Nothing Venture Read Free Page B

sanctum, and disappeared, slamming the door behind him. It was the most sudden thing that had ever happened. Between the bang of the first door and the slam of the second there was just a momentary impression of Jervis with his face set in a black rage. Nan had hardly time to catch her breath. He plunged past. The second door banged. She had the feeling that he had taken the room in his stride without seeing it, or anything in it. And then his voice struck harshly on her ears in a violent oath.
    She stood up, shaking a little, and came out from behind her table. He had slammed the door so violently that it had latched and then unlatched itself. It stood now an inch ajar, and she could hear Mr Page’s startled exclamation.
    â€œMr Jervis! What has happened? I beg of you!”
    Nan stood still in the middle of the floor. It was most clearly her duty to close the door. She stood quite still, and heard Jervis Weare go tramping through the room beyond; and as he tramped he swore in a steady bitter flow; not speaking loudly, but with a deadly effect of weighing every word.
    â€œMr Jervis! Mr Jervis! I beg of you! Something has happened—I beg that you will tell me what has happened. I—I— Mr Jervis !”
    There was a silence. Mr Page’s voice left off, and nothing else began. There was a dead silence.
    Always after that moment Nan knew what was meant by a silence being dead. Something was dead in there. She knew what Mr Page must be looking like. In her own mind she could see his face, surprised, shocked, distressed, the ruddy colour a little sunk. She thought that he had risen, or half risen, from his chair. But she couldn’t see Jervis in her mind—only the back of that black head of his, the furious tilt of it, the forward thrust of his shoulders, all frozen in the silence—the dead silence. It seemed to go on for a most intolerable time.
    Then Jervis said in quite a quiet, low voice,
    â€œShe’s thrown me over.”
    Mr Page exclaimed. Nan did not know what he said. It was just a sound to her; it left no mark.
    Jervis Weare spoke again.
    â€œShe’s thrown me over.”
    He said it twice. And then he laughed, still on that low, quiet tone; only just at the end it broke sharply, harshly, and so ceased.
    Mr Page’s voice sounded nearer. He said at once in a distressed tone,
    â€œMiss Carew? Dear, dear—how’s this? Mr Jervis, I—I—” he stopped, commanded himself, and took up the last word again, but in an altered manner. “I am very much distressed at this. Won’t you tell me what it is? Is it—is it irremediable?”
    â€œOh, quite,” said Jervis Weare.
    Nan could imagine a quick gesture to point the words. Voice and gesture thrust Rosamund Carew into the limbo of things out of the question.
    The sound of Mr Page’s feet came after that. If there had been any other sound, Nan would not have heard them. They went across the room to the window, halted, and came back again. Then Mr Page’s professional voice, grave and concerned:
    â€œSit down, won’t you? Yes—it will be better. This is a very serious matter. I don’t mean only personally—though, as I am sure you know, you have my deep sympathy. But there is another aspect—” He stopped as if he balked at this aspect to which he alluded. “This—this unfortunate breach has a consequence which may not have occurred to you, and cannot have occurred to Miss Carew.”
    Every time Mr Page stopped speaking, that dead silence closed upon the room:
    Nan’s whole being so strained towards what was happening in the silence that she seemed to see Jervis still standing with the office table between him and Mr Page. She could see him standing there, but not his face. She wanted to see his face.
    Half a minute went by. Then he said harshly, answering Mr Page,
    â€œYou think not?”
    Mr Page coughed.
    â€œMr Weare, I am obliged to point out