New Grub Street by George Gissing (best mobile ebook reader .txt) 📕

over from Guernsey to that island, they were amused to see a copy of Chit-Chat in the hands of an obese and well-dressed man.

“Is he one of the quarter-educated?” asked Dora, laughing.

“Not in Whelpdale’s sense of the word. But, strictly speaking, no doubt he is. The quarter-educated constitute a very large class indeed; how large, the huge success of that paper is demonstrating. I’ll write to Whelpdale, and let him know that his benefaction has extended even to Sark.”

This letter was written, and in a few days there came a reply.

“Why, the fellow has written to you as well!” exclaimed Jasper, taking up a second letter; both were on the table of their sitting-room when they came to their lodgings for lunch. “That’s his hand.”

“It looks like it.”

Dora hummed an air as she regarded the envelope, then she took it away with her to her room upstairs.

“What had he to say?” Jasper inquired, when she came down again and seated herself at the table.

“Oh, a friendly letter. What does he say to you?”

Dora had never looked so animated and fresh of colour since leaving London; her brother remarked this, and was glad to think that the air of the Channel should be doing her so much good. He read Whelpdale’s letter aloud; it was facetious, but oddly respectful.

“The reverence that fellow has for me is astonishing,” he observed with a laugh. “The queer thing is, it increases the better he knows me.”

Dora laughed for five minutes.

“Oh, what a splendid epigram!” she exclaimed. “It is indeed a queer thing, Jasper! Did you mean that to be a good joke, or was it better still by coming out unintentionally?”

“You are in remarkable spirits, old girl. By the by, would you mind letting me see that letter of yours?”

He held out his hand.

“I left it upstairs,” Dora replied carelessly.

“Rather presumptuous in him, it seems to me.”

“Oh, he writes quite as respectfully to me as he does to you,” she returned, with a peculiar smile.

“But what business has he to write at all? It’s confounded impertinence, now I come to think of it. I shall give him a hint to remember his position.”

Dora could not be quite sure whether he spoke seriously or not. As both of them had begun to eat with an excellent appetite, a few moments were allowed to pass before the girl again spoke.

“His position is as good as ours,” she said at length.

“As good as ours? The ‘sub.’ of a paltry rag like Chit-Chat, and assistant to a literary agency!”

“He makes considerably more money than we do.”

“Money! What’s money?”

Dora was again mirthful.

“Oh, of course money is nothing! We write for honour and glory. Don’t forget to insist on that when you reprove Mr. Whelpdale; no doubt it will impress him.”

Late in the evening of that day, when the brother and sister had strolled by moonlight up to the windmill which occupies the highest point of Sark, and as they stood looking upon the pale expanse of sea, dotted with the gleam of lighthouses near and far, Dora broke the silence to say quietly:

“I may as well tell you that Mr. Whelpdale wants to know if I will marry him.”

“The deuce he does!” cried Jasper, with a start. “If I didn’t half suspect something of that kind! What astounding impudence!”

“You seriously think so?”

“Well, don’t you? You hardly know him, to begin with. And then⁠—oh, confound it!”

“Very well, I’ll tell him that his impudence astonishes me.”

“You will?”

“Certainly. Of course in civil terms. But don’t let this make any difference between you and him. Just pretend to know nothing about it; no harm is done.”

“You are speaking in earnest?”

“Quite. He has written in a very proper way, and there’s no reason whatever to disturb our friendliness with him. I have a right to give directions in a matter like this, and you’ll please to obey them.”

Before going to bed Dora wrote a letter to Mr. Whelpdale, not, indeed, accepting his offer forthwith, but conveying to him with much gracefulness an unmistakable encouragement to persevere. This was posted on the morrow, and its writer continued to benefit most remarkably by the sun and breezes and rock-scrambling of Sark.

Soon after their return to London, Dora had the satisfaction of paying the first visit to her sister at the Dolomores’ house in Ovington Square. Maud was established in the midst of luxuries, and talked with laughing scorn of the days when she inhabited Grub Street; her literary tastes were henceforth to serve as merely a note of distinction, an added grace which made evident her superiority to the well-attired and smooth-tongued people among whom she was content to shine. On the one hand, she had contact with the world of fashionable literature, on the other with that of fashionable ignorance. Mrs. Lane’s house was a meeting-point of the two spheres.

“I shan’t be there very often,” remarked Jasper, as Dora and he discussed their sister’s magnificence. “That’s all very well in its way, but I aim at something higher.”

“So do I,” Dora replied.

“I’m very glad to hear that. I confess it seemed to me that you were rather too cordial with Whelpdale yesterday.”

“One must behave civilly. Mr. Whelpdale quite understands me.”

“You are sure of that? He didn’t seem quite so gloomy as he ought to have been.”

“The success of Chit-Chat keeps him in good spirits.”

It was perhaps a week after this that Mrs. Dolomore came quite unexpectedly to the house by Regent’s Park, as early as eleven o’clock in the morning. She had a long talk in private with Dora. Jasper was not at home; when he returned towards evening, Dora came to his room with a countenance which disconcerted him.

“Is it true,” she asked abruptly, standing before him with her hands strained together, “that you have been representing yourself as no longer engaged to Marian?”

“Who has told you so?”

“That doesn’t matter. I have heard it, and I want to know from you that it is false.”

Jasper thrust his hands into his pockets and walked apart.

“I can take no