The servants, tiptoeing about, hardly ventured
even to exchange glances; the errand boys were waylaid and sent to the
right-about, with a vague notion that if they opened their mouths
their heads would be off; and some one was posted at the garden gate
to deal, in a scarcely less summary manner, with visitors. Indeed, so
fearful was Gladys lest her father should hear Shiel, who had managed
to elude her outpost, that without meaning it, she greeted him curtly,
and, more plainly than politely, gave him to understand that she
wished him elsewhere. "What have you been saying to Shiel Davenport?" Miss Templeton asked
Gladys, when they met at lunch. "I passed him in the road just now,
and he looked so wretched that, despite his ineligibility, I felt
quite sorry for him. I am sure he is very much in love with you." "Nonsense," Gladys said, "he is only a boy." But boy though it pleased
her to call him, she knew that he had played a man's part during her
father's illness. Every night he had faithfully performed the rôle,
she had allotted to him, at the Kingsway Hall, and upon him she was
forced to admit the success of the entertainment, in a large measure,
depended. Without pushing himself, or being the least bit officious,
he had been equally helpful behind the scenes. He had held in check
all those who, taking advantage of her father's absence, were disposed
to dispute her authority and shirk their work--and he had also, on her
behalf, successfully resisted their demand for higher wages. And, over
and above all this, he had always considered her personal comfort. Her
meals--which she could never bother about for herself, when engaged
all day at the hall--were, thanks to him, brought to her as
punctually, and served as daintily, as they would have been for her
father; he had taken every care that she should not be disturbed when
resting; and there was, in short, nothing he had not thought of doing
to lighten the load, so unexpectedly laid upon her shoulders. The only
fault she could find with him, was that he had not gained the good
graces of her father. The day slowly waned. Gladys had stolen into her father's room
repeatedly to see how he fared, and to her his condition had seemed
much about the same--he was as usual tired and peevish. But when, at
six o'clock, she again stole in to peep at him, and found him lying
back on his pillow absolutely still and motionless, and without
apparently breathing, she was immeasurably shocked. Had he had another
fit, or was he dead? Wild with grief and terror, she rushed from the
room to telephone to the doctor, and met him on the landing. "You need have no fear," he said to her the moment he had looked at
John Martin, "he is sound asleep, and, when he awakes, the crisis will
be past. To-morrow, he may go out for a bit, and, in a week, he will
be himself again. Only you must take care that he does not use his
brain too much." Gladys could hardly restrain her delight. She felt pleased with
everything and everybody; and her greeting of Shiel, some two hours
later, at the theatre, almost turned his brain. In fact it was owing
to this pleasant surprise, that he made one or two stupid mistakes in
his performance, and was sharply pulled back to earth by the ironic
laughter of the audience. When the entertainment was over, and he was
preparing to accompany Gladys as usual to her motor, the thought of
her sparkling eyes and animated features again overcame him. "What shall you advise your father to do?" he asked. "I think he ought to lose no time in getting a partner," Gladys
replied, "some one who can attend to the business side of the concern
for him. It is essential he should not be worried with figures." "I suppose my services won't be required much longer?" Shiel said,
speaking with rather an effort. "Of course I can't answer for my father," Gladys replied, "but I
should imagine he would be only too glad to employ you. The only thing
is the salary. You can't live on air, you know, and with the poor
attendances he gets now, I don't see how he can afford to pay much." "I would work for very little," Shiel said. "I should be awfully sorry
to give up now. I wonder if you would miss me at all?" "Of course I should!" Gladys retorted. "You have behaved admirably,
and I am most grateful to you." "You needn't be grateful to me. I have never enjoyed anything half so
much as I have trying to help you. I am poor, penniless in fact, since
my uncle left me nothing, but supposing--supposing I were to get some
lucrative post, do you think--do you think there would ever be any
possibility of--"

"Of what?" "Of your caring for me! I am terribly in love with you." "I fear I must have given you encouragement," Gladys said. "I'm
awfully sorry. You see I never thought of this, and I don't know what
to say to you." "Won't you give me a chance, just a chance?" "But my father would never hear of it. Unfortunately he seems to be
prejudiced against you. Won't you wait a while, and then, if you are
still in the same mind, speak to me again in--say--a year. By that
time you will, no doubt, have made some sort of a position for
yourself." "And in the meanwhile you will get engaged to some one else," Shiel
exclaimed. "I don't think I shall," Gladys said. "Of course, I meet crowds of
men, but you see I am not the marrying sort." "Do you think you would care for me just a bit?" Shiel asked eagerly. "A tiny, tiny bit, perhaps," Gladys said, "but I'm not at all sure. I
can think of no one now but my father, so that if you value my good
opinion, or really want to prove your devotion to me, you must, for
the time being, devote yourself to him. Who knows--it may lie in your
power to do him some service." "I don't see how," Shiel replied, somewhat despondingly. "But no
matter--after you, your father and your father's affairs shall be my
first consideration. You will let me see you sometimes, won't you?" "Sometimes," Gladys laughed. "Good-bye! Don't make any mistakes
to-morrow. Your performance to-night was not as good as usual." And,
with this somewhat cruel remark, she stepped lightly into her motor,
and drove off. Shiel now gave way to despair. There are few conditions in life so
utterly unenviable as penury and love--to be next door to starving,
and at the same time in love. Day after day Shiel, who was thus
afflicted, had revelled in Gladys's company, and had intoxicated
himself with her beauty, fully aware that for each moment of pleasure
there would, later on, be a corresponding moment of pain. It was only
in romance, he told himself, that the penniless lover suddenly finds
himself in a position to marry--in reality, his love suit is rejected
with scorn; his adored one marries some one who has, or pretends he
has, limitless wealth; and the despised swain ends his days a
miserable and dejected bachelor.