes wandered off to the bridge over which the road ran, dividing the dry dock from the outer basin and wharf on which they stood. A bevy of factory girls in extensive hats stuck with brilliant Whitechapel feathers were passing; one of them, who was pretty, caught Lightmark's eyes and flung him a saucy compliment, which he returned with light badinage in kind that made the foreman grin.
"Yes, she is Lightmark's child," continued Rainham; "and the mother was that girl whom we found two years ago do you remember? the night of your first visit here outside the gates. She called herself Mrs. Crichton. It's a miserable story; I only discovered it quite recently." Oswyn drew in a deep breath, which sounded like a sigh in the strangely still room.
Presently his eye fell on Lightmark's derelict paper, with its scribble of a girl's head. He considered it thoughtfully for some time, starting a little, and covering it with his blotting-paper, when Mrs. Bullen, his housekeeper, entered with a cup of tea a freak of his nerves which made him smile when she had gone.
Lightmark's vacated chair; and as she sat there, with her big nosegay on her lap, he was struck by her extreme pallor, the lassitude in her fine eyes. He ventured to remark on it, when the other two had left them, and she had not made, as he had feared and half anticipated, any motion to rise. "Yes, the rooms are hot and dreadfully full.
For the last few days, since his encounter with her portrait at Lightmark's studio, he had scarcely given her troubles a thought. When the girl saw him, after a startled look and movement, she seemed to shrink still further into the folds of her rusty black cloak, and, to avoid meeting Rainham's eyes, bent her head over the child who was seated at her side.
Even then he left his tea for a long time, cooling and untasted, while he sat lethargically lolling back, and regarding from time to time the pencilled profile with his sad eyes. The period of Lightmark's boyhood had not been an altogether happy one.
And it all happened in a second, and in a further second for his thought, quickened by the emergency, still leapt forward with incredible swiftness a great audacity seized Philip Rainham, to save the beloved woman pain. The devil would be at him later, would beset him, harass him, madden him with hint and opportunity of profiting by Lightmark's forfeiture.
You don't suppose I should have sent for you like this if it hadn't been so?" He lay very still for a moment or two with his eyes closed, as if the effort which speech cost him was considerable. At last he said abruptly: "There are things you should know; she is Lightmark's child."
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