“For Miss Jill, sir.”
Jill took the note off the salver.
“It’s from Derek.”
“There’s a messenger-boy waiting, miss,” said Jane. “He wasn’t told if there was an answer.”
“If the note is from Derek,” said Uncle Chris, “it’s not likely to want an answer. You said he left town today.”
Jill opened the envelope.
“Is there an answer, miss?” asked Jane, after what she considered a suitable interval. She spoke tenderly. She was a great admirer of Derek, and considered it a pretty action on his part to send notes like this when he was compelled to leave London.
“Any answer, Jill?”
Jill seemed to rouse herself. She had turned oddly pale.
“No, no answer, Jane.”
“Thank you, miss,” said Jane, and went off to tell cook that in her opinion Jill was lacking in heart. “It might have been a bill instead of a love-letter,” said Jane to the cook with indignation, “the way she read it. I like people to have a little feeling!”
Jill sat turning the letter over and over in her fingers. Her face was very white. There seemed to be a big, heavy, leaden something inside her. A cold hand clutched her throat. Uncle Chris, who at first had noticed nothing untoward, now began to find the silence sinister.
“No bad news, I hope, dear?”
Jill turned the letter between her fingers.
“Jill, is it bad news?”
“Derek has broken off the engagement,” said Jill in a dull voice. She let the note fall to the floor, and sat with her chin in her hands.
“What!” Uncle Chris leaped from the hearth-rug, as though the fire had suddenly scorched him. “What did you say?”
“He’s broken it off.”
“The hound!” cried Uncle Chris. “The blackguard! The—the—I never liked that man! I never trusted him!” He fumed for a moment. “But—but—it isn’t possible. How can he have heard about what’s happened? He couldn’t know. It’s—it’s—it isn’t possible!”
“He doesn’t know. It has nothing to do with that.”
“But —” Uncle Chris stooped to where the note lay. “May I — ?”
“Yes, you can read it if you like.”
Uncle Chris produced a pair of reading-glasses, and glared through them at the sheet of paper as though it were some loathsome insect.
“The hound! The cad! If I were a younger man,” shouted Uncle Chris, smiting the letter violently, “if I were — Jill! My dear little Jill!”
He plunged down on his knees beside her, as she buried her face in her hands and began to sob.
“My little girl! Damn that man! My dear little girl! The cad! The devil! My own darling little girl! I’ll thrash him within an inch of his life!”
The clock on the mantelpiece ticked away the minutes. Jill got up. Her face was wet and quivering, but her mouth had set in a brave line.
“Jill, dear!”
She let his hand close over hers.
“Everything’s happening all at once this afternoon, Uncle Chris, isn’t it!” She smiled a twisted smile. “You look so funny! Your hair’s all rumpled, and your glasses are over on one side!”
Uncle Chris breathed heavily through his nose.
“When I meet that man —” he began portentously.
“Oh, what’s the good of bothering! It’s not worth it! Nothing’s worth it!” Jill stopped, and faced him, her hands clenched. “Let’s get away! Let’s get right away! I want to get right away, Uncle Chris! Take me away! Anywhere! Take me to America with you! I must get away!”
Uncle Chris raised his right hand, and shook it. His reading-glasses, hanging from his left ear, bobbed drunkenly.
“We’ll sail by the next boat! The very next boat, dammit! I’ll take care of you, dear. I’ve been a blackguard to you, my little girl. I’ve robbed you, and swindled you. But I’ll make up for it, by George! I’ll make up for it! I’ll give you a new home, as good as this, if I die for it. There’s nothing I won’t do! Nothing! By Jove!” shouted Uncle Chris, raising his voice in a red-hot frenzy of emotion, “I’ll work! Yes, by Gad, if it comes right down to it, I’ll work!”
He brought his fist down with a crash on the table where Derek’s flowers stood in their bowl. The bowl leaped in the air and tumbled over, scattering the flowers on the floor.