New Grub Street. George Gissing

is it? Those Holloway people, I’ll warrant.’

      ‘No, no! It’s about Marian. She had a letter from one of those young ladies this afternoon.’

      ‘What young ladies?’ asked Yule, with impatience of this circuitous approach.

      ‘The Miss Milvains.’

      ‘Well, there’s no harm that I know of. They’re decent people.’

      ‘Yes; so you told me. But she began to speak about their brother, and—’

      ‘What about him? Do say what you want to say, and have done with it!’

      ‘I can’t help thinking, Alfred, that she’s disappointed you didn’t ask him to come here.’

      Yule stared at her in slight surprise. He was still not angry, and seemed quite willing to consider this matter suggested to him so timorously.

      ‘Oh, you think so? Well, I don’t know. Why should I have asked him? It was only because Miss Harrow seemed to wish it that I saw him down there. I have no particular interest in him. And as for—’

      He broke off and seated himself. Mrs. Yule stood at a distance.

      ‘We must remember her age,’ she said.

      ‘Why yes, of course.’

      He mused, and began to nibble a biscuit.

      ‘And you know, Alfred, she never does meet any young men. I’ve often thought it wasn’t right to her.’

      ‘H’m! But this lad Milvain is a very doubtful sort of customer. To begin with, he has nothing, and they tell me his mother for the most part supports him. I don’t quite approve of that. She isn’t well off, and he ought to have been making a living by now.

      He has a kind of cleverness, may do something; but there’s no being sure of that.’

      These thoughts were not coming into his mind for the first time. On the occasion when he met Milvain and Marian together in the country road he had necessarily reflected upon the possibilities of such intercourse, and with the issue that he did not care to give any particular encouragement to its continuance. He of course heard of Milvain’s leave-taking call, and he purposely refrained from seeing the young man after that. The matter took no very clear shape in his meditations; he saw no likelihood that either of the young people would think much of the other after their parting, and time enough to trouble one’s head with such subjects when they could no longer be postponed. It would not have been pleasant to him to foresee a life of spinsterhood for his daughter; but she was young, and—she was a valuable assistant.

      How far did that latter consideration weigh with him? He put the question pretty distinctly to himself now that his wife had broached the matter thus unexpectedly. Was he prepared to behave with deliberate selfishness? Never yet had any conflict been manifested between his interests and Marian’s; practically he was in the habit of counting upon her aid for an indefinite period.

      If indeed he became editor of The Study, why, in that case her assistance would be less needful. And indeed it seemed probable that young Milvain had a future before him.

      ‘But, in any case,’ he said aloud, partly continuing his thoughts, partly replying to a look of disappointment on his wife’s face, ‘how do you know that he has any wish to come and see Marian?’

      ‘I don’t know anything about it, of course.’

      ‘And you may have made a mistake about her. What made you think she—had him in mind?’

      ‘Well, it was her way of speaking, you know. And then, she asked if you had got a dislike to him.’

      ‘She did? H’m! Well, I don’t think Milvain is any good to Marian. He’s just the kind of man to make himself agreeable to a girl for the fun of the thing.’

      Mrs. Yule looked alarmed.

      ‘Oh, if you really think that, don’t let him come. I wouldn’t for anything.’

      ‘I don’t say it for certain.’ He took a sip of his coffee. ‘I have had no opportunity of observing him with much attention. But he’s not the kind of man I care for.’

      ‘Then no doubt it’s better as it is.’

      ‘Yes. I don’t see that anything could be done now. We shall see whether he gets on. I advise you not to mention him to her.’

      ‘Oh no, I won’t.’

      She moved as if to go away, but her heart had been made uneasy by that short conversation which followed on Marian’s reading the letter, and there were still things she wished to put into words.

      ‘If those young ladies go on writing to her, I dare say they’ll often speak about their brother.’

      ‘Yes, it’s rather unfortunate.’

      ‘And you know, Alfred, he may have asked them to do it.’

      ‘I suppose there’s one subject on which all women can be subtle,’ muttered Yule, smiling. The remark was not a kind one, but he did not make it worse by his tone.

      The listener failed to understand him, and looked with her familiar expression of mental effort.

      ‘We can’t help that,’ he added, with reference to her suggestion. ‘If he has any serious thoughts, well, let him go on and wait for opportunities.’

      ‘It’s a great pity, isn’t it, that she can’t see more people—of the right kind?’

      ‘No use talking about it. Things are as they are. I can’t see that her life is unhappy.’

      ‘It isn’t very happy.’

      ‘You think not?’

      ‘I’m sure it isn’t.’

      ‘If I get The Study things may be different. Though—But it’s no use talking about what can’t be helped. Now don’t you go encouraging her to think herself lonely, and so on. It’s best for her to keep close to work, I’m sure of that.’

      ‘Perhaps it is.’

      ‘I’ll think it over.’

      Mrs. Yule silently left the room, and went back to her sewing.

      She had understood that ‘Though—’ and the ‘what can’t be helped.’ Such allusions reminded her of a time unhappier than the present, when she had been wont to hear plainer language. She knew too well that, had she been a woman of education, her daughter would not now be suffering from loneliness.

      It was her own choice that she did not go with her husband and Marian to John Yule’s. She made an excuse that the house could not be left to one servant; but in any case she would have remained at home, for her presence must needs be an embarrassment both to father and daughter. Alfred was always ashamed of her before strangers; he could not conceal his feeling, either from her or from other people who had reason for observing him. Marian was not perhaps ashamed, but such companionship put restraint upon her freedom. And would it not always be the same? Supposing Mr. Milvain were to come to this house, would it not repel him when he found what sort of person Marian’s mother was?

      She shed a few tears over her needlework.

      At midnight the study door opened. Yule came to the dining-room to see that all was right, and it surprised him to find his wife still sitting there.

      ‘Why are you so late?’

      ‘I’ve forgot the time.’

      ‘Forgotten, forgotten. Don’t go back to that kind of language again. Come, put the light out.’