A Prince of Sinners E. Phillips Oppenheim BOOK 3 CHAPTER 3 pdf

A Prince of Sinners
E. Phillips Oppenheim

BOOK 3
CHAPTER 3

THE SINGULAR BEHAVIOUR OF MARY SCOTT

The looking-glass was, perhaps, a little merciless in that clear north light, but
Mary's sigh as she looked away from it was certainly unwarranted. For, as a
matter of fact, she had improved wonderfully since her coming to London. A
certain angularity of figure had vanished the fashionable clothes which Mr.
Bullsom had insisted upon ordering for her did ample justice to her graceful
curves and lithe buoyant figure. The pallor of her cheeks, too, which she had
eyed just now with so much dissatisfaction, was far removed from the pallor of
ill-health; her mouth, which had lost its discontented droop, was full of pleasant
suggestions of humour. She was distinctly a very charming and attractive young
woman and yet she turned away with a sigh. She was twenty-seven years old,
and she had been unconsciously comparing herself with a girl of eighteen.
She drew down one of the blinds and set the tea-tray where she could sit in the
shadow. She was conscious of having dressed with unusual care she had
pinned a great bunch of fragrant violets in her bosom. She acknowledged to
herself frankly that she was anxious to appear at her best. For there had come to
her, in the midst of her busy life a life of strenuous endeavour mingled with
many small self-denials a certain sense of loneliness of insufficiency a new
thing to her and hard to cope with in this great city where friends were few. And
last night, whilst she had been thinking of it, came this note from Brooks asking
if he might come to tea. She had been ashamed of herself ever since. It was
maddening that she should sit waiting for his coming like a blushing schoolgirl-
-the colour ready enough to stream into her face at the sound of his footstep.
He came at last a surprise in more ways than one. For he had abandoned the

blue serge and low hat of his daily life, and was attired in frock coat and silk
hat his tie and collar of a new fashion, even his bearing altered at least so it
seemed to her jealous observation. He was certainly looking better. There was
colour in his pale cheeks, and his eyes were bright once more with the joy of
life. Her dark eyes took merciless note of these things, and then found seeing at
all a little difficult.
"My dear Mary," he exclaimed, cheerfully he had fallen into the way of calling
her Mary lately "this is delightful of you to be in. Do you know that I am really
holiday-making?"
"Well," she answered, smiling, "I imagined that you were not on your way
eastwards."
"Where can I sit? May I move these?" He swept aside a little pile of newspapers
and books, and took possession of the seat which she had purposely
appropriated. "The other chairs are so far off, and you seem to have chosen a
dark corner. Eastwards, no. I have been at the office all the morning, and we
have bought the property in Poplar Grove and the house in Bermondsey. Now I
have finished for the day. Doctor's orders."
"If any one has earned a holiday," she said, quietly, "you have. There is some
cake on the table there."
"Thanks. Well, it was hard work at first. How we stuck at it down at Stepney,
didn't we? Six in the morning till twelve at night. And then how we rushed
ahead. It seems to me that we have been doing nothing but open branches
lately."
"I wonder," she said, "that you have stood it so well. Why don't you go away
altogether for a time? You have such splendid helpers now.
"Oh, I'm enjoying myself," he answered, lightly, "and I don't care to be out of
touch with it all."
"You enjoy contrasts," she remarked. "I saw your name in the paper this
morning as one of Lady Caroom's guests last night."
He nodded.

"Yes, Lady Caroom has been awfully good to me, and I seem to have got to
know a lot of pleasant people in an incredulously short time."
"You are a curious mixture," she said, looking at him thoughtfully.
"Of what?" he asked, passing his cup for some more tea.
"Of wonderful self-devotion," she answered, "and a genuine and natural love of
enjoyment. After all, you are only a boy."
"I fancy," he remarked, smiling, "that my years exceed yours.
"As a matter of fact they don't," she answered, "but I was not thinking of years,
I was thinking of disposition. You have set going the greatest charitable scheme
of the generation, and yet you are so young, so very young."
He laughed a little uneasily. In some vague way he felt that he had displeased
her.
"I never pretended," he said, "that I did not enjoy life, that I was not fond of its
pleasures. It was only while my work was insecure that I made a recluse of
myself. You, too," he said, "it is time that you slackened a little. Come, take an
evening off and we will dine somewhere and go to the theatre." How delightful
it sounded. She felt a warm rush of pleasure at the thought. They would want
her badly at Stepney, but "This evening?" she asked.
"Yes. No, hang it, it can't be this evening. I'm dining with the Carooms nor to-
morrow evening. Say Thursday evening, will you?"
Something seemed suddenly to chill her momentary gush of happiness.
"Well," she said, "I think not just yet. We have several fresh girls, you know it
is a bad time to be away. Perhaps you will ask me later on."
He laughed softly.
"What a funny girl you are, Mary. You'd really rather stew in that hot room, I
believe, than go anywhere to enjoy yourself. Such women as you ought to be
canonized. You are saints even in this life. What can be done for you in the
next?"
Mary bit her lip hard, and she bent low over the tea-cups. In another moment
she felt that her self-control must go. Fortunately he drifted away from the

subject.
"Very soon," he said, "we must all have a serious talk about the future. The
management is getting too big for me. I think there should be a council elected
something of the sort must be done, and soon."
"That," she remarked, "is what Mr. Lavilette says, isn't it?"
He looked at her with twinkling eyes.
"Oh, you needn't think I'm being scared into it," he answered. "All the same,
Lavvy's right enough. No one man has the right to accept large subscriptions
and not let the public into his confidence."
"Lavilette doesn't believe in our anonymous subscriptions, does he?" she asked.
"No! He's rather impudent about that, isn't he? I suppose I ought really to set
him right. I should have done so before, but he went about it in such an
offensive manner. Well, to go on with what I was saying. You will come on the
council, Mary?"
"I? Oh, surely not!"
"You will! And, what is more, I am going to split all the branches up into
divisions, and appoint superintendents and manageresses, at a reasonable salary.
And you," he concluded, "are going to be one of the latter."
She shook her head firmly.
"No! I must remain my own mistress."
"Why not? I want to allot to you the work where you can do most good. You
know more about it than any one. There is no one half so suitable. I want you to
throw up your other work come into this altogether, be my right hand, and let
me feel that I have one person on the council whom I can rely upon."
She was silent for a moment. She leaned back in her chair, but even in the semi-
obscurity the extreme pallor of her face troubled him.
"You must remember, too," he said, "that the work will not be so hard as now.
Lately you have given us too much of your time. Indeed, I am not sure that it is
not you who need a holiday more than I."
She raised her eyes.

"This is what you came to say to me?"
"Yes. I was anxious to get your promise."
There was another short silence. Then she spoke in dull even tones.
"I must think it over. You want my whole time, and you want to pay me for it."
"Yes. It is only reasonable, and we can afford it. I should draw a salary myself if
I had not a little of my own."
She raised her eyes once more to his mercilessly, and drew a quick little breath.
Yes, it was there written in his face the blank utter indifference of good-
fellowship. It was all that he had come to ask her, it was all that he would ever
ask her. Suddenly she felt her heart throbbing in quick short beats-her cheeks
burned. They were alone even her little maid had gone out. Why was he so
miserably indifferent? She stumbled to her feet, and suddenly stooping down
laid her burning cheeks against his.
"Kingston," she said, "you are so cruel and I am so lonely. Can't you see that I
am miserable? Kiss me!"
Brooks sat petrified, utterly amazed at this self-yielding on the part of the last
woman in this world whom he would ever have thought capable of anything of
the sort.
"Kiss me at once."
He touched her lips timorously. Then she sprang away from him, her cheeks
aflame, her eyes on fire, her hair strangely ruffled. She pointed to the door.
"Please go quickly."
He picked up his hat.
"But, Mary! I "
"Please!"
She stamped her foot.
"But "
"I will write. You shall hear from me to-morrow. But if you have any pity for
me at all you will go now this moment."
He rose and went. She heard him turn the handle of the door, heard his footsteps

upon the stone stairs outside.
She counted them idly. One, two, three, four now he was on the next landing.
She heard them again, less distinctly, always less distinctly. Then silence. She
ran to the window. There he was upon the pavement, now he was crossing the
road on his way to the underground station. She tore at her handkerchief, waved
it wildly for a moment and then stopped. He was gone and she. The hot colour
came rushing painfully into her cheeks. She threw herself face downwards upon
the sofa.