Why?
Betting and forgery. He would have been arrested next day. But the worst of it was that his beverage perished with him. I hadnt a notion how it was made; he wouldnt tell me till I planked down money to start with; and not a drop of it could be found anywhere. And to think that he had absolutely struck oil, as they say; had nothing to do but sit down and count the money as it came in! Thats the third man Ive known go wrong in less than a year. Betting and embezzlement; betting and burglary; betting and forgery. Ill tell you some time about the chap who went in for burglary. One of the best fellows I ever knew; when he comes out, I must give him a hand. But ten to one hell burgle again; they always do; burglary grows on a man, like drink.
His laughter rang across the street; Barmby, who kept looking back, surprised and indignant that this acquaintance of Miss. Lords was not presented to him, paused for a moment, but Nancy waved to him commandingly, Straight on!
They reached Charing Cross. Horace, who took no part in the conversation, and had dropped behind, at this point found an opportunity of stealing away. It was Crewe who first remarked his absence.
Hollo! wheres your brother?
Gone, evidently.Hush! Dont say anything. Will you do something for me, Mr. Crewe?
Of course I will. What is it?
Nancy pursued in a low voice.
Hes gone to meet Fanny French. At least, he told me so; but I want to know whether it is really Fanny, or some one else. He said they were to meet in front of the Haymarket Theatre. Will you go as quickly as you can, and see if Fanny is there?
Crewe laughed.
Like a bird!But how am I to meet you again?
Well be at the top of Regent Street at nine oclock,by Peter Robinsons. Dont lose time.
He struck off in the westerly direction, and Barmby, looking round at that moment, saw him go. Engrossed in thought of Nancy, Samuel did not yet perceive that her brother had vanished.
Your friend isnt coming any further? he said, in a tone of forbearance.
No.
But wheres Mr. Lord? exclaimed Jessica.
Nancy pretended to look back for him, and for a minute or two they waited. Barmby, glad to be delivered from both male companions, made light of the matter; Horace could take care of himself; they had the appointment for a quarter to eleven;on! And he now fixed himself resolutely at Nancys side.
She, delighted with the success of her stratagem, and careless of what might result from it, behaved more companionably. To Luckworth Crewes society she had no objection; indeed, she rather liked him; but his presence would have hindered the escape for which she was preparing. Poor Jessica might feel it something of a hardship to pass hours alone with the Prophet, but that could not be helped. Nancy would be free to-night, if never again. They turned into the Strand, and Barmby voiced his opinion of the public decorations.
Theres very little of what can be called Art,very little indeed. Im afraid we havent made much progress in Art.Now what would Ruskin say to this kind of thing? The popular taste wants educating. My idea is that we ought to get a few leading men Burne Jones andand William Morrisand people of that kind, you know, Miss. Lord,to give lectures in a big hall on the elements of Art. A great deal might be done in that way, dont you think so, Miss. Morgan?
I have no faith in anything popular, Jessica replied loftily.
No, no. But, after all, the people have got the upper hand now-a-days, and we who enjoy advantages of education, of culture, ought not to allow them to remain in darkness. It isnt for our own interest, most decidedly it isnt.
Did your sisters go to see the procession? Nancy asked.
Oh, they were afraid of the crowd. The old gentleman took them out to Tooting Common this afternoon, and they enjoyed themselves. Perhaps I should have been wiser if I had imitated their example; I mean this morning; of course I wouldnt have missed this evening for anything whatever. But somehow, one feels it a sort of duty to see something of these great public holidays. I caught a glimpse of the procession. In its way it was imposingyes, really. After all, the Monarchy is a great factas Gurty would have said. I like to keep my mind open to facts.
The sun had set, and with approach of dusk the crowds grew denser. Nancy proposed a return westwards; the clubs of Pall Mall and of St Jamess Street would make a display worth seeing, and they must not miss Piccadilly.
A little later, said their escort, with an air of liberality, we must think of some light refreshment. We shall be passing a respectable restaurant, no doubt.
Twilight began to obscure the distance. Here and there a house-front slowly marked itself with points of flame, shaping to wreath, festoon, or initials of Royalty. Nancy looked eagerly about her, impatient for the dark, wishing the throng would sweep her away. In Pall Mall, Barmby felt it incumbent upon him to name the several clubs, a task for which he was inadequately prepared. As he stood staring in doubt at one of the coldly insolent facades, Jessica gazing in the same direction, Nancy saw that her moment had come. She darted off, struggled through a moving crowd, and reached the opposite pavement. All she had now to do was to press onward with the people around her; save by chance, she could not possibly be discovered.
Alarm at her daring troubled her for a few minutes. As a matter of course Barmby would report this incident to her father,unless she plainly asked him not to do so, for which she had no mind. Yet what did it matter? She had escaped to enjoy herself, and the sense of freedom soon overcame anxieties. No one observed her solitary state; she was one of millions walking about the streets because it was Jubilee Day, and every moment packed her more tightly among the tramping populace. A procession, this, greatly more significant than that of Royal personages earlier in the day. Along the main thoroughfares of mid-London, wheel-traffic was now suspended; between the houses moved a double current of humanity, this way and that, filling the whole space, so that no vehicle could possibly have made its way on the wonted track. At junctions, pickets of police directed progress; the slowly advancing masses wheeled to left or right at word of command, carelessly obedient. But for an occasional bellow of hilarious blackguardism, or for a song uplifted by strident voices, or a cheer at some flaring symbol that pleased the passers, there was little noise; only a thud, thud of footfalls numberless, and the low, unvarying sound that suggested some huge beast purring to itself in stupid contentment.
Nancy forgot her identity, lost sight of herself as an individual. Her blood was heated by close air and physical contact. She did not think, and her emotions differed little from those of any shop-girl let loose. The culture, to which she laid claim, evanesced in this atmosphere of exhalations. Could she have seen her face, its look of vulgar abandonment would have horrified her.
Some one trod violently on her heel, and she turned with a half-angry laugh, protesting. Beg your pardon, miss, said a young fellow of the clerkly order. A push beind made me do it. He thrust himself to a place beside her, and Nancy conversed with him unrestrainedly, as though it were a matter of course. The young man, scrutinising her with much freedom, shaped clerkly compliments, and, in his fashion, grew lyrical; until, at a certain remark which he permitted himself, Nancy felt it time to shake him off. Her next encounter was more noteworthy. Of a sudden she felt an arm round her waist, and a man, whose breath declared the source of his inspiration, began singing close to her ear the operatic ditty, Queen of my Heart. He had, moreover, a good tenor voice, and belonged, vaguely, to some stratum of educated society.