cramped fingers and leaned back in her chair, idly riffling the vellum sheets of Jonathan’s book.
I tell you, Cliffie, sometimes I think London is not a geographical location, but the product of someone’s fevered imagination .
The words fairly leapt from the page with the familiarity of an old friend. How had she missed that phrase on first reading? And why was it so familiar?
She turned another page, and frowned thoughtfully as she reread the words that had so moved her the night before.
Children are born without love ....
Surely, she had seen these words before as well. She straightened suddenly and moved to a small secretary in which she kept the small collection of favorite books she had brought from home. She selected one and returned to her chair.
The book was entitled Back Streets of Shame , by one Christopher Welles. It contained a number of searing essays on the wretched conditions in which so many of London’s citizens were forced to live. She ran her fingers over pages soft with use, and her breath quickened. Yes, there it was! Her lips moved as she read the same phrase again, word for word. Suddenly cold, she dropped the book into her lap. Quickly she searched out another volume, this one a collection of political commentaries culled from the columns of one of London’s most prestigious newspapers, and signed simply “Clement,” Here again, she recognized the words and phrases which bore an unmistakable relationship to the prose in Town Bronze. Tally felt a horrible suspicion confirmed.
No—no, it couldn’t be! Lord Chelmsford was nothing but a cheat—a plagiarist, no less! And a careless one at that. Both Welles and Clement were pseudonyms of respected men of letters. She and her father had spent many pleasant hours discussing their works. How could Chelmsford have hoped to copy them without discovery?
Sickened, Tally climbed into her nightdress and crawled between her bedcovers. It was all ruined—her dreams of a new life turned to ashes, for of course she could not continue her collaboration with Jonathan, knowing him to be a thief of other men’s talents. No wonder he was so careful to cloak his identity!
Not, she told herself despairingly, that she was surprised. She had already known that beneath his handsome exterior, beyond the apparent warmth and charm, lay a different sort of person altogether. If the man she had chatted with so easily in the Park seemed incapable of such a deception, she could well imagine it in the character of the arrogant brute who had laughed at her humiliation four years ago.
She almost cried as she recalled the anticipation with which she had looked forward to tomorrow’s meeting with Jonathan. Now, the thought of it filled her with a mixture of anger, grief, and dread.
Chapter Nine
Jonathan hesitated for a moment before mounting the stairs to the Thurston home. It was rather too early for paying calls, and he stood in the morning sunshine musing on the unaccustomed eagerness with which he looked forward to his first working session with Tally.
Of course, this was not a social visit, but more on the order of a business appointment. His relationship with Tally was, naturally, to be purely professional. On the other hand, last evening had been one of the most pleasant he had spent in a long time. He rarely found himself in a relaxed, family atmosphere, for he spent most of his time with Clea. He ignored the tug in his mind caused by the implications of that last and hastily changed the direction of his thoughts.
He had hardly recognized Tally when she entered the room the night before. He had been aware that the girl was badly clothed, but the lovely young woman who greeted him in her gown of apricot silk had astonished him, and had stirred something within him—something simple and clear in his nature that he had all but forgotten. He had delighted in her sincere and open appreciation of his work.
He smiled now and tapped on the door. A
I tell you, Cliffie, sometimes I think London is not a geographical location, but the product of someone’s fevered imagination .
The words fairly leapt from the page with the familiarity of an old friend. How had she missed that phrase on first reading? And why was it so familiar?
She turned another page, and frowned thoughtfully as she reread the words that had so moved her the night before.
Children are born without love ....
Surely, she had seen these words before as well. She straightened suddenly and moved to a small secretary in which she kept the small collection of favorite books she had brought from home. She selected one and returned to her chair.
The book was entitled Back Streets of Shame , by one Christopher Welles. It contained a number of searing essays on the wretched conditions in which so many of London’s citizens were forced to live. She ran her fingers over pages soft with use, and her breath quickened. Yes, there it was! Her lips moved as she read the same phrase again, word for word. Suddenly cold, she dropped the book into her lap. Quickly she searched out another volume, this one a collection of political commentaries culled from the columns of one of London’s most prestigious newspapers, and signed simply “Clement,” Here again, she recognized the words and phrases which bore an unmistakable relationship to the prose in Town Bronze. Tally felt a horrible suspicion confirmed.
No—no, it couldn’t be! Lord Chelmsford was nothing but a cheat—a plagiarist, no less! And a careless one at that. Both Welles and Clement were pseudonyms of respected men of letters. She and her father had spent many pleasant hours discussing their works. How could Chelmsford have hoped to copy them without discovery?
Sickened, Tally climbed into her nightdress and crawled between her bedcovers. It was all ruined—her dreams of a new life turned to ashes, for of course she could not continue her collaboration with Jonathan, knowing him to be a thief of other men’s talents. No wonder he was so careful to cloak his identity!
Not, she told herself despairingly, that she was surprised. She had already known that beneath his handsome exterior, beyond the apparent warmth and charm, lay a different sort of person altogether. If the man she had chatted with so easily in the Park seemed incapable of such a deception, she could well imagine it in the character of the arrogant brute who had laughed at her humiliation four years ago.
She almost cried as she recalled the anticipation with which she had looked forward to tomorrow’s meeting with Jonathan. Now, the thought of it filled her with a mixture of anger, grief, and dread.
Chapter Nine
Jonathan hesitated for a moment before mounting the stairs to the Thurston home. It was rather too early for paying calls, and he stood in the morning sunshine musing on the unaccustomed eagerness with which he looked forward to his first working session with Tally.
Of course, this was not a social visit, but more on the order of a business appointment. His relationship with Tally was, naturally, to be purely professional. On the other hand, last evening had been one of the most pleasant he had spent in a long time. He rarely found himself in a relaxed, family atmosphere, for he spent most of his time with Clea. He ignored the tug in his mind caused by the implications of that last and hastily changed the direction of his thoughts.
He had hardly recognized Tally when she entered the room the night before. He had been aware that the girl was badly clothed, but the lovely young woman who greeted him in her gown of apricot silk had astonished him, and had stirred something within him—something simple and clear in his nature that he had all but forgotten. He had delighted in her sincere and open appreciation of his work.
He smiled now and tapped on the door. A
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