CHAPTER XXXVI. JASPER'S DELICATE CASE
Only when he received Miss Rupert's amiably-worded refusal to
become his wife was Jasper aware how firmly he had counted on her
accepting him. He told Dora with sincerity that his proposal was
a piece of foolishness; so far from having any regard for Miss
Rupert, he felt towards her with something of antipathy, and at
the same time he was conscious of ardent emotions, if not love, for another woman who would be no bad match even from the commercial point of view. Yet so strong was the effect upon him of contemplating a large fortune, that, in despite of reason and desire, he lived in eager expectation of the word which should make him rich. And for several hours after his disappointment he could not overcome the impression of calamity.
A part of that impression was due to the engagement which he must
now fulfil. He had pledged his word to ask Marian to marry him
without further delay. To shuffle out of this duty would make him
too ignoble even in his own eyes. Its discharge meant, as he had
expressed it, that he was 'doomed'; he would deliberately be
committing the very error always so flagrant to him in the case
of other men who had crippled themselves by early marriage with a
penniless woman. But events had enmeshed him; circumstances had
proved fatal. Because, in his salad days, he dallied with a girl
who had indeed many charms, step by step he had come to the
necessity of sacrificing his prospects to that raw attachment. And, to make it more irritating, this happened just when the way began to be much clearer before him.
Unable to think of work, he left the house and wandered gloomily
about Regent's Park. For the first time in his recollection the
confidence which was wont to inspirit him gave way to an attack
of sullen discontent. He felt himself ill-used by destiny, and
therefore by Marian, who was fate's instrument. It was not in his
nature that this mood should last long, but it revealed to him
those darker possibilities which his egoism would develop if it
came seriously into conflict with overmastering misfortune. A
hope, a craven hope, insinuated itself into the cracks of his
infirm resolve. He would not examine it, but conscious of its
existence he was able to go home in somewhat better spirits.
He wrote to Marian. If possible she was to meet him at half-past
nine next morning at Gloucester Gate. He had reasons for wishing
this interview to take place on neutral ground.
Early in the afternoon, when he was trying to do some work, there
arrived a letter which he opened with impatient hand; the writing
was Mrs Reardon's, and he could not guess what she had to
communicate.
'DEAR MR MILVAIN,—I am distressed beyond measure to read in this
morning's newspaper that poor Mr Biffen has put an end to his
life. Doubtless you can obtain more details than are given in
this bare report of the discovery of his body. Will you let me
hear, or come and see me?'
He read and was astonished. Absorbed in his own affairs, he had
not opened the newspaper to-day; it lay folded on a chair. Hastily he ran his eye over the columns, and found at length a short paragraph which stated that the body of a man who had evidently committed suicide by taking poison had been found on Putney Heath; that papers in his pockets identified him as one Harold Biffen, lately resident in Goodge Street, Tottenham Court Road; and that an inquest would be held, &c. He went to Dora's room, and told her of the event, but without mentioning the letter which had brought it under his notice.
'I suppose there was no alternative between that and starvation. I scarcely thought of Biffen as likely to kill himself. If Reardon had done it, I shouldn't have felt the least surprise.'
'Mr Whelpdale will be bringing us information, no doubt,' said
Dora, who, as she spoke, thought more of that gentleman's visit
than of the event that was to occasion it.
'Really, one can't grieve. There seemed no possibility of his
ever earning enough to live decently upon. But why the deuce did
he go all the way out there? Consideration for the people in
whose house he lived, I dare say; Biffen had a good deal of
native delicacy.'
Dora felt a secret wish that someone else possessed more of that
desirable quality.