Conway Dalrymple had hurried out of the room in Mrs Broughton's house in which he had been painting Jael and Sisera, thinking that it would be better to meet an angry and perhaps tipsy husband on the stairs, than it would be either to wait for him till he should make his way into his wife's room, or to hide away from him with the view of escaping altogether from so disagreeable an encounter. He had no fear of the man.
He did not think that there would be any violence--nor, as regarded himself, did he much care if there was to be violence. But he felt that he was bound, as far as it might be possible, to screen the poor woman from the ill effects of her husband's temper and condition. He was, therefore, prepared to stop Broughton on the stairs, and to use some force in arresting him on his way, should he find the man to be really intoxicated. But he had not descended above a stair or two before he was aware that the man below him, whose step had been heard, was not intoxicated, and that he was not Dobbs Broughton. It was Mr Musselboro.
'It is you, is it?' said Conway. 'I thought it was Broughton.' then he looked into the man's face and saw that he was ashy pale. All that appearance of low-bred jauntiness which used to belong to him seemed to have been washed out of him. His hair had forgotten to curl, his gloves had been thrown aside, and even his trinkets were out of sight. 'What has happened,' said Conway. 'What is the matter? Something is wrong.'
Then it occurred to him that Musselboro had been sent to the house to tell the wife of the husband's ruin.
'The servant told me that I should find you upstairs,' said Musselboro.
'Yes; I have a painting here. For some time past I have been doing a picture of Miss Van Siever. Mrs Van Siever has been here today.' Conway thought that this information would produce some strong effect on Clara's proposed husband; but he did not seem to regard the matter of the picture nor the mention of Miss Van Siever's name.
'She knows nothing of it?' said he. 'She doesn't know yet?'
'Know what?' said Conway. 'She knows that her husband has lost money.'
'Dobbs has--destroyed himself.'
'What!'
'Blew his brains out this morning just inside the entrance at Hook Court. The horror of drink was on him, and he stood just in the pathway and shot himself. Bangles was standing at the top of their vaults and saw him do it. I don't think Bangles will ever be a man again. Oh lord!
I shall never get over it myself. The body was there when I went in.'
Then Musselboro sank back against the wall of the staircase, and stared at Dalrymple as though he still saw before him the terrible sight of which he had just spoken.
Dalrymple seated himself on the stairs and strove to bring his mind to bear on the tale which he had just heard. What was he to do, and how was that poor woman upstairs to be informed? 'You came here intending to tell her,' he said in a whisper. He feared every moment that Mrs Broughton would appear on the stairs, and learn from a word or two what had happened without any hint to prepare her for the catastrophe.
'I thought you would be here. I knew you were doing the picture. He knew it. He'd a letter to say so--one of those anonymous ones.'
'But that didn't influence him?'
'I don't think it was that,' said Musselboro. 'He meant to have had it out with her; but it wasn't that as brought this about. Perhaps you didn't know that he was clean ruined?'
'She had told me.'
'Then she knew it?'
'Oh, yes; she knew that. Mrs Van Siever had told her. Poor creature!
How are we to break this to her?'
'You and she are very thick,' said Musselboro. 'I suppose you'll do it best.' By this time they were in the drawing-room, and the door was closed. Dalrymple had put his hand on the other man's arm, and had led him downstairs, out of reach of hearing from the room above. 'You'll tell her--won't you?' said Musselboro. Then Dalrymple tried to think what loving female friend there was who would break the news to the unfortunate woman. He knew of the Van Sievers, and he knew of the Demolines, and he almost knew that there was no other woman within reach whom he was entitled to regard as closely connected with Mrs Broughton.
He was well aware that the anonymous letter of which Musselboro had just spoken had come from Miss Demolines, and he could not go there for sympathy and assistance. Nor could he apply to Mrs Van Siever after with had passed this morning. To Clara Van Siever he would have applied, but that it was impossible he should reach Clara except through her mother.
'I suppose I had better go to her,' he said, after a while. And then he went, leaving Musselboro in the drawing-room. 'I'm so bad with it,' said Musselboro, 'that I really don't know how I shall ever go up that court again.'
