The Paradise Mystery | Page 7

J.S. Fletcher
they really are?
Wards of Dr. Ransford, of course! Really, how very romantic! --and
just a little--eh?--unusual? Such a comparatively young man to have
such a really charming girl as his ward! Can't be more than forty-five
himself, and she's twenty--how very, very romantic! Really, one would
think there ought to be a chaperon!'"
"Damn!" said Ransford under his breath.
"Just so," agreed Bryce. "But--that's the sort of thing. Do you want
more? I can supply an unlimited quantity in the piece if you like. But
it's all according to sample."
"So--in addition to your other qualities," remarked Ransford, "you're a
gossiper?"
Bryce smiled slowly and shook his head.
"No," he replied. "I'm a listener. A good one, too. But do you see my
point? I say--there's no mystery about me. If Miss Bewery will honour
me with her hand, she'll get a man whose antecedents will bear the
strictest investigation."

"Are you inferring that hers won't?" demanded Ransford.
"I'm not inferring anything," said Bryce. "I am speaking for myself, of
myself. Pressing my own claim, if you like, on you, the guardian. You
might do much worse than support my claims, Dr. Ransford."
"Claims, man!" retorted Ransford. "You've got no claims! What are
you talking about? Claims!"
"My pretensions, then," answered Bryce. "If there is a mystery--as
Wrychester people say there is--about Miss Bewery, it would be safe
with me. Whatever you may think, I'm a thoroughly dependable
man--when it's in my own interest."
"And--when it isn't?" asked Ransford. "What are you then?--as you're
so candid."
"I could be a very bad enemy," replied Bryce.
There was a moment's silence, during which the two men looked
attentively at each other.
"I've told you the truth," said Ransford at last. "Miss Bewery flatly
refuses to entertain any idea whatever of ever marrying you. She
earnestly hopes that that eventuality may never be mentioned to her
again. Will you give me your word of honour to respect her wishes?"
"No!" answered Bryce. "I won't!"
"Why not?" asked Ransford, with a faint show of anger. "A woman's
wishes!"
"Because I may consider that I see signs of a changed mind in her,"
said Bryce. "That's why."
"You'll never see any change of mind," declared Ransford. "That's
certain. Is that your fixed determination?"
"It is," answered Bryce. "I'm not the sort of man who is easily

repelled."
"Then, in that case," said Ransford, "we had better part company." He
rose from his desk, and going over to a safe which stood in a corner,
unlocked it and took some papers from an inside drawer. He consulted
one of these and turned to Bryce. "You remember our agreement?" he
continued. "Your engagement was to be determined by a three months'
notice on either side, or, at my will, at any time by payment of three
months' salary?"
"Quite right," agreed Bryce. "I remember, of course."
"Then I'll give you a cheque for three months' salary--now," said
Ransford, and sat down again at his desk. "That will settle matters
definitely--and, I hope, agreeably."
Bryce made no reply. He remained leaning against the table, watching
Ransford write the cheque. And when Ransford laid the cheque down
at the edge of the desk he made no movement towards it.
"You must see," remarked Ransford, half apologetically, "that it's the
only thing I can do. I can't have any man who's not --not welcome to
her, to put it plainly--causing any annoyance to my ward. I repeat,
Bryce--you must see it!"
"I have nothing to do with what you see," answered Bryce. "Your
opinions are not mine, and mine aren't yours. You're really turning me
away--as if I were a dishonest foreman! --because in my opinion it
would be a very excellent thing for her and for myself if Miss Bewery
would consent to marry me. That's the plain truth."
Ransford allowed himself to take a long and steady look at Bryce. The
thing was done now, and his dismissed assistant seemed to be taking it
quietly--and Ransford's curiosity was aroused.
"I can't make you out!" he exclaimed. "I don't know whether you're the
most cynical young man I ever met, or whether you're the most
obtuse--"

"Not the last, anyway," interrupted Bryce. "I assure you of that!"
"Can't you see for yourself, then, man, that the girl doesn't want you!"
said Ransford. "Hang it!--for anything you know to the contrary, she
may have--might have-other ideas!"
Bryce, who had been staring out of a side window for the last minute or
two, suddenly laughed, and, lifting a hand, pointed into the garden. And
Ransford turned--and saw Mary Bewery walking there with a tall lad,
whom he recognized as one Sackville Bonham, stepson of Mr. Folliot,
a wealthy resident of the Close. The two young people were laughing
and chatting together with
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