Denzil Quarrier | Page 5

Mrs. Wilson a very coarse type of impostor,
and even Lilian, though showing a face of distress at what she heard,
seemed to hesitate in her replies and to entertain troublesome doubts.
But the objection she ventured to make to a flagrant inconsistency m
the tale called forth such loud indignation, such a noisy mixture of
insolence and grovelling entreaty, that her moral courage gave way and
Mrs. Wilson whined for another quarter of an hour in complete security
from cross-examination. In the end Lilian brought out her purse and
took from it half-a-sovereign.

"Now, if I give you this, Mrs. Wilson, I do hope to have a better
account"----
Her admonitions were cut short, and with difficulty she managed to
obtain hearing for a word or two of what was meant for grave counsel
whilst taking leave of her visitor. Mrs. Wilson, a gleam in her red eyes,
vanished up the area steps, and left Lilian to meditate on the interview.
The evening passed on, and her solitude was undisturbed. When
dinner-time came, she sat down to the wing of a cold chicken and a
thimbleful of claret much diluted; the repast was laid out with
perfection of neatness, and at its conclusion she cleared the table like
the handiest of parlour-maids. Whatever she did was done gracefully;
she loved order, and when alone was no less scrupulous in satisfying
her idea of the becoming than when her actions were all observed.
After dinner, she played a little on the piano. Here, as over her book in
the afternoon, the absent fit came upon her. Her fingers had rested idly
on the keyboard for some minutes, when they began to touch solemn
chords, and at length there sounded the first notes of a homely strain,
one of the most familiar of the Church's hymns. It ceased abruptly;
Lilian rose and went to another part of the room.
A few minutes later her ear caught the sound for which she was now
waiting--that of a latch-key at the front door. She stepped quickly out
into the passage, where the lamp-light fell upon a tall and robust man
with dark, comely, bearded visage.
"Poor little girl!" he addressed her, affectionately, as he pulled off his
overcoat. "I couldn't help it, Lily; bound to stay."
"Never mind!" was her laughing reply, as she stood on tip-toe and drew
down his face to hers. "I was disappointed, but it's as well you didn't
come to dinner. Sarah had to go away this morning."
"Oh! How's that? How have you managed then?"
They passed into the front room, and Quarrier repeated his inquiries.
"She had a letter from Birmingham," Lilian explained. "Her brother has
been all but killed in some dreadful accident, and he's in a hospital. I
saw she wished to go--so I gave her some money and sent her off as
soon as possible. Perhaps it was her only chance of seeing him alive,
Denzil."
"Yes, yes of course you did right," he answered, after a moment's
hesitation.

"I knew you wouldn't mind a dinner of my cooking--under the
circumstances."
"But what are we to do? You can't take her place in the kitchen till she
comes back."
"I'll get some one for a few days."
"But, confound it! how about to-morrow morning? It's very awkward"
----
"Oh, I shall easily manage."
"What?--go down at eight o'clock and light fires! Hang it, no! All right;
I'll turn out and see to breakfast. But you must get another girl; a
second servant, I mean. Yes, you ought really to have two. Get a decent
cook."
"Do you think it necessary?"
Quarrier was musing, a look of annoyance on his face.
"It couldn't have happened more inconveniently," he said, without
regard to Lilian's objection. "I had better tell you at once, Lily: I've
asked a friend of mine to come and dine with us to-morrow."
She started and looked at him with anxious eyes.
"A friend?"
"Yes; Glazzard--the man who spoke to me at Kew Station the other
day--you remember?"
"Oh yes!"
Lilian seated herself by the piano and stroked the keys with the tips of
her fingers. Standing on the hearth-rug, her companion watched her
closely for a moment; his forehead was wrinkled, and he did not seem
quite at ease.
"Glazzard is a very good fellow," he pursued, looking about the room
and thrusting his hands into his trouser-pockets. "I've known him since
I was a boy--a well-read man, thoughtful, clever. A good musician;
something more than an amateur with the violin, I believe. An artist,
too; he had a 'bust in the Academy a few years ago, and I've seen some
capital etchings of his."
"A universal genius!" said Lilian, with a forced laugh.
"Well, there's no doubt he has come very near