Chapter XXX: Daisy's Recantation

There was no doubt about it, Paul was very ill indeed. The doctor, when he came, pronounced the young man to be in a very critical state, and gave it as his opinion that an attack of brain-fever was impending. This confidence was given to George, for whom Paul's landlady had sent at once, immediately on her lodger being brought home. The doctor--who was no other than little Doctor Prater, the well-known West-End physician, who is looked upon, and not without reason, as the medical _ami des artistes_--took George aside, and probably without knowing it, put to him as regards Paul the same question which Doctor Turton asked Oliver Goldsmith, "Whether there was anything on his mind?" The response was pretty much the same in both cases. George shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, and admitted that his friend had been "rather upset lately."

"Ah, my dear sir," said the little doctor, "not my wish to pry into these matters; man of the world, see so much of this sort of thing in the pursuance of a large practice, could tell at once that our poor friend had some mental shock. Lady, I suppose? Ah well, must not inquire; generally is at his time of life; later, digestion impaired, bank broken; but in youth generally a lady. I am afraid he is going to be very bad; at present _agrotat animo magis quam corpore_, as the Latin poet says; but he will be very bad, I have not the least doubt."

"It's a bad business," said George dolefully, "a very bad business. He ought to be nursed, of course; and though I have heard him speak of the woman of the house as kind and attentive and all that, I don't know that one could expect her to give her time to attend to a sick man."

"Our young friend will require a good deal of attention, my dear sir," said the little doctor; "for night-work, at all events, he must have some professional person. What did you say our young friend's name was? Mr. Derinzy. Ah, the name is familiar to me as--yes, to be sure, great house in the City, millionaire and that kind of thing; and your name, my dear sir?"

"My name is Wainwright," said George, smiling in spite of himself at the little man's volubility.

"Wainwright! not son of---- My dear sir, I am glad to make your acquaintance; one of the brightest ornaments of our profession; any care that I should have bestowed on this interesting case will be redoubled now that I know that our poor young friend here is a friend of yours. You will kindly take care that these prescriptions are made up at Balsam and Balmelow's, if you please; must have the best of drugs in these cases, and no other house is so much to be depended upon. Now I must run away; I will look in again in the evening; and during my absence I will make arrangements for the night-nurse. The attendance in the daytime I must look to you to provide. Good-day, my dear sir." And wringing George's hand warmly, the little man trotted off, jumped into his brougham, and was driven away to inspect, prescribe for, and chatter with a dozen other cases within the next few hours.

George sat down by the bedside and bent over its occupant, who was tossing restlessly from side to side, gazing about him with vacant eyes, and muttering and moaning in his delirium. What were the words, incoherent and broken, issuing from his parched lips? "My darling, my darling, stay by me now--no more horrible parting--never again that scornful look! Daisy, say you did not mean it when you wrote; say there is no one else--to-morrow, darling, in the old place--come and tell me your mind--my wife, my darling!"

These words were uttered with such intensity of earnestness--and although Paul's glance was never settled, his eyes roving here and there as he tossed and flung about his arms on the bed, there was such a piteous look in his face--that George Wainwright's emotion overcame him, and two big tears rolled down his cheeks.

"This will never do," said he, brushing them hastily; "it is as I thought, and that little doctor was right in his random hit. This affair with the girl has assumed proportions which I never suspected. Poor dear Paul used to make it out bad enough; but I had no notion that it had come to any crisis, or indeed, if it had, that he would suffer from it in this way. Now what is to be done? I think the first thing will be to see this young lady, and bring her to her bearings. If she has thrown Paul over, as I half suspect she has, I must let her know the consequences of her work, and see whether she persists in abiding by her determination. It may be only some lovers' quarrel; Paul is a mere boy in these matters, and hotheaded enough to take _au sérieux_ what may have been only the result of pique or woman's whim; in that case, when she finds the effect that her quarrel has had upon him, she will probably repent, and her penitence will aid in bringing him round. On the other hand, if she still continues obdurate, one may be able to point out to him the fact that he is eminently well rid of so heartless a person. Not but what my little experience in such matters," said George with a sigh, "teaches me that lovers are uncommonly hard to convince of whatever they do not wish to believe."

In pursuance of this determination George Wainwright, so soon as he had installed the landlady in Paul's apartment as temporary nurse, started off in search of Daisy. He had listened to so many of poor Paul's confidences that he knew where the girl was to be found, and made his way straight to George Street.

Madame Clarisse was still away, and Daisy continued her occupancy of the little furnished rooms, into which George was ushered on inquiring for Miss Stafford. The rooms were empty on George's entrance, and he walked round them, examining the various articles of furniture and decoration with very contemptuous glances. Presently Daisy entered, and George stood transfixed in admiration. She looked magnificently handsome; the announcement of the name of her visitor had brought a bright flush into her cheek, and anticipating a stormy interview, she had come prepared to do battle with all the strength at her command, and accordingly assumed a cold and haughty air which became her immensely.

The transient glimpses which George had had of her that day in Kensington Gardens, though it had given him a general notion of her style, had by no means prepared him for the sight of such rare beauty. He was so taken aback that he allowed her to speak first.

"Mr. Wainwright, I believe?" said Daisy with a slight inclination of her head.

"That's my name," said George, coming to himself.

"The servant told me that you asked for me, that you wished to see me; I am Miss Stafford."

"The servant explained my wishes correctly," said George; "I have come to see you, Miss Stafford, on a very important and, I grieve to add, a very unpleasant matter."

Daisy looked at him steadily. "Will you be seated?" she said, motioning him to a chair, at the same time taking one herself.

"I have come to you," said George, bending forward and speaking in a low and earnest tone of voice, "on behalf of Mr. Paul Derinzy. Not that I am sent by him; I have come of my own accord. You may be aware, Miss Stafford, that I am Mr. Derinzy's intimate friend, and possess his confidence in no common degree."

"I have heard Mr. Derinzy frequently mention your name, and always with the greatest regard," said she.

"If we were merely going to speak the jargon of the world, Miss Stafford, I might say that I could return the compliment," said George. "However, what I wish you to know is, that in his confidence with me Paul Derinzy had spoken openly and frankly of his affection for you, and, indeed, made me acquainted with all the varieties of his doubts, fears, and other phases of his attachment."

Daisy bowed again very coldly.

"You and Paul are both very young, Miss Stafford," continued George, "and I have the misfortune of being much older than either of you. This, however, has its advantage perhaps, in enabling me to speak more frankly and impartially than I otherwise could. You must not be annoyed at whatever I find it necessary to say, Miss Stafford; for the situation is a very grave one, and more than you can at present imagine depends upon the decision at which you may arrive."

"Pray go on, Mr. Wainwright," said Daisy; "you will find me thoroughly attentive to all you have to say."

"I must be querist as well as pleader, and introduce some cross-examination into my speech, I am afraid," said George; "but you may depend on my neither saying nor asking anything more than is absolutely necessary. And in the first place let me tell you, what indeed you already know, that this boy loves you with all the ardour of a very affectionate disposition. I don't know whether you set much store by that, Miss Stafford; I do know that young ladies of the present day indulge in so many flirtations, and see so many shams and counterfeits of the passion, that they are scarcely able to recognise real love when they see it, and hardly ever able to appreciate it. But it is a thing that, when once obtained, should not be lightly let go; and indeed, Owen Meredith thinks quite right--you read poetry, I know, Miss Stafford; I recollect Paul having told me so--when he says:

Beauty is easy enough to win,
But one isn't loved every day."

"I presume it was not to quote from Owen Meredith that you wished to see me, Mr. Wainwright," said Daisy, looking up at him quietly.

George stared at her for a moment, but was not one bit disconcerted.

"No," he said, "it was not; but I am in the habit of using quotation when I think it illustrates my meaning, and those lines struck me as being rather apt. However, we come back to the fact that Paul Derinzy was, and I believe is, very much in love with you. From what he gave me to understand, I believe I am right in saying that that passion was at one time returned. I believe--I wish to touch as lightly as possible on unpleasant matters--I believe that recently there has been some interruption of the pleasant relation which existed between you--an interruption emanating from you--and that Paul has consequently been very much out of spirits. Am I right?"

"You are very frank and candid with me, Mr. Wainwright," said Daisy, "and I will endeavour to answer you in the same manner. I perfectly admit that the position which Mr. Derinzy and I occupy towards each other is changed, and changed by my desire."

"You will not think me impertinent or exacting--you certainly will not when you know all I have to tell you--if I ask what was the reason for that change?"

Daisy's face flushed for an instant, then she said:

"A woman's reason--because I wished it."

George nodded as though he perfectly comprehended her; but he gazed at her all the time.

"May I ask, has this altered state of feeling come to a head? has there been any open and decisive rupture between you lately?"

"If you are not sufficiently in Mr. Derinzy's confidence to have that information from him, I scarcely think you ought to ask it of me," said Daisy.

"Unfortunately, Mr. Derinzy, is not at present in a position to answer me."

"Not in a position to---- What do you mean?" asked Daisy, leaning forward.

"I will tell you before I go," said George. "In the meantime, perhaps you will kindly reply to me."

"There has been no actual quarrel between us," said the girl--"that is to say, no personal quarrel; but----" and she spoke with so much hesitation, that George instantly said:

"But you have taken some decisive action."

Daisy was silent.

"You have told him that all must be over between you; that you would not see him again, or something to that effect."

"I--I wrote him a letter conveying that decision," said Daisy slowly.

"And you addressed to him----"

"As usual, at his club."

"By Jove, that's it!" said George, springing up. "Now, Miss Stafford, let me tell you the effect of that letter. Paul Derinzy was picked up from the floor of the club-library in a fit!"

"Good God!" cried Daisy.

"One moment," continued George, holding up his hands. "He was carried home insensible, and now lies between life and death. He is delirious and knows no one, but lies tossing to and fro on his bed, ever muttering your name, ever recalling scenes which have been passed in your company. When I saw him in this state, when I heard those groans, and recognised them as the utterances of the mental agony which he was suffering, I thought it my duty to come to you. Understand, I make no _ad misericordiam_ appeal. There is no question of my throwing myself on your feelings, and imploring you to have pity on this boy. I imagine that, even with all his passion for and devotion to you, he is far too proud for that, and would disclaim my act so soon as he knew of it. But, loving him as I do, I come to you and say, 'This is your work.' What steps you should take, if any, it is for you to determine. I say nothing, advise nothing, hint nothing, save this: if what you wrote in that letter to Paul was final and decisive, the result of due reflection, the conviction that you could not be happy with him, then stand by it and hold to it; for if you were to give way merely for compassion's sake, his state would be even worse than it is now. But if you spoke truth to me at the beginning of this interview, if your dismissal of Paul was, as you described it, a woman's whim, conceived without adequate reason, and carried out in mere wantonness, I say to you, that if this boy dies--and his state even now is most critical--his death will lie at your door."

Daisy had been listening with bent head and averted eyes. All evidence of her having heard what George had said lay in a nervous fluttering motion of her hand, involuntary and beyond her control. When George ceased, she looked up, and said in a hard, dry voice:

"What will you have me do?"

"I told you at first that I would give you no advice, that I would make no suggestion as to the line of conduct you should pursue. That must be left entirely to the promptings of your heart, and--excuse me, Miss Stafford, I am sadly old-fashioned, and still believe in the existence of such things--your conscience."

"Is he--is he so very ill?" asked Daisy in a trembling voice.

"He is very dangerously ill," said George; "he could not be worse. But understand, I don't urge this to influence your decision, nor must you let it weigh with you. Your action in this matter must be the result of calm deliberation and self-examination. To act on an impulse which you will repent of when the excitement is over, is worse than to leave matters where they are."

"He--he is delirious, you say?" asked Daisy; "he does not recognise anyone?"

"No, he is quite delirious," said George. "He will have to be carefully attended, and I am now going to see after a nurse. So," he added, rising from his chair, "having discharged my duty, I will now proceed on my way. I am sorry, Miss Stafford, that on my first visit to you I should have been the bearer of what, to me at least, is such sad news."

Then he bowed in his old-fashioned way, and took his departure.

After George left her, Daisy dropped back into the chair which she had occupied during his visit, and sat gazing vacantly into the fire.

Calm deliberation and self-examination! Those were what that strange earnest-looking man, Mr. Wainwright, had said he left her to. In the state of anxiety and excitement in which she found herself, the one was impossible, and she shrank from the other. Self-examination--what would that show her? A girl, first winning, then trifling with the affections of a warmhearted young fellow, who worshipped her and was ready to sacrifice everything in life for her. And the same girl, hitherto so proud in her virtue and her self-command, paltering and chaffering for her honour with a man, the best thing which could be said about whom was, that he had spoken plainly and made no secret of his intentions. Ah, good heavens, in what a miserable state of mental blindness and self-deception had she been living during the past few weeks! on the brink of what a moral precipice had she been idly straying with careless feet! Thinking of these things, Daisy buried her face in her hands, and sought relief in a flood of tears. Then, suddenly springing up, she cried:

"It is not too late! Thank God for that! Not too late to undo all that my wickedness has brought about. Not too late to prove my devotion to him. Mr. Wainwright said he was going to see after a nurse. There shall be no occasion for that. When my darling Paul comes to himself, he shall find his nurse installed at his pillow."

Very long odds against Colonel Orpington's chance now!