A Duel. Marsh Richard

precious stones-pearls, sapphires, diamonds.

      "Are they real?" she inquired.

      "Do you mean the stones in the setting? They are. The pearls are there because she is the queen of pearls; the sapphires, because they are her favourite stones; the diamonds, because I chose to have them."

      "They must be very valuable."

      "They cost a lot of money, and they'd fetch a lot. That is the girl I wanted to marry me. What do you think of her?"

      "She is pretty."

      "Pretty! She's beautiful."

      "She's too fair for me."

      "That's because you're dark. I hate dark women-always have done. Hold the case open in front of me. Let me look at her."

      She did as he asked. No change took place in his expression; none could take place. His voice remained the same; that also was incapable of modulation. Yet she knew that an alteration had taken place in him; that as he gazed the man of whom he had spoken, who was inside him somewhere, was stirred to his inmost depths.

      "Not beautiful! She's the most beautiful creature in the world. She always has been; she always will be. God bless her! though He has been hard on me." Then, after a pause, "Take the case away and shut it, and put it back beneath my pillow-gently. That glimpse will last me a long time, thank you. Though I may never look at her again, her face will be with me always to the end. Before you close the case you might look at her again more carefully. Perhaps, after you have gazed at her attentively, understanding may come to you; you may begin to perceive the beauty which was hidden from you at the first."

      She returned, the case still open in her hand, to the window in front of which she had been standing.

      CHAPTER IX

      THE SLIDING PANEL

      The silence remained unbroken for some seconds. Then he asked-

      "Well, what do you think of her now?"

      "I think she's pretty, as I said. You may think her beautiful. I daresay plenty of men would; that sort of thing's a question of taste. I tell you what I do think beautiful-that's these diamonds. The sapphires and the pearls are all very well, but the diamonds are the stones for me."

      "You would think that. You're the sort of woman who'd admire a gaudy frame, and have no eyes for the picture that was in it. If you like I'll tell you who she is and all about her. It may seem like sacrilege to talk of her to you, but I think I'll tell you all the same."

      "Tell away. I suppose it's the old, old story: she met some one she fancied more than you. Men always do think that sort of thing is wonderful. But I don't mind listening."

      "Yes, there was some one she liked better than me. That was the trouble."

      "It generally is, while it lasts; then it turns out to be a blessing. But, of course, you've never had the chance."

      "As you say, I've never had the chance. Her name-I won't tell you her name-though why shouldn't I? Her name is Margaret Wallace."

      "Scotch, is she?"

      "Her father was Scotch, her mother English. He was my dearest friend. When he died-"

      "He left his only daughter, then a mere child, and that was all."

      "That was all, and as you say she was a mere child. You seem to have had some experiences of your own."

      "One or two. I'm more than seven."

      "So I should imagine."

      "You took her to your own home, found her in food and washing, and pocket-money now and then. As she grew older her wondrous beauty and her many virtues-especially the first lot-warmed your withered heart. When she attained to womanhood you breathed to her the secret of your passion, which she had spotted about eighteen years before; but as she didn't happen to be taking any, of course the band began to play. Isn't that the sort of story you were going to tell, only I daresay you wouldn't have told it in quite that way?"

      "I certainly shouldn't have told it in quite that way."

      "You had expended on her two hundred and forty-nine pounds nineteen and sixpence ha'penny, besides any amount of fuss, so her ingratitude stung you to the marrow. Still you might have borne with her; you might not even have altered the will which you had made in her favour, and which you kept shaking in her face; only when she took up with another chap she seemed to be coming it a bit too thick. You cried in your anger, 'I'll make you smart for this, my beauty!' So you started to make her smart; but it seems to me that you've done most of the smarting up to now. Was it her cruelty which made you the pretty sight you are?"

      "Not altogether."

      "Not altogether! You don't mean to say that when you wanted her to be your wife you were anything like what you are now? A nice kind of love yours must have been!"

      "I appear to have acquired a really delightful wife."

      "If you weren't a dead log it might be that you'd find out how true that was. Any man with a touch of spice in him would give the eyes out of his head for a wife like me, and there have been plenty who were ready to do it."

      "As you yourself observed, these things are a question of taste. So you think she was justified in treating me as she did?"

      "Justified for not wanting to marry a thing like you! You ought to have been drowned for hinting at it."

      "I am myself beginning to think that your point of view may not be wholly incorrect, and that, therefore, it was fortunate that I did not die on the night we were married."

      "I don't."

      "You wouldn't-you have, of course, your own point of view. From mine it is fortunate that I have been spared to enable me to make another will."

      "How are you going to make a will, when you can't move so much as a finger?"

      "I can have one drawn up according to my instructions. You will find that I'm capable of signing it. Would you have any objection?"

      "It would depend on what there was in it."

      "I see. May I ask if you are under the impression that if I die without a will-even supposing our marriage is valid-"

      "It's valid enough, don't you be afraid."

      "I'm not afraid; you, I fancy, have the cause to fear. But I say, supposing our marriage is a marriage-as to which I say nothing either one way or the other-if I die intestate do you imagine that you will necessarily come into possession of all I have?"

      "Have you any relatives?"

      "Not one in the whole wide world."

      "Then you bet I shall."

      "You may bet you won't."

      "Who's got more right to what you leave behind than your lawful wife?"

      "It depends. Under no circumstances would you inherit more than half of my personal property, and a third of my real estate; the rest would go to the Crown."

      "Half's something! Look here, Dr. Twelves told me that if I married you I should have twenty thousand pounds. Have you got as much?"

      There was an interval before an answer came. Possibly the man in the bed was considering what answer he should make to such a very leading question.

      "I cannot tell you exactly what I have got, but I may safely venture to assert this much: If all I possess-land, houses, shares and so on-were to be turned into cash to-morrow, I should find myself with at least two hundred thousand pounds."

      "Two hundred thousand pounds! Go on!"

      "This is a curious world, and Fortune is a curious jade; she bestows her gifts with feminine irresponsibility. She gives one health and strength and youth-and empty pockets-just when he could get enjoyment out of full ones. To another, crippled limbs, physical helplessness, premature old age-and pockets brimming over-just when money is of as little use to him as pictures to the blind. I have been denied most things except fortune. Sounds ironical, doesn't it? As with Midas, everything I have touched has turned to gold-in my case a thing wholly worthless. I never made a bad money speculation in my life.