The Sinister Man

"You have beauty," said Mr. Maurice Tarn carefully, "you have youth. You
will in all probability survive me by many years. I am not the kind of
man who would object to your marrying again. That would be sheer
selfishness, and I am not selfish. When I die you will have great
property; whilst I live you shall enjoy my wealth to its full. Possibly
you have never looked upon me in the light of a husband, but it is not
unusual for a guardian to marry his ward, and the disparity in our ages
is not an insuperable obstacle."

He spoke like one who was reciting a carefully rehearsed speech, and Elsa
Marlowe listened, stunned.

If the old-fashioned sideboard had of its own volition stood on end, if
Elgin Crescent had been suddenly transported to the suburbs of Bagdad,
she could not have been more astounded. But Elgin Crescent was in
Bayswater, and the gloomy dining-room of Maurice Tarn's maisonette
remained undisturbed; and here was Maurice Tarn himself, sitting on the
other side of the breakfast table, an unshaven, shabby man of fifty-six,
whose trembling hand, that went automatically to his shaggy grey
moustache, was an eloquent reminder of his last night's carouse (there
were three empty bottles on the table of his study when she looked in
that morning), and he was proposing marriage.

She could only gaze at him open-eyed, scarcely believing the evidence of
her senses.

"I suppose you think I am mad," he went on slowly. "I've given a lot of
thought to it, Elsa. You are heart-free, as I know. There is no reason in
the world, except--except the difference in our ages, why this should not
be."

"But--but, Mr. Tarn," she stammered, "I had no idea...of course it is
impossible!"

Was he still drunk? she wondered, without a tremor of apprehension, for
fifteen years of association with Maurice Tarn had not tended to increase
her awe for him; if she had not been so staggered by this proposal which
had come like a bolt from the blue, she might have been amused.

"I don't want to marry you, I don't want to marry anybody. It is
very--very kind of you, and of course I feel"--she could hardly bring her
lips to say the word--"honoured. But it is too ridiculous!" she burst
forth.

His tired eyes were watching her, and he did not even flinch at the word.

"I'm going away to--somewhere. I've got to go away for--for my health.
Since Major Amery has come into the firm it is impossible to continue."

"Does Ralph know this--that you're going away?" she asked, curiosity
overcoming her amazement.

"No!" He almost shouted the word. "He doesn't, he mustn't know! You
understand, Elsa? Under no circumstances must Ralph know--what I have
said to you is confidential. Think it over."

With a gesture he dismissed the subject, to her great relief. For fully
ten minutes she sat staring out of the window. Mr. Maurice Tarn's
dining-room looked out upon the garden of Elgin Crescent, a garden common
to all the houses that backed upon it. It was not a garden in the
strictest sense of the word, being no more than a stretch of worn grass,
intersected by brown paths; and its chief value was best appreciated by
the parents of very young children. On sunny days the shade of the big
tree in the centre of the garden was a favourite resting-place for
nursemaids and their tiny charges. At this hour the garden was deserted.
The pale yellow sunlight, slanting through the big window, lit a diagonal
patch on the table, and gave to the spring flowers that, by a movement of
her chair, mercifully hid Mr. Maurice Tarn from her view, the glory which
belonged to them.