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Scawthorne, who used to be a lodger with some friends of yours called Rudd? On the instant memory revived in Clara. In her schooldays she often spent a Sunday afternoon with Grace Rudd, and this Mr. Scawthorne was generally at the tea-table. Mr. and Mrs.
To be sure, there was a mystery in her lot. Clara remembered perfectly how Scawthorne pointed out of the cab at the old man Snowdon, and said that he was very rich. A miser, or what? More she had never tried to discover. Now Sidney himself had hinted at something in Jane's circumstances which, he professed, put it out of the question that he could contemplate marrying her.
Scawthorne began a detailed inquiry into the humanitarian projects of which Joseph had given but a rude and contemptuous explanation.
Died a couple of hours ago, after lying insensible all day, poor old man! I've just written your people a formal announcement. Now, what do you think of that? If you don't mind, old fellow. He filled himself another glass, and tilted it off as before. Scawthorne had dropped his eyes to the ground, and stood in meditation. 'Now what about the will? pursued Joseph.
'Try another glass, said Scawthorne. 'There's still a bottle in the cupboard; don't be afraid. 'And you mean to tell me it's all mine? 'The wine? You're very welcome. 'Wine be damned! The money, my boy, the money! Scawthorne, I'm not a mean chap. As sure as you and me stand here, you shall have you shall have a hundred pounds! I mean it; dash me, I mean it!
This man, Scawthorne, spoke of the theatrical life as one to whom all its details were familiar; acquaintance with him of a sudden bridged over the chasm which had seemed impassable. Would he come again to see her? Had her involuntary reserve put an end to any interest he might have felt in her?
Opportunity for this was afforded by his becoming member of a club, consisting chiefly of solicitors' clerks, which was frequently honoured by visits from former associates who had taken to the stage; these happy beings would condescend to recite at times, to give help in getting up a dramatic entertainment, and soon, in this way, Scawthorne came to know an old actor named Drake, who supported himself by instructing novices, male and female, in his own profession; one of Mr.
That simple fact explained various inconsistencies in her behaviour to Scawthorne since she had made herself independent of him; it explained also why this final interview became the bitterest charge her memory preserved against him. Her existence for some three weeks kept so gloomy a monotony that it was impossible she should endure it much longer.
All she could foresee was the keeping of her appointment with Scawthorne to-morrow morning; what use to try and look further, when assuredly a succession of circumstances impossible to calculate would in the end constrain her? The best would be if she could sleep out the interval. At mid-day she rose, ate and drank mechanically, then contemplated the hours that must somehow be killed.
It was now June, and at the hour of their meeting still broad daylight, but Clara cared nothing for the chance that acquaintances might see her; nay, she had a reckless desire that Sidney Kirkwood might pass just at this moment. She noticed no one whom she knew, however; but just as the cab was turning into Pentonville Road, Scawthorne drew her attention to a person on the pavement.
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