The Imaginary Marriage | Page 5

just went!"
"Yes," Lady Linden said thoughtfully, "I suppose she did. It is just
what Joan would do! She saw that she was not appreciated; you
wrangled, or some folly, and she simply went. She would--so would I
have gone! And now, where is she?"
"I tell you I don't know!"
"You've never sought her?"
"Never! I--I--now look here," he went on, "don't take it to heart too
much. She is quite all right--that is, I expect--"
"You expect!" she said witheringly. "Here you sit; you have a beautiful
young wife, the most brilliant girl I ever met, and--and you let her go!
Don't talk to me!"
"No, I won't; let's drop it! We will discuss it some other time--it is a
matter I prefer not to talk about! Naturally it is rather--painful to me!"
"So I should think!"
"Yes, I much prefer not to talk about it. Let's discuss Marjorie!"
"Confound Marjorie!"
"Marjorie is the sweetest little soul in the world, and--"
"It's a pity you didn't think of that three years ago!"

"And Tom Arundel is a fine fellow; no one can say one word against
him!"
"I don't wish to discuss them! If Marjorie is obsessed with this folly
about young Arundel, it will be her misfortune. If she wants to marry
him she will probably regret it. I intended her to marry you; but since it
can't be, I don't feel any particular interest in the matter of Marjorie's
marriage at the moment! Now tell me about Joan at once!"
"Believe me, I--I much prefer not to: it is a sore subject, a matter I
never speak about!"
"Oh, go away then--and leave me to myself. Let me think it all out!"
He went gladly enough; he made his way back to the lily-pond.
"Marjorie," he said tragically, "what have you done?"
"Oh, Hugh!" She was trembling at once.
"No, no, dear, don't worry; it is nothing. She believes every word, and I
feel sure it will be all right for you and Tom, but, oh Marjorie--that
name, I thought you had invented it!"
Marjorie flushed. "It was the name of a girl at Miss Skinner's: she was a
great, great friend of mine. She was two years older than I, and just as
sweet and beautiful as her name, and when you were casting about for
one I--I just thought of it, Hugh. It hasn't done any harm, has it?"
"I hope not, only, don't you see, you've made me claim an existing
young lady as my wife, and if she turned up some time or other--"
"But she won't! When she left school she went out to Australia to join
her uncle there, and she will in all probability never come back to
England."
Hugh drew a sigh of relief. "That's all right then! It's all right, little girl;
it is all right. I believe things are going to be brighter for you now."

"Thanks to you, Hugh!"
"You know there is nothing in this world--" He looked down at the
lovely face, alive with gratitude and happiness. His dreams were ended,
the "might-have-been" would never be, but he knew that there was
peace in that little breast at last.
CHAPTER III
JOAN MEREDYTH, TYPIST
Mr. Philip Slotman touched the electric buzzer on his desk and then
watched the door. He was an unpleasant--looking man, strangely
corpulent as to body, considering his face was cast in lean and narrow
mould, the nose large, prominent and hooked, the lips full, fleshy, and
of cherry--like redness, the eyes small, mean, close together and deep
set. The over--corpulent body was attired lavishly. It was dressed in a
fancy waistcoat, a morning coat, elegantly striped trousers of lavender
hue and small pointed--toed, patent--leather boots, with bright tan
uppers. The rich aroma of an expensive cigar hung about the
atmosphere of Mr. Slotman's office. This and his clothes, and the large
diamond ring that twinkled on his finger, proclaimed him a person of
opulence.
The door opened and a girl came in; she carried a notebook and her
head very high. She trod like a young queen, and in spite of the poor
black serge dress she wore, there was much of regal dignity about her.
Dark brown hair that waved back from a broad and low forehead, a pair
of lustrous eyes filled now with contempt and aversion, eyes shielded
by lashes that, when she slept, lay like a silken fringe upon her cheeks.
Her nose was redeemed from the purely classical by the merest
suggestion of tip-tiltedness, that gave humour, expression and
tenderness to the whole face--tenderness and sweetness that with
strength was further betrayed by the finely cut, red-lipped mouth and
the strong little chin, carried so proudly on the white column of her
neck.
Her figure was