Chapter XI: An Interview with Mr. Banks

Mabin had only just time to recognize the face of the man who had got into “The Towers” at night as Mr. Banks, her father’s tenant, when he turned abruptly and hurried away toward the house.

Mabin’s first thought was to get over the wall, a proceeding to which, it must be admitted, she was not unaccustomed, and pursue him, as she had done upon a recent and well-remembered occasion. But she felt a certain natural shyness about such a bold course, and decided that she would proceed in more orthodox fashion by going round to the front door and asking for him.

It was not without fears that she would be unsuccessful that she made her way, slowly and with the slight limp which still remained from her bicycle accident, along the lane to the front of the house. This was the first time she had been inside her father’s gates since the morning the family went away, and it struck her with a sense of strangeness that she had lived a great deal faster than ever before since that memorable day. Mrs. Dale’s mysterious story; the visit of the old lady with the cruel tongue; the midnight intrusion of Mr. Banks; last, and chief of all, Rudolph’s confession of love--these things had opened a wide abyss between the child Mabin and the woman. She felt that she was not the shy girl who had had a nervous dread of leaving home mingling with the thoughts of coming pleasure. And she told herself that when the family came back they would find, not the angular girl they had left, but a woman, a full-fledged woman.

Perhaps she congratulated herself prematurely upon the enormous advance she had made; at any rate, when she rang the bell, she found her heart beating very fast, and a curious feeling rising in her throat which threatened to affect the steadiness of her voice.

It was Langford who opened the door. The old servant had not seen Mabin since the day she had left the house, and her face broke out into smiles as she greeted her.

“Bless me, Miss Mabin, I never thought of its being you! But I am glad to see you. And how have you been getting on? And have you heard from Mrs. Rose lately?”

“I’m getting on splendidly, and I heard from mamma two days ago. Ethel’s got the mumps, but the rest are all right. I’ll talk to you another time. Come round and see me some evening. Can’t you get away? I’m in a hurry now; I want to see Mr. Banks.”

Langford shook her head emphatically.

“It’s no use wanting that, Miss Mabin. Mr. Banks never sees anybody, not even his lawyer if he can help it. He’s a character, he is. Is it a message you’ve got for him from Mr. Rose?”

“Oh, no. It’s something very important, much more important than that. And I must see him; I tell you I _must_! And if you won’t help me, I shall go to work in a way of my own, and give the poor man a fright.”

“Oh, no, Miss Mabin, you won’t do that, I’m sure! You don’t know how delicate the poor gentleman is; more than once since he’s been here he has given me a fright, and made me think he was going to die. And he’s so peculiar; he won’t let one send for a doctor, not if it’s ever so, he won’t. I’m sure one morning, a fortnight ago, when I found him lying on the floor in the hall with the back garden door open, I thought he was dead, that I did. But when I’d brought him to--for he’d fainted, just like a woman--he wouldn’t hear of my getting any one to come and see him----”

“Ah!” exclaimed Mabin. “Was that on a Tuesday night--I mean Wednesday morning?”

“Yes, so it was.”

Mabin smiled.

“Well, I know the reason of that attack. And perhaps I’ll tell you some day, if you’ll manage to let me see him now. And first tell me what you think of him. Is he mad, do you think, or what? You remember, when he first came, you thought he was.”

Langford shook her head dubiously.

“Well, really, Miss Mabin, I can’t rightly tell you what I do think about him. Sometimes I do think he’s off his head altogether; he marches up and down the drawing-room--that’s the room he has taken to himself--by the hour together, going faster and faster, till I listen outside the door wondering if anything is going to happen, and whether he’s going to break out like and do himself a mischief. But if I make an excuse to go in, though his eyes are wide and glaring, so that at the first look he frightens one, yet he always speaks to me quite gently, and says he doesn’t want anything. Of course I pretend not to notice anything, and I think he likes the way I take him. For, though he’s always civil-spoken to every one, he doesn’t let the two girls come near him, if he can help it. If they come up from the kitchen or out of a room when he’s by, he just turns his back and waits till they’ve gone past.”

Mabin listened with deep interest, and without interrupting by a question. But when Langford paused for breath, the young girl asked suddenly:

“Does he have any letters? It isn’t just curiosity that makes me ask, I needn’t tell you.”

“No, Miss Mabin. He doesn’t have any letters sent here except under cover from his lawyer. They come in big envelopes, with the address stamped on the back, so I know. It looks as if he was in hiding or something, doesn’t it?” she added in a discreet whisper.

Mabin thought that it did, and the fact added to the fascination of the mystery.

“You don’t think he’s a detective, do you?” she whispered close to Langford’s ear.

“No, I’m quite sure he isn’t. Detectives aren’t gentlemen, and Mr. Banks is a gentleman, if ever there was one.”

“It’s very strange,” murmured Mabin vaguely, pondering on the fresh facts.

“You may well say that, Miss Mabin. I don’t know what to think myself. Some days he’ll sit all day long with his head in his hands without moving scarcely. Or he’ll sit poring over what looks like old letters and bits of things that I think must have been a woman’s somehow. But there, I feel like a sneak telling these things even to you; for it’s only by chance that I know anything about them myself, and for certain Mr. Banks didn’t think I should chatter about what I saw.”

“Ah, well, I know more than you do as it is,” said Mabin softly.

The words were still on her lips when a door opened behind them somewhere in the dark, cool hall, and Mabin started guiltily. She and Langford were standing just within the front doorway, out of hearing of any one in the house. But she forgot that she could not be heard, and felt confused and shy when a man’s voice, very low, very gentle, said:

“Langford, is that Miss Rose?”

“Yes, sir,” said Langford, as Mabin’s eyes at last saw which door it as that was open, and the servant passed her toward the drawing-room.

“I will see her if she wants to speak to me,” were his next, most unexpected words.

Mabin entered the drawing-room, and found herself face to face with the mysterious Mr. Banks.

He was standing in the middle of the long room, and as the young lady came in he held out his hand to her and offered her a seat. His hand was cold, his face looked more worn, more gray than ever, and as he moved he tottered, like a man recovering from an illness, or on the verge of one. But Mabin thought, as she looked at him, that her fancy that he must be insane was a mistaken one. It seemed to her now that there was the imprint of a great grief, an ever-present burden of melancholy, upon the grave stranger, but that his straightforward, clear eyes were the sanest she had ever seen.

“You wish to speak to me? To ask me some questions, I suppose?” he said courteously, as he leaned against the mantelpiece and bent his head to listen.

“Yes.”

Then there was a pause. It was rather a delicate matter to accuse this grave, courteous gentleman of a burglarious entry into another person’s house. Mabin had not felt the full force of this difficulty until now when she sat, breathing quickly, and wondering how to begin, while Mr. Banks still politely waited.

“I saw you just now in the garden,” she burst out at last, feeling conscious that her voice sounded coarse and harsh after his quiet tones, “and I recognized you. And I thought it was better to tell you so, to tell you that I knew it was you who--who----”

How could she go on? She didn’t. She broke down altogether, and sat looking at the gently stirring branches of the trees outside, wishing that she were under the shelter of their cool freshness, instead of going through this fiery ordeal indoors.

Then it suddenly became clear to her that Mr. Banks had been seized with a new idea.

“I suppose then,” he said, and she was delighted to see that he was at last beginning to feel some of the embarrassment which she was suffering, “that you are the lady who followed me through the drawing-room of ‘The Towers’ a fortnight ago?”

“Yes, yes.”

“Then I don’t know how to apologize to you. I don’t know what to say to excuse myself. In fact, there is nothing for it but to confess that ill health had made me a sleepwalker, and that this is not the first time I have been put into very embarrassing situations by this terribly unfortunate habit.”

Mabin frowned frankly. She was an honest, truthful girl, and this man lost her respect the moment he began to tell her what she knew to be falsehoods. Her indignation gave her courage. It was in a much more assured tone that she went on:

“I know it is not the first time, because it happened the very night before. But I know also that you were not asleep, because when you saw that the person in the room was not the person you expected to find there, you went away. Besides, I saw you when you had got out into the garden,” added she quickly, “and you were quite wide-awake. At first I thought you must be a burglar, and I was dreadfully frightened; but when I saw you were not, I was more frightened still. And do you think it is right to come into people’s houses like that at night and frighten them into fainting fits?”

And Mabin, who had sprung off her chair in her excitement, confronted him with quite an Amazonian air of defiance and reproach.

She felt remorseful, however, almost before she came to the end of her harangue. For he took her onslaught so meekly, so humbly, that she was disarmed. When she had finished, he began to pace quickly up and down the room.

“I know it’s wrong, I know it, I know it,” he repeated, as if to himself. “I know I ought not to be here at all. I know I am exposing myself and--and others” (his tone dropped into an indescribable softness on the word) “to dangers, to misery, by my presence. And yet I have not the strength of mind to go.”

He did not once turn his head to look at his visitor as he uttered these words; indeed she thought, by the monotonous, almost inaudible tones in which he spoke, walking hurriedly up and down, with his eyes on the ground, that he did not even remember that he was not alone. And when he had finished speaking, he still continued his walk up and down, without so much as a glance in her direction, until suddenly, when he had reached the end of the room where she was sitting, he drew himself up and fixing his eyes upon her, asked abruptly:

“Did she know? Did she guess? Did you tell her?”

Mabin had an impulse of amazing astuteness. She had come here to find out why Mr. Banks made burglarious entry into “The Towers!” Here was an opportunity of finding out the relations between him and her friend.

“Tell whom?” said she, pretending not to understand.

“Lady Ma----”

He checked himself at once, and was silent.

“Do you mean Mrs. Dale?” said Mabin.

“Yes, I mean Mrs. Dale,” replied he impatiently.

“I didn’t tell her anything,” said Mabin. “I didn’t dare. And she thought she dreamt she saw you the night before; but I know it must have been you she saw.”

“She saw me!” cried Mr. Banks, with a sudden eagerness in his voice, a yearning in his eyes, which kept Mabin dumb. Noticing at once the effect his change of manner had on his listener, he checked himself again, and turned his head away.

Still Mabin remained silent. In truth she was beginning to feel alarmed by those glimpses into a story of passion and of sorrow which were being flashed before her innocent young eyes. A blush rose in her cheeks; she got up from her chair, and made a step toward the door, feeling for the first time what a daring thing she had done in making this visit.

“I--I think so. I must suppose so,” said she quickly. “And that was why she changed her room.”

A look of deepest pain crossed the face of Mr. Banks. His brows contracted, his lips quivered. Mabin, with the righteous indignation of the very young against sins they cannot understand, felt that every blow she struck, cruel though it might be, helped to remove a peril from the path of her friend. With glowing cheeks and downcast eyes she added:

“Why do you try to see her? If you cannot see her openly, why do you try to see her at all? And when only to think she saw you in a dream made her tremble and faint and lock the door.”

If she had looked up as she spoke, the words would have died upon her lips. For the agony in his face had become pitiful to see. For a few moments there was dead silence in the room. Although she wanted to go, she felt that she could not leave him like this, and she wanted to know whether her injunctions had had any effect. She was startled by a hollow laugh, and looking up, she met the eyes of Mr. Banks fixed upon her with an expression which seemed to make her suddenly conscious how young and ignorant she was, and how mad to suppose that she could have any influence upon the conduct of older men and women.

“I ought not to have come,” she said with a hot blush in her cheeks, “I am too ignorant and too stupid to do anything but harm when I want to do some good to my friends. But please do not laugh at me; I only spoke to you to try to save Mrs. Dale, whom I love, from any more trouble.”

“Whom you love! Do you love her too?” said Mr. Banks, with the same change to tenderness which she had noticed in his tone once before. “Well, little one, then you have done your friend some good after all; for I promise you I will not try to see her again.”

Mabin was filled with compunction. Mr. Banks did not talk like a wicked man. She longed to put down his unconventional behavior to eccentricity merely; but this was hard, very hard to do. At any rate she had obtained from him a definite promise, and she tried to get another.

“And--please don’t think me impertinent--but wouldn’t it be better if you went away from here? You know there is always the risk of her seeing you, while you live so near, or of finding out something about you. Please don’t think me impertinent; but really, I think, after what I have seen, that if she were to meet you suddenly, and know that she was not dreaming, it would kill her.”

Again his face contracted with pain. Mabin, looking down, went on:

“Remember all she has to suffer. When that old woman--an old lady with a hard face--came to see her, and scolded her----”

Mabin stopped. An exclamation on the part of Mr. Banks had made her glance at him; and she was astonished to see, in the hard look of anger which his features had assumed, a likeness, an unmistakable likeness, to the “cat.”

“Oh!” cried the girl involuntarily.

“Go on with what you were saying,” said Mr. Banks sharply. “An old lady came here, scolded her----”

“And poor Mrs. Dale was miserable. She did not want me to stay with her; she said she was too wicked; she was more miserable than I have ever seen any one before. I am so sorry for her; so sorry.”

She stopped. A strange expression, in which there was a gleam of wistful hope, had come into Mr. Banks’ face. Mabin put out her hand quickly:

“Good-by,” she said. “I think I am glad I came. I’m sure you are not hard-hearted enough to make her any more unhappy than she is.”

But Mr. Banks, taking her hand, would not let it go, but walked with her to the door.

“You will let me come with you--as far as the gate of the garden,” he said quite humbly. “You are right to trust me. I love your ‘Mrs. Dale,’ and would not do her any harm. But--it is difficult, very difficult, to know what would be best, happiest, for her.”

They were in the hall by this time; and Mr. Banks, still holding the girl’s hand very gently in his, had pushed open the door which led into the garden. Instead of going out at once, he turned to look earnestly in Mabin’s young fair face.

“I wish you were a little older,” he said at last; “then I could tell you the whole story, and you could help me to find out the right thing to do.”

“I am nineteen,” expostulated Mabin; “and, though he doesn’t know it, papa often takes my advice.”

Mr. Banks smiled kindly.

“I have no doubt of it,” said he. “Nineteen is a great age. But not quite great enough to bear the burden of such a pitiful story. Come.”

Reluctantly letting her hand drop, he followed her down the steps into the garden, and Mabin, with all the interest of the visit in her mind, could not repress her delight at finding herself once more in the garden she loved so well. Mr. Banks watched her bright face, as her eyes wandered from the smooth lawn to the borders full of geraniums and pansies, rose-bushes and tall white lilies.

And when she found herself once more in the grass walk, she could not repress an exclamation of pleasure.

“You are fond of your garden,” said he. “You must have found it hard to give it up to a stranger!”

Mabin acknowledged the fact with a blush, and, encouraged by his questions, told him some details about her own gardening, and her own pet flowers. Chatting upon such matters as these, they soon reached the side gate in the wall, and passing into the lane, came to the plantation behind “The Towers.”

And suddenly to the consternation of Mabin, she heard two voices, within the wood, which she recognized as those of Rudolph and Mrs. Dale.

She turned quickly to Mr. Banks.

He stopped and held out his hand.

“I have not forgotten my promise,” said he; “I will leave you now and--and I promise that I will not try to see her again.”

The next moment he had disappeared--only just in time. For as the garden gate shut behind him, Mrs. Dale, with a white face and wild eyes, broke through the trees and confronted Mabin.

“Who was that? Whose voice was that?” she asked in almost a shriek.

Mabin sprang forward and put a caressing arm round her.

“He will never come near you again,” she whispered, feeling that concealment of the identity of their neighbor with the supposed phantom was no longer possible.

But, to her distress and amazement, Mrs. Dale’s face instantly grew rigid with grief and despair, and she sank, trembling and moaning, to the ground.

“I knew it! I was sure of it! Oh, my punishment is too great for me to bear!” she whispered hoarsely.