The Woman with One Hand, and Mr. Ely's Engagement

"One night, when I was asleep on the couch in that back room of yours in Cromwell Road-before you failed last time" – it is within the range of possibility that this allusion was meant to sting, but Mr. Rosenbaum smoked blandly on-"that girl of yours cut off some of my hair, and drew blood in doing it, by George!"

"Ah! she says you give it her-from sympathy, my friend. She admire you very much, that girl."

Mr. Ely kept silence. If there was any one of the six he disliked more than the others it was the young lady whom her father said admired him very much-Miss Rachel Rosenbaum. Some fathers, if they had had the names of three of their daughters received in this rather frigid way, would have changed the subject perhaps. But if Mr. Rosenbaum had not been a persevering man, his address would not have been Queen's Gate. Besides, Mrs. Rosenbaum was dead, and he had to act the parts of mother and father too. And there were six.

"Judith, she miss you too."

This was the fourth; there still were two to follow. Mr. Ely resolved to have a little plunge upon his own account.

"Doing anything in Unified?"

Mr. Rosenbaum looked at him, puffed out a cloud of smoke, and smiled. "I say, Judith, she miss you too."

"And I said, 'Doing anything in Unified?'"

Mr. Rosenbaum leaned forward and laid his great, fat, jewelled hand on Mr. Ely's knee. "Now, my friend, there is a girl for you; plump, tender-what an eye!"

"And what a nose! And a moustache!" was on Mr. Ely's lips, but he refrained.

"That girl just twenty-four, and she weigh a hundred and seventy pound-she do credit to any man. And, my goodness, how she is fond of you, my boy!"

A vision passed before Mr. Ely's mental eye of the girl whom he had left behind. And then he thought of the young lady whose chief qualification was that she weighed a hundred and seventy pounds at twenty-four.

"She not a worrying girl, that Judith; that's the sort of wife for a man to have who wants to live an easy life. She let him do just what he please, and never say a word."

Mr. Ely fidgeted in his seat. "I say, Rosenbaum, I wish you'd try some other theme."

Mr. Rosenbaum held up his fat forefinger, with its half a dozen rings, and wagged it in Mr. Ely's face. "But the great point is Sarah, my good friend; there is something between you and she."

"What the dickens do you mean?"

"Oh! you know what I mean. What passed between you on the river that fine day?"

"What fine day?"

"What fine day! So there has been more than one! That I did not know; the one it was enough for me."

"And upon my word, with all due respect to Miss Sarah Rosenbaum, it was enough for me."

"You did not kiss her, eh? You did not kiss her that fine day?"

"I don't know if I kissed her or she kissed me. I say, Rosenbaum, those girls of yours don't seem to keep many secrets from their father."

"That is as good a girl as ever lived; you will do justice to her, eh?"

"I hope I should do justice to every girl."

"So! That is it! You would marry half a dozen, perhaps!"

"By George, I don't believe you'd offer any objection if I wanted to!"

Mr. Rosenbaum sat back in his seat. Apparently this observation did go home. He appeared to reflect, but he showed that he was by no means beaten by suddenly discovering a fresh attack.

"My good friend, you think you are a clever man. I allow you are no fool, but you have met your match in me."

In his secret heart Mr. Ely was quite willing to allow the fact.

"You have played with my six daughters-very good! You have trifled with their hearts. I say not any word, but there is one of them you must marry, and Ruth is she."

Mr. Ely was silent. He kept his eyes cast down. Mr. Rosenbaum, on the other hand, kept his eyes fixed upon his good friend's face.

"Come, I am her father. When is it to be?"

Then Mr. Ely did look up. The two friends' glances met; Mr. Ely certainly did not flinch.

"It won't do; try some other lay."

"What you mean-try some other lay?"

"Mean what I say."

"You never asked her to marry you?"

"I swear I never did."

"You never gave her to understand that you wished her for your wife, eh?"

"I'm not responsible for her understanding."

"So-that is it! – I see! Griffith of Tokenhouse Yard is your solicitor-not so?"

Mr. Rosenbaum took out a note-book and a pencil-case.

"What's it matter to you?"

"My good friend, it matters this. Before we reach Waterloo you tell me the day on which you marry Ruth, or to-morrow a writ issues for breach of promise."

"Issue fifty writs for all I care."

"You have played hanky-panky with my six daughters, but we have you on the last; at least, we'll see."

"I guess we will. Take my advice, Rosenbaum, and don't you be a fool. I never asked your daughter in my life to marry me."

"We'll talk of that a little later on. There is a letter and some other little things which will make a sensation when they are produced in Court. You understand that it is my duty to see that you do not break my daughter's heart."

"Which of them? All six?"

"At present it is with Ruth we are concerned."

"Oh, Ruth be hanged!"

With that observation the conversation closed. The remainder of the journey passed in silence. But when they reached Waterloo Mr. Rosenbaum remarked-

"Well, my friend, what is it to be? Will you name the day?"

"Name your grandmother!" Mr. Ely courteously rejoined. And with that courteous rejoinder he left the train.

CHAPTER IX

MR. ELY HAS A LETTER

Mr. Ely took a cab into the city. On the road he stopped to buy a ring. He was the kind of man whose determination is intensified by opposition. He had been half in love with Miss Truscott before he met his German friend; now, in his own peculiar way, he was quite. Miss Ruth Rosenbaum was the youngest and most prepossessing of the six, and that there had been certain passages between them he was well aware. But in any case her father's attempt to force his daughter down his throat would have had the effect of making him fly off at a tangent in quite another direction. Now the effect it had upon him was to send him off helter-skelter to purchase Miss Truscott an engagement-ring. But he was the man of business even then. The jeweller found some difficulty in meeting his requirements. What Mr. Ely wanted was an article of the greatest value at the smallest cost. For instance, for a ring priced at a hundred and fifty guineas he offered fifteen pounds-and this with such an air of making a first-rate bid that the tradesman did not know whether to treat it as an insult or a jest. Finally he expended twenty pounds, and had his value for it, rest assured.

Directly he entered the Stock Exchange he encountered Mr. Ash.

"I had your wire," began that gentleman. "I congratulate you, my dear boy."

"Yes." Mr. Ely looked the other straight in the face, which was a trick he had when there was something which he particularly wished to say. Then he slipped his arm through Mr. Ash's, and drew that gentleman aside. "She's a fine girl, Ash-finer than I thought she was. Finest girl in England, in the world, by George she is!"

Mr. Ash was a little surprised at his friend's enthusiasm. But he let no sign of this escape him.

"She's a good girl too, my boy."

"Best girl ever yet I came across."

"And she's true-true as a die."

"Truer-truest girl ever yet I saw."

"And when she says she loves a man-" Mr. Ash paused. He glanced at his friend. Mr. Ely gave no sign. "When she says she loves a man, you may be quite certain that she does."

Mr. Ely looked down at his toes, then up at Mr. Ash.

"I've bought the ring."

"What! The wedding-ring!"

"The wedding-ring! Good gad, no! I never thought of that. It's the engagement ring I've got."

"The other one comes after, eh?"

"I gave twenty sovereigns for it."

"That's a pile." What the smile meant in Mr. Ash's eyes it would be difficult to say.

"He wanted forty-five. I beat him down. Said I'd seen its own brother at Attenborough's for ten." There was a pause. Then Mr. Ely began again. "I say, Ash, when do you think the wedding could come off?"

"In a hurry? Well, what do you say to twelve months, my boy?"

"Twelve months! Twelve months be hanged! A month's enough for me."

"A month! The girl won't have time to turn herself round. And you've a house to take, and all the rest of it."

"You say the word, and I'll have a house by to-morrow night, and get it furnished in a week."

"But, my dear boy, you don't seem to be aware that the lady generally has a voice in that kind of thing."

"You say a month, and I'll make it right with her."

"You may marry her to-morrow for all I care.

"I should like to marry her to-morrow," said Mr. Ely candidly; "but-I suppose it'll have to be a month."

But even a month was not an impassable space of time. Mr. Ely reflected that there were a good many things which must be done-it should be a lunar month, he decided in his own mind-his time would be much occupied, the days would quickly pass, and then-then the maid with the big eyes, the finest girl in the world, the best and the truest, would be his bride.

His happiness was consummated on the following morning. It had never occurred to him to suggest that there should be any correspondence. He was not a man who was fond of writing himself, and a love-letter-the idea of a sane man writing a love-letter! – was an idea which up to the present moment had never entered his mind. And that in spite of a certain unfortunate document which was in the possession of Miss Ruth Rosenbaum. So when he found upon his breakfast table the following morning a large square envelope, addressed to "Frederic Ely, Esq." in an unmistakably feminine hand, the postmark of which was Shanklin, his heart gave quite a jump.

It was from Miss Truscott, as sure as fate: the first letter from his love?

CHAPTER X

THE AMAZING CONTENTS OFMR. ELY'S LETTER

Mr. Ely played with that letter as a cat plays with a mouse. It was a tender morsel, a bonne bouche, which must not be hastily dismissed. He turned it over and over, examining first the superscription, the bold, flourishing hand in which she had penned his name-how well it looked; the first time his name had been inscribed by her! Then he examined the reverse-the monogram. He could make it out quite well-L. T. – Lily Truscott. He blushed as he caught himself in the act of raising the magic letters to his lips. Then he laid it down in a prominent position in front of his plate, and studied the exterior as he began to eat.

"I wonder what she has to say!" Ah, what! "I wonder if-if she's come round to my point of view? Got-got spoony, and-and all that. By George, I hope she has!" What with the food he had in his mouth, and the sigh, he was almost choked. "I think every woman ought to love the man she's going to marry. I love her-I know I do."

He began to know that fact too well. The man who had had nothing to do with sentiment was painfully conscious that he was on the point of becoming the most sentimental of men.

"I mismanaged the affair all through. I ought to have told her that I loved her. How can a man expect a girl to love him if she don't believe that he loves her? Perhaps she has written to say that she can conceal the fact no longer: that she loves me whether I want her to or don't. By George! I hope she has."

He feasted his eyes again upon the envelope, and helped himself to another serving of ham and eggs.

"I thought her behaviour was a trifle cold. It was that beastly dog that did it. How can a man make himself agreeable to a woman when there's a dog ready to bite his nose off sitting on her knee? Still, I thought her behaviour was a trifle cold. She didn't seem to pay much attention to what I had to say; I believe she would have preferred to read; and when she did begin to talk she was taking pot-shots at one all over the place, as it were."

He sighed, and took another egg.

"And when I asked her to marry me I might have been asking her to take a tart; she didn't seem to be interested in the least. She was most uncommon anxious to treat the thing in a business-like kind of way. I oughtn't to have been so particular about saying I was a business man. That was a mistake; I know it was."

He sighed again. He put down his knife and fork.

"By George, if she writes to say she loves me, I-I'd give a hundred pounds!"

He took the letter in his hands.

"I wonder if she does!"

In his anxiety he rose from his seat and began to pace the room, holding the letter tightly in his hand. He paused before the mantelshelf and regarded himself in the glass.

"Well, upon my word, I never thought that I should come to this-I never did. Here's all the papers, and goodness knows what news from Paris, and I haven't looked at one, and don't want to neither, that's the truth. If she's only written to say she loves me, whether I want her to or don't, I-I'd give a thousand pounds. Here goes! I can't stand fooling here all day! Goodness knows what the state of things in the City may be."

He was about to tear the envelope open with his finger. He changed his mind.

"She may have written something on the flap. I'd better use a knife."

He used a knife. To see him use it, opening an envelope might have been the most delicate operation on earth.

"Now for it!" He heaved the greatest sigh of all. "By George, if it's only to confess her love!"

He seated himself at the table with the letter spread out in front of him. It might have been as fragile as it was priceless to observe the ginger way in which he opened it and spread it out. Then he arrayed himself for its perusal with as much precision as though it were some formal and rather complicated revelation just to hand from the gods.

"'Dear Mr. Ely' (I say! She might have said 'Dear Fred,' or even 'Frederic'! 'Dear Mr. Ely'! It's rather a stiffish way of writing to the man you're going to marry, don't you know.) 'Just a line with reference to what passed between us yesterday. I have changed my mind. I thought it better to let you know at the earliest possible moment. It is quite impossible for me to be your wife. The fact is, I am going to marry Mr. Summers instead. Yours truly, Lily Truscott.'"

Mr. Ely read this note through without, in his astonishment, being in the least able to grasp its meaning.

"What-what the blazes is all this!" He ploughed through it again. "'Dear Mr. Ely' (it's evidently meant for me), 'just a line with reference to what passed between us yesterday'! (What passed between us yesterday-what's she mean? She hasn't put a date; I suppose she means my asking her to be my wife. That's a pretty good way of referring to it, anyhow.) 'I have changed my mind!' (Oh, has she? About what? It didn't strike me she had a mind to change.) 'I thought it better to let you know at the earliest possible moment'! (If she had only told me what it was she thought it better to let me know, it would have been perhaps as well. If this is a love-letter, give me the other kind of thing.) 'It is quite impossible for me to be your wife.' (What-what the blazes does she mean?) 'The fact is, I am going to marry Mr. Summers instead'!"

Mr. Ely's jaw dropped, and he stared at the letter as though it were a ghost.

"Well-I'm-hanged!' The fact is, I am going to marry Mr. Summers instead.' That takes the cake!' Yours truly, Lily Truscott.'-If that isn't the sweetest thing in love-letters ever yet I heard of!"

Quite a curious change had come over Mr. Ely. If we may be forgiven a vulgarism which is most expressive-he seemed to have been knocked all of a heap. His head had fallen forward on his chest, one limp hand held Miss Truscott's letter, the other dangled nerveless by his side.

"And I gave twenty pounds for an engagement-ring!"

They were the first words in which he gave expression to the strength of his emotion.

"Good Lord, if I had given him what he asked, and stumped up forty-five!"

The reflection sent a shudder all through his frame. The horror of the picture thus conjured up by his imagination had the effect of a tonic on his nerves, it recalled him to himself.

"I'll have another read at this. There isn't much of it, but what there is requires a good deal of digesting."

He pulled himself together, sat up in his chair, and had another read.

"'Dear Mr. Ely' (yes, by George, dear at any price, I'll swear! Like her impudence to call me 'dear'! I wonder she didn't begin it 'Sir'), 'just a line with reference to what passed between us yesterday.' (That is, I think, about the coollest bit I ever heard of. Quite a casual allusion, don't you know, to a matter of not the slightest importance to any one, especially me. That young woman's graduated in an establishment where they teach 'em how to go.) 'I have changed my mind!' (That's-that's about two stone better than the other. She's changed her mind! Holy Moses! About something, you know, about which we change our minds as easily and as often as we do our boots.) 'I thought it better to let you know at the earliest possible moment.' (She certainly has done that. Unless she had changed her mind before she had made it up, she could scarcely have let me know it sooner. She might have wired, to be sure! But perhaps she never thought of that.) 'It is quite impossible for me to be your wife.' (It is as well that the explanation follows immediately after, or echo would have answered 'Why?') 'The fact is, I am going to marry Mr. Summers instead.' I suppose there never was a larger amount of meaning contained in a smaller number of words. Among the remarkable women the world has seen the record's hers; she is certainly unique."

Rising from his seat, he put the letter back in the envelope, and placed the envelope within his letter-case.

"I'll take that letter up to Ash; I'll have a word to say to him. I wonder if he knows what sort of a ward he's got? That's the best and truest girl alive; a woman whose word is just her bond; who, when she says a thing, sticks to it like glue. And to think that I spent twenty pounds on an engagement-ring!"

He put his hands into his trousers pockets. He balanced himself upon his toes and heels.

"Twenty pounds for an engagement-ring! I wonder how much Mr. Summers intends to pay?"

The reflection angered him.

"By George, I'll let her know if she's going to pitch me overboard quite so easily as that. I'll make her marry me, or I'll know the reason why."

When he left for the City his first business was to pay a visit to Mr. Ash. He dismissed the cab at the corner of Throgmorton Street. He had not taken half a dozen steps along that rather narrow thoroughfare when a hand was laid upon his shoulder; turning, he saw Mr. Rosenbaum.

"My good friend, I have a little paper here for you."

And Mr. Rosenbaum deftly slipped a paper into his good friend's hand.

"Rosenbaum! What's this?"

"It's a writ, my friend; a writ. You would not tell me the name of your solicitor, so I try personal service instead."

With a beaming smile and a nod of his head, Mr. Rosenbaum swaggered away. In a somewhat bewildered state of mind Mr. Ely stared after him, the paper in his hand.

"It never rains but it pours! Here's two strokes of luck in a single day, and I've only just got out of bed!"

He opened the legal-looking document with which he had been so unexpectedly presented by his generous friend, and glanced at its contents. It was headed "Rosenbaum v. Ely," and, so far as he could judge from his hasty glance, it purported to relate to an action brought by Ruth Rosenbaum against Frederic Ely, to recover damages for breach of promise of marriage.

"Well! This is a pretty go!"

He could scarcely believe his eyes; the damages were laid at thirty thousand pounds! And he had already spent twenty pounds for an engagement-ring!

His first impulse was to tear the paper up and scatter the pieces in the street. His second-which he followed-was to place it in the inner pocket of his coat as a companion to his letter-case.

"Rosenbaum must be a greater fool even than I thought. Thirty thousand pounds! By George! One girl values me at a considerably higher figure than another does."

He found that Mr. Ash was still in his office, and alone; so, without troubling to have himself announced, he marched straight in.

"Hallo, Ely, here again! Anything settled about the date? Or is it something more tangible than love?"

Mr. Ash was engaged with a file of correspondence, from which he looked up at Mr. Ely, with a laugh.

"I have to get through all this before I can put in an appearance in the House. And here's a man who gives me so many minute directions about what he wants to do that I can't for the life of me understand what it is he wants. Why people can't just say 'Buy this,' 'Sell that,' is more than I can tell. But what's the matter? You look quite glum."

"So would you look glum if you had as much cause for looking glum as me."

"I don't know! You've won one of the prettiest girls in England-and one of the nicest little fortunes, too. After that it would take something to make me look glum."

"She's one of the prettiest girls in England."

"There's no mistake about that. Any man might be proud of such a prize. I've been thinking about it all night."

"I've been thinking about it, too."

"And the result is to give you that dyspeptic look? Not flattering to her, eh?"

There was a pause before Mr. Ely answered. With much deliberation he put his hand into his pocket and drew out his letter-case. "I'm sorry you don't think it's flattering." Another pause before he spoke again; then it was with an even more acidulated expression of countenance. "I have received a letter by this morning's post."

"No! From her? She's going it."

"Yes, she is going it, I think."

"That sort of thing's hardly your line, eh?"

"That sort of thing hardly is my line."

"Don't care for love-letters-as a rule?"

"I should like to refer to a dictionary to know what a love-letter is. If this is a love-letter, I prefer a summons."

It was on his tongue to say a writ, but he remembered that he already had one in his pocket, and chose another word.

"Ah, Ely, you must remember that this is a romantic girl. If her language seems too flowery-too kissy-kissy-you must bear in mind that in romantic girls affection is apt to take such shapes. Besides, I should think you'd rather have that than the other kind of thing-I know I would."

"Perhaps, before you pass an opinion on that subject, you'll allow me to read to you the letter I've received."

"Read it! I say! Is that quite fair? Men don't read their love-letters even to their young women's guardians as a rule. Especially the first-I thought that was sacred above the rest."

"Look here, Ash, I'm the mildest-mannered man alive, but you never came nearer having an inkstand at your head than since I've been inside this room."

"Ely! Good gracious, man! What's the matter now?"

"I repeat-perhaps you'll allow me to read to you the letter I've received."

With the same air of excessive deliberation, Mr. Ely opened his letter-case, took from it an envelope, and from it a letter, unfolded the epistle, and looked at Mr. Ash. Mr. Ash did nothing but stare at him.

"This is my first love-letter-the one which you thought was sacred above the rest. I don't know about the rest. This is quite enough for me. You are sure you're listening?"

"I'll take my oath on that."

"'Dear Mr. Ely' (you observe how warmly she begins! Kissy-kissy kind of way, you know), 'just a line with reference to what passed between us yesterday.' (That's a gentle allusion to the trivial fact that on the day before she pledged herself to be my wife. We're getting warm, you see.) 'I have changed my mind.'"

"She has what?"

"She says that she has changed her mind."

"What does she mean by she's changed her mind?"

"Ah, that's what we have to see. It's an obscure allusion which becomes clearer later on; an example of the flowery language in which romantic girls indulge. 'I thought it better to let you know at the earliest possible moment.' (You'll observe that she wastes no time. Perhaps that's another characteristic of the romantic state of mind.) 'It is quite impossible for me to be your wife.'"