Chapter 46. A Denouement

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_ CHAPTER XLVI. A DENOUEMENT

Tom Franks was seated before his desk in his office. He was a good deal perturbed. His calm was for the time being destroyed, although it wanted but a week to his wedding-day. He did not look at all like a happy bride-groom.

"It is a case of jilting," he said to himself, and he took up a letter which he had received from Florence that morning. It was very short and ran as follows:

"I cannot marry you, and you will soon know why. When you know the reason you won't want me. I am terribly sorry, but sorrow won't alter matters. Please do not expect the manuscript. Yours truly,

"FLORENCE AYLMER."

"What does the girl mean?" he said to himself. "Really, at the present moment, the most annoying part of all is the fact that I have not received the manuscript. The printers are waiting for it. The new number of the Argonaut will be nothing without it. The story was advertised in the last number, and all our readers will expect it."

A clerk came in at that moment.

"Has Miss Aylmer's manuscript come, sir?" he said. "The printers are waiting for it."

"The printers must wait, Dawson; I shall be going to see Miss Aylmer and will bring the manuscript back. Here, hand me a telegram form. I want to send a wire in a hurry."

The clerk did so. Franks dictated a few words aloud: "Will call to see you at twelve o'clock. Please remain in."

He gave the man Florence's address, and he departed with the telegram. Franks looked up at the clock.

He thought for a little longer. Anderson opened the door of his room and called him.

"Is that you, Franks?"

"Yes, sir."

"May I speak to you for a moment?"

"Certainly," replied Franks. He went into his chief's room and shut the door.

"I have been thinking, Franks," said Mr. Anderson, "whether we do well to encourage that extremely pessimistic writing which Miss Florence Aylmer supplies us with."

"Do well to encourage it?" said Franks, opening his eyes very wide.

"I have hesitated to speak to you," continued Mr. Anderson, "because you are engaged to the young lady, and you naturally, and very justly, are proud of her abilities; but the strain in which she addresses her public is beginning to be noticed, and although her talent attracts, her morbidity and want of all hope will in the end tell against the Argonaut, and even still more against the General Review. I wish you would have a serious talk with her, Franks, and tell her that unless she alters the tone of her writings--my dear fellow, I am sorry to pain you, but really I cannot accept them."

Franks uttered a bitter laugh.

"You are very likely to have your wish, sir," he said. "I am even now writing for the manuscript for the fourth story which you know was advertised in the last Argonaut."

"I believe she will always write according to her convictions."

"And that is what pains me so much," continued Mr. Anderson. "I have myself looked over her proofs, and have endeavoured to infuse a cheerful note into them; but cutting won't do it, nor will removing certain passages. The same miserable, unnatural outlook pervades every word she says. I believe her mind is made that way."

"You are not very complimentary," said Franks, almost losing his temper. He was quiet for a moment, then he said slowly: "We are very likely to have to do without Miss Aylmer. I begin to think that she is a very strange girl. She has offered to release me from my engagement; in fact, she has declared that she will not go on with it, and says that she cannot furnish us with any more manuscripts."

"Then, in the name of Heaven, what are we to do for the next number?" said Mr. Anderson. "Look through all available manuscripts at once, my dear fellow; there is not a moment to lose."

"I'll do better than that," replied Franks. "Our public expect a story by Miss Aylmer in the next number, and if possible they must have it. I have already wired to say that I will call upon her, and with your permission, as the time is nearly up, I will go to Prince's Mansions now."

"It may be best," said Mr. Anderson. He looked gloomy and anxious. "You can cut the new story a bit cannot you, Franks?"

"I will do my best, sir."

The young man went out of the room. He was just crossing his own apartment when the door was opened and his clerk came in.

"A lady to see you, sir: she says her business is pressing."

"A lady to see me! Say I am going out. I cannot see anyone at present. Who is she? Has she come by appointment?"

"She has not come by appointment, sir; her name is Miss Keys--Miss Bertha Keys."

"I never heard of her. Say that I am obliged to go out and cannot see her to-day; ask her to call another time. Leave me now, Dawson; I want to keep my appointment with Miss Aylmer."

Dawson left the room.

He then crossed the room to the peg where he kept his coat and hat, and was preparing to put them on when once again Dawson appeared.

"Miss Keys says she has come about Miss Aylmer's business, and she thinks you will not lose any time if you see her, sir."

Bertha Keys had quietly entered the apartment behind the clerk.

"I have come on the subject of Florence Aylmer and the manuscript you expect her to send you," said Bertha Keys. "Will you give me two or three moments of your valuable time?"

Dawson glanced at Franks. Franks nodded to him to withdraw, and the next moment Miss Keys and Mr. Franks found themselves alone.

Franks did not speak at all for a moment. Bertha in the meantime was taking his measure.

"May I sit down?" she said. "I am a little tired; I have come all the way from Shropshire this morning."

Franks pushed a chair towards her, but still did not speak. She looked at him, and a faint smile dawned round her lips.

"You are expecting Florence Aylmer's manuscript, are you not?" she said then.

He nodded, but his manner was as much as to say: "What business is it of yours?"

He was magnetized by the curious expression in her eyes; he thought he had never seen such clever eyes before. He was beginning to be interested in her.

"I have come about Florence's manuscript; but, all the same, you bitterly resent my intrusion. By the way, you are engaged to marry Florence Aylmer?"

"I was," replied Franks shortly; "but pardon me. I am extremely busy: if she has chosen you as her messenger to bring the manuscript, will you kindly give it to me and go?"

"How polite!" said Bertha, with a smile. "I have not brought any manuscript from Florence Aylmer; but I have brought a manuscript from myself."

Franks uttered an angry exclamation.

"Have you forced your way into my room about that?" he said.

"I have. You have received and published three stories purporting to be by the pen of Florence Aylmer. You have also published one or two articles by the same person. You are waiting for the fourth story, which was promised to the readers of the Argonaut in last month's number. The first three stories made a great sensation. You are impatient and disturbed because the fourth story has not come to hand. Here it is."

Bertha hastily opened a small packet which she held in her hand and produced a manuscript.

"Look at it," she said; "read the opening sentence. I am not in the slightest hurry; take your own time, but read, if you will, the first page. If the style is not the style of the old stories, if the matter is not equal in merit to the stories already published, then I will own to you that I came here on a false errand and will ask you to forgive me."

Franks, with still that strange sense of being mesmerized, received the manuscript from Bertha's long slim hand. He sank into his office chair and listlessly turned the pages.

He read a sentence or two and then looked up at the clock.

"I have wired to Miss Aylmer to expect me at twelve: it is past that hour now. I really must ask you to pardon me."

"Miss Aylmer will not be in. Miss Aylmer has left Prince's Mansions. I happened to call there and know what I am saying. Will you go on reading? You want your story. I believe your printers are waiting for it even now."

Franks fidgeted impatiently. Once again his eyes lit upon the page. As he read, Bertha's own eyes devoured his face. She knew each word of that first page. She had taken special and extra pains with it; it represented her best, her very best; it was strong, perfect in style, and her treatment of her subject was original; there was a note of passion and pathos, there was a deep undercurrent of human feeling in her words. Franks read to the end.

If he turned the page Bertha felt that her victory would be won--if he closed the manuscript she had still to fight her battle. Her heart beat quickly. She wondered what the Fates had in store for her.

Franks at last came to the final word; he hesitated, half looked up, then his fingers trembled. He turned the page. Bertha saw by the look on his face that he had absolutely forgotten her. She gave a brief sigh: the time of tension was over, the victory was won. She rose and approached him.

"I can take that to another house," she said.

"No, no," said Franks; "there is stuff in this. It is quite up to the usual mark. So Florence gave it to you to bring to me. Now, you know, I do not quite like the tone nor does my chief; but the talent is unmistakable."

"You will publish it, then?"

"Certainly. I see it is the usual length. If you will pardon me, as things are pressing, I will ring and give this to the printers."

"One moment first. You think that manuscript has been written by Florence Aylmer?"

"Why not? Of course it has!" He looked uneasily from the paper in his hand to the girl who stood before him. "What do you mean?"

"I have something to tell you. You may be angry with me, but I do not much care. I possess the genius, not Florence Aylmer; I am the writer of that story. Florence Aylmer wrote one thing for you, a schoolgirl essay, which you returned. I wrote the papers which the public liked; I wrote the stories which the public devoured. I am the woman of genius; I am the ghost behind Florence Aylmer; I am the real author. You can give up the false: the real has come to you at last."

"You must be telling me an untruth," said Franks. He staggered back, his face became green, his eyes flashed angrily.

"I am telling you the truth; you have but to ask Florence herself. Has she not broken off her engagement with you?"

"She has, and a good thing, too," he muttered under his breath.

"Ah! I heard those words, though you said them so low, and it is a good thing for you. You would never have been happy with a girl like Florence. I know her well. I don't pretend that I played a very nice part; but still I am not ashamed. I want money now; I did not want money when I offered my productions to Florence. I hoped that I should be a very rich woman. My hopes have fallen to the ground; therefore I take back that talent with which Nature has endowed me. You can give me orders for the Argonaut in the future. You will kindly pay me for that story. Now I think I have said what I meant to say, and I wish you good-morning."

"But you must stay a moment, Miss--I really forget your name."

"My name is Keys--Bertha Keys. Other well-known magazines will pay me for all I can write for them; but I am willing to give you the whole of my writings, say for three months, if you are willing to pay me according to my own ideas."

"What are those?"

"You must double your pay to me. You can, if you like, publish this little story about Florence and myself in some of your society gossip--I do not mind at all--or you can keep it quiet. You have but to say in one of your issues that the nom de plume under which your talented author wrote is, for reasons of her own, changed. You can give me a fresh title. The world will suspect mystery and run after me more than ever. I think that is the principal thing I have to say to you. Now, may I wish you good-morning?"

Bertha rose as she spoke, dropped a light mocking curtsey in Franks's direction, and let herself out of the room before he had time to realize that she was leaving. _

Read next: Chapter 47. Finis

Read previous: Chapter 45. "All The Roses Are Dead"

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