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Gaddis: Starting Out with Java: From Control Structures through Objects, 5/e 1

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Structures through Objects 5th Edition 0132855836
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Starting Out with Java - From Control Structures through Objects

Answers to Review Questions

Chapter 2

Multiple Choice and True/False

1. c
2. b
3. a
4. b and c
5. a, c, and d
6. a
7. c
8. b
9. a
10. d
11. b
12. a
13. a
14. c
15. a
16. True
17. True
18. False
19. True
20. False
21. False

Predict the Output

Gaddis: Starting Out with Java: From Control Structures through Objects, 5/e 2

1. 0
100
2. 8
2
3. I am the incrediblecomputing
machine
and I will
amaze
you.
4. Be careful
This might/n be a trick question.
5. 23
1

Find the Error

• The comment symbols in the first line are reversed. They should be /* and */.
• The word class is missing in the second line. It should read public class
MyProgram.
• The main header should not be terminated with a semicolon.
• The fifth line should have a left brace, not a right brace.
• The first four lines inside the main method are missing their semicolons.
• The comment in the first line inside the main method should begin with forward
slashes (//), not backward slashes.
• The last line inside the main method, a call to println, uses a string literal, but
the literal is enclosed in single quotes. It should be enclosed in double quotes, like
this: "The value of c is".
• The last line inside the main method passes C to println, but it should pass c
(lowercase).
• The class is missing its closing brace.

Algorithm Workbench
1. double temp, weight, age;
2. int months = 2, days, years = 3;
3.
a) b = a + 2;
b) a = b * 4;
c) b = a / 3.14;
d) a = b – 8;
e) c = 'K';
f) c = 66;
4.
a) 12
b) 4
c) 4
Gaddis: Starting Out with Java: From Control Structures through Objects, 5/e 3

d) 6
e) 1
5.
a) 3.287E6
b) -9.7865E12
c) 7.65491E-3
6.
System.out.print("Hearing in the distance\n\n\n");
System.out.print("Two mandolins like creatures in the\n\n\n");
System.out.print("dark\n\n\n");
System.out.print("Creating the agony of ecstasy.\n\n\n");
System.out.println(" - George Barker");
7. 10 20 1
8. 12
9. a
10. HAVE A GREAT DAY!
Have a great day!
11.
int speed, time, distance;
speed = 20;
time = 10;
distanct = speed * time;
System.out.println(distance);
12.
double force, area, pressure;
force = 172.5;
area = 27.5;
pressure = area / force;
System.out.println(pressure);

13.
double income;
// Create a Scanner object for keyboard input.
Scanner keyboard = new Scanner(System.in);
// Ask the user to enter his or her desired income
System.out.print("Enter your desired annual income: ");
income = keyboard.nextDouble();
14.
String str;
double income;
str = JOptionPane.showInputDialog("Enter your desired " +
"annual income.");
income = Double.parseDouble(str);

15. total = (float)number;

Short Answer
1. Multi-line style
2. Single line style
Gaddis: Starting Out with Java: From Control Structures through Objects, 5/e 4

3. A self-documenting program is written in such a way that you get an

understanding of what the program is doing just by reading its code.
4. Java is a case sensitive language, which means that it regards uppercase letters as
being entirely different characters than their lowercase counterparts. This is
important to know because some words in a Java program must be entirely in
lowercase.
5. The print and println methods are members of the out object. The out
object is a member of the System class. The System class is part of the Java
API.
6. A variable declaration tells the compiler the variable’s name and the type of data
it will hold.
7. You should always choose names for your variables that give an indication of
what they are used for. The rather nondescript name, x, gives no clue as to what
the variable’s purpose is.
8. It is important to select a data type that is appropriate for the type of data that your
program will work with. Among the things to consider are the largest and smallest
possible values that might be stored in the variable, and whether the values will be
whole numbers or fractional numbers.
9. In both cases you are storing a value in a variable. An assignment statement can
appear anywhere in a program. An initialization, however, is part of a variable
declaration.
10. Comments that start with // are single-line style comments. Everything
appearing after the // characters, to the end of the line, is considered a comment.
Comments that start with /* are multi-line style comments. Everything between
these characters and the next set of */ characters is considered a comment. The
comment can span multiple lines.
11. Programming style refers the way a programmer uses spaces, indentations, blank
lines, and punctuation characters to visually arrange a program’s source code. An
inconsistent programming style can create confusion for a person reading the
code.
12. One reason is that the name PI is more meaningful to a human reader than the
number 3.14. Another reason is that any time the value that the constant
represents needs to be changed, we merely have to change the constant's
initialization value. We do not have to search through the program for each
statement that uses the value.
13. javadoc SalesAverage.java
14. The result will be an int.
Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
Fleming knocked at the door, and in answer to a cold "come in,"
entered.
"Did you ring, my lord?" he said.
"You know I didn't," said Yorke. "What is it? You look upset,
Fleming," and he smiled the smile which is not good to see on the
lips of any man, young or old, simple or gentle.
"Beg pardon, my lord," said Fleming, who was genuinely attached to
his master, and who had watched the change in him with sincere
grief and regret, "but I thought you would want to send me
somewhere, perhaps."
Yorke smiled.
"The best thing I could do for you would be to send you about your
business!" he said.
"Oh, don't say that, my lord," remonstrated Fleming. "I'm—I'm afraid
something is wrong, my lord—"
"Yes," said Yorke, grimly. "Something is very much wrong, Fleming.
The fact is I am up a tree; cleaned out and ruined."
"Ruined?"
"That's it," assented Yorke, coolly. "I've been hard up, once or twice
before—you know that, Fleming?"
"Oh, yes, my lord."
"But this is the finale, the climax, the wind up. But don't let me
stand in your light. Look here, you have been a deuced good servant
—yes, and a friend to me, and as it won't do you any good to be
mixed up in this beastly mess you had better go at once. Lord
Vinson has often told me that if I wanted to get rid of you he'd be
glad to take you on. So you go to him—I'll give you a letter and—"
For the first time in his exemplary life Fleming was guilty of vulgar
language.
"I'm damned if I do!" he said. "I beg your pardon, my lord, I humbly
beg your lordship's pardon, but I'm not that kind of a man—I'm not,
indeed;" and there was something very much like water in the
honest fellow's eyes. "I shouldn't think of leaving your lordship while
you were up a tree, as your lordship puts it. I should never look
myself in the face again. I'm much obliged to Lord Vinson; but no,
my lord. I'm not the man to desert a good and kind master in
misfortune. I beg your lordship's pardon, but I thought—" He
hesitated respectfully.
"Think away," said Yorke, lighting another cigar and tilting his hat
back. "Perhaps your thinking will be more valuable than mine. I've
been thinking, and can see no way out of the mess."
"The—the duke, my lord," suggested Fleming. "I'm sure he—"
"So am I, Fleming; but the duke has left for the Continent, and I
don't know where he has gone, and this paper says that I've got to
show up at the court in the city at once."
"And it will all be in the newspapers!" said Fleming aghast. To be 'in
the newspapers' was the direct disgrace and calamity in the eyes of
that worthy man.
"Just so," said Yorke, knocking the ashes off his cigar. "You see,
Fleming, I am in a hole out of which it is impossible to pull me.
Never you mind; after all, it doesn't matter."
"Doesn't it matter, my lord?" echoed Fleming, startled. "You—you
who are so well known to—to appear in court!"
"And get six months—is it six months or six weeks? I don't know—I
don't know anything; but I suppose I shall, and pretty quickly. Never
mind. Look here; see that man in the next room has all he wants."
"Oh, yes; all right, my lord," said Fleming, with a touch of
impatience, "All he wants is beer, and I've given him half a dozen
bottles."
Yorke laughed and leaned back in the chair.
"All right. Bring any letters that may come; I should like to know the
worst."
Fleming went out, but appeared again in a few minutes.
"Will you want me for half an hour or three-quarters, my lord?" he
said, in a thoughtful, troubled kind of way.
"No. Going after that place, Fleming? Better."
Fleming colored and opened his lips; but he did not say anything;
and Yorke, left alone again, leaned his head on his hand and gave
himself up to gloomy reverie.
A man in possession in the next room, a summons to appear in a
debtors' court, his name in the newspapers as a ruined man! It was
all bad enough, but he scarcely felt it. He had endured the maximum
of suffering when he had become convinced that Leslie had jilted
him, and this—well, this was, so to speak, almost a relief and a
diversion. And yet the disgrace! He passed a very bad half hour in
that dressing-room—a half hour in which there rose the specter of
an ill-spent past in which follies marched in ghostly procession
before him, and all, as they promenaded by, whispered hoarsely,
"Ruin!" And yet, through it all he saw more plainly than anything
else the sweet face of Leslie, the only woman he had ever loved—
the woman who had seemed to him an angel of truth and constancy,
but who had deserted him the moment she had heard that he was
not a duke.
Fleming, meanwhile, had put on his hat and sallied into the street.
He had left his beloved master utterly reckless and indifferent, and
therefore it rested with him, the devoted servant, to display all the
more energy. That he should sit still and see Lord Yorke drift into
utter ruin and destruction was simply impossible.
"Something's got to be done," he said to himself, "and I've got to do
it. He isn't going to appear at any court; not if I know it! What! my
guv'nor, the cousin of a duke, to come up before a beak—some
miserable city alderman?" Fleming's ideas of the city law courts
were, like his master's, hazy. "Certainly not—not if I have to move
heaven and earth! Now, if the duke was at home I could see Mr.
Grey, and we could arrange this little matter between us; but as he
isn't, why, the thing to do is to go to the next person, and that is,
naturally, Lady Eleanor Dallas. It isn't likely that she'd see Lord Yorke
in such a hole as this without helping him out; and she's rich, and
richer than ever lately. I'll try her!"
He called a hansom and had himself driven to Kensington Palace
Gardens.
"Anyhow, her ladyship can only refuse to see me," he said to
himself. "But I don't think she will;" and "he winked the other eye."
Oh! my friends, do you think our servants are deaf, and dumb, and
blind? They know all our little secrets and our little difficulties; all our
little entanglements. There is scarcely a letter we receive that,
unless we lock it up securely, they do not read. No friend ever visits
us but they know all about him and his, and whom his daughter is
engaged to, or why the engagement is broken off.
Therefore let us be grateful to a kind Providence for the servants
who are also devoted and trusty friends, such as was Fleming.
When Fleming reached Kensington Palace Gardens he was told by
one of the footmen that Lady Eleanor was engaged.
"You've come with a message from Lord Auchester, Mr. Fleming, I
suppose?" said the footman.
Fleming was an 'upper servant' and was always addressed by those
beneath him as 'Mr.,' and he was very much respected on his own
account as one who had saved money and was in 'good society.'
"Well, no, I haven't," said Fleming, gravely, and a little pompously.
"I've come on business of my own."
The footman took his name into the boudoir where Lady Eleanor
was sitting with no other than Mr. Ralph Duncombe.
She flushed slightly.
"It is Lord Auchester's valet," she said.
Ralph Duncombe looked up with a slight start.
"I do not wish him to see me, Lady Eleanor," he said.
"No, no; oh, no! I understand," she said nervously.
"And yet I should like to know what he has to say."
Lady Eleanor pointed to a large four-fold Japanese screen which cut
off one of the corners of the room.
"He will not be here many minutes," she said.
Ralph Duncombe went behind the screen, and Lady Eleanor rang the
bell and told the footman she would see Fleming.
He came in, looking rather nervous and embarrassed, for it was a
bold thing he was going to do, and he knew that Lady Eleanor could
look and speak haughtily and sternly when she was displeased.
"You want to see me, Fleming?" she said, graciously enough. "Is it a
message from Lord Auchester?"
"No, my lady," he said, and like a man of the world he went straight
to the point. "No, my lady, his lordship does not know that I have
come, and if he had known I was coming I'm sure he would have
forbidden me; but I ventured to intrude on your ladyship, knowing
that you and my master were old friends, if I may say so."
"Certainly you may say so, Fleming," said Lady Eleanor, pleasantly,
and looking as if she were expecting anything but bad news.
"Well, my lady, my master is in a terrible trouble," he said, plunging
still further into the business.
"In terrible trouble?" echoed Lady Eleanor; and her face flushed.
"What do you mean, Fleming?"
"It's money matters, my lady," said Fleming, gravely, and looking
around as if he feared an eavesdropper. "His lordship—I'm obliged to
speak freely, my lady, or else you won't understand; but it's out of
no disrespect to his lordship, who has been the best of masters to
me—"
"Say what you have to say quite without reserve," said Lady Eleanor,
in a low voice.
"Well, my lady, I was going to say that his lordship has always been
hard up, as you may say. There's always been a difficulty with the
money. It's usual with high-spirited gentlemen like Lord Yorke," he
said, apologetically. "They don't know, and can't be expected to
know, the value of money like common ordinary folk, and so they—
well, they outrun the constable."
"Lord Auchester is in debt?" said Lady Eleanor, guardedly.
"It's worse than that, my lady," said Fleming. "That would be
nothing, for ever since I've been in his service he has been in debt.
But now the people he owes money to want him to pay them."
He gave the information as though it were the most extraordinary
and unnatural conduct on the part of any creditor of Lord Auchester
that he should want payment.
"People who owe money must pay it some time, Fleming,"
suggested Lady Eleanor.
"Yes—ah, yes, my lady, some time," admitted Fleming, "but not all at
once. It seems as if the people my lord owes money to had joined
together and resolved to drop upon him in a heap. There's a man in
possession in Bury Street, my lady."
"A man in possession!" repeated Lady Eleanor, as if she scarcely
understood.
"Yes, a bailiff, my lady, sitting there in his lordship's sitting-room;
and I daresn't throw him out of the window."
Lady Eleanor looked down.
"And—and Lord Yorke, Fleming—I suppose he is in great trouble
about this?"
Fleming hesitated.
"Well, my lady, he is in great trouble; but if you mean is he cut up
about this money matter, I can't say that he is. He don't seem to
care one bit about it, and takes it as cool and indifferent as if—well,
as if nothing mattered. But he is in great trouble for all that, and he
has been for weeks past—"
He hesitated.
Lady Eleanor looked up.
"You had better tell me everything, I think, Fleming," she said, in a
low voice.
"Well, my lady, it's just thus: His lordship had a blow—a
disappointment of some kind. It isn't money, it isn't betting, or card-
playing, or I should have heard of it, for his lordship generally makes
some remarks, such as 'I've had a good day, Fleming,' or, 'I'm stone
broke, Fleming,' so that I know what kind of luck he's had; it isn't
that. It's something worse—if there is anything worse," he put in
philosophically. "A little while ago his lordship was in the very best of
spirits; I never saw him in better, and he's a bright-hearted
gentleman, as you know, my lady. I'm speaking of the time when he
came back from that place in the country where he and his grace
the duke were—Portmaris."
Lady Eleanor leaned her head on her hand so that her face was
hidden from him.
"Then all of a sudden a change came, and his lordship got bad, very
bad. It was dreadful to see him, my lady. Eat nothing, cared for
nothing; scarcely even spoke. Nothing but smoke, smoke, all day,
and wander in and out looking like the ghost of himself. And he, who
used to be so bright and cheerful, with the laugh always ready! I'd
have given something to have spoken a word, and asked him what
was the matter; but—well, my lady, with all his pleasantness, my
master's the last gentleman to take a liberty with."
"You don't know what it was, this terrible disappointment?" said
Lady Eleanor, almost inaudibly.
Fleming hesitated and glanced at her; then he coughed discreetly
behind his hand.
It was sufficient answer, and Lady Eleanor's face grew red.
"Whatever it was that made him so happy and cheerful, it was
knocked on the head and put an end to, my lady," he said. "And so it
is that this regular smash-up of affairs—I mean these summonses
and man in possession—don't seem to affect him. You see, my lady,
he was as low down as he could be already. Sometimes—" He
stopped, and looked down at the carpet very gravely and anxiously.
"Well?"
"Well, my lady, it isn't for me to say such a thing, but I've been
almost afraid to let him out of my sight in the morning, and I've
been truly thankful to see him come in at night."
Lady Eleanor drew a long breath and shuddered.
"You mean—"
"Men, when they're down as low as my master, they do rash things
sometimes, my lady," said Fleming, in a solemn whisper.
Lady Eleanor's face went white, and she put her hand to her delicate
throat as if she were suffocating.
"You—you should not say—hint—at such terrible things, Fleming,"
she panted.
"I—I beg your ladyship's pardon," he said, humbly, "but it's the truth
and—and I thought I ought to tell you, being his lordship's friend."
"Yes—yes, I am his friend," she said, as if she scarcely knew what
she was saying. "And I will try to help him."
Fleming's face brightened.
"Oh, my lady!" he said, gratefully.
"Stop!" she said. "Your master, Lord Yorke, must not know;" and her
face grew crimson again.
"Oh, no, no, my lady! Certainly not! Why, if his lordship ever knew
that I'd come to you—" He stopped and shook his head.
"I understand," said Lady Eleanor. "No, Lord Yorke must never know
—no one must know—"
"I should have gone to the duke, my lady, but his grace is abroad, as
no doubt your ladyship knows."
Lady Eleanor turned her head aside. She and Ralph Duncombe had
timed the attack on Yorke for the moment when the duke should be
beyond reach.
"His grace would have helped my master, I know; and I'd have made
bold to write to him, but there isn't time."
Lady Eleanor shook her head.
"No, no," she said. "He must not know—no one must know. You
need not be anxious any longer, Fleming. You were right in coming
to me and—and—" She sunk into the chair.
Fleming heaved a sigh of relief.
"Very well, my lady. I don't know much about it, but the person who
seems the principal in this set upon his lordship is a man named
Duncombe—a money-lender, I expect. They take all sorts of names.
I wish I had him to myself for a quarter of an hour. I'd teach him to
put a man in possession—begging your ladyship's pardon," he broke
off.
Lady Eleanor's face reddened, and she glanced toward the screen.
"You had better go back now, Fleming," she said, "and—and don't
leave Lord Auchester more than you can help. And, remember, not
one word that might lead him to guess that you have been to me."
"You may be sure I shall be careful for my own sake, my lady," said
Fleming, with quiet emphasis; and, with a bow in which gratitude
and respect were fairly divided, he left the room.
Ralph Duncombe came from behind the screen and stood looking
down at Lady Eleanor, whose proud head was bowed upon her
hands.
"What are you going to do?" he asked.
She looked up. "Set him free—at once—at once!" she responded
with feverish impetuosity. "Did you not hear the man? That he
actually feared his master would—" She shuddered. "This must come
to an end at once. It will drive him mad!"
Ralph Duncombe smiled grimly.
"I heard the man say that it was not the money trouble that was
affecting Lord Auchester," he said. "It seems to me, Lady Eleanor,
that we have taken a great deal of trouble for nothing. This marriage
which you so much dreaded was broken off before any plans to
prevent it were put in operation. The—the young lady had
disappeared—"
She looked up suddenly as he stopped and bit his lip.
"Disappeared? How do you know?" she exclaimed breathlessly.
His face was as pale as hers, but was set and stern.
"Well, I thought I had better run down to this place, Portmaris, and
see for myself how matters were going," he said, in a kind of
business-like coolness and indifference, "and—and I found that Miss
—what is her name?" he asked, as if he had forgotten.
"Lisle—Leslie Lisle," said Lady Eleanor.
"Ah, yes! Miss Lisle had flown."
"Flown?"
"Yes, flown and disappeared. Disappeared so completely that all my
efforts to discover her track failed."
He still spoke calmly and with affected indifference, but if she herself
had not been so agitated she would have noticed the pallor of his
face and the restless movement of his hands.
"What—what do you think it means?" she asked, in a whisper.
He shrugged his shoulders.
"A lovers' quarrel—but no; it is more shame than that. Yes; I should
say that the engagement was broken off for some reason or other,
so that you have had all this trouble and expense for nothing, Lady
Eleanor."
"And you can not find her? Disappeared?"
He took up his hat.
"Disappeared," he repeated, grimly.
"And that is why he is wretched and unhappy," she said, with a sigh.
"How—how he must love her after all!" and her head drooped.
Ralph Duncombe moistened his lips.
"Yes," he said. "But perhaps she did not care for him. Any way, you
see it is she who has left him, not he who has left her."
"Yes," she said, and she pushed the hair from her fair forehead with
an impatient gesture. "Oh, I cannot understand it! The engagement
broken off! Disappeared! But there must be an end to these law
proceedings now, Mr. Duncombe."
"There can be only one way of terminating them," he said.
"And that?"
"Is by paying the money into court," he said. "The thing has gone
too far."
"I see," she said. Then she held out her hand. "I will send or come
to you in the morning. I am too confused and—and upset even to
think at this moment."
Fleming hastened back to Bury Street and found Yorke sitting as he
had left him, with the formidable-looking letters and papers littered
around him.
Fleming picked them up and put them away, and got out Yorke's
dress clothes.
"Don't trouble, Fleming, I shall dine at home," said Yorke; but
Fleming went on with his preparations.
"Very sorry, my lord, but the kitchen grate is not in order." He didn't
intend that his master should eat his dinner in company with a man
in possession. "Better go and dine at the club, my lord, if I may
make so bold."
Yorke got up with a grim smile.
"Perhaps you're right, Fleming," he said, listlessly. "I suppose they
never have anything the matter with the kitchen grate at Holloway,
or whatever other quod it is they send people who can't pay their
debts. And what about these clothes, Fleming? Perhaps our friend in
the next room will object to my walking out in them."
"I'd punch his head if he was to offer a remark on the subject," said
Fleming, fiercely. "I beg your lordship's pardon—if I might say a
word, my lord, I'd implore your lordship not to take this business too
much to heart; I mean not to worry too much over it. You never can
tell what may turn up."
Yorke laughed drearily as he allowed Fleming to dress him.
"I won't," he said. "To tell you the truth, I don't feel so cut up as
you'd imagine, or as I ought, Fleming. I feel"—he stopped and
looked round absently—"well, as if I were another fellow altogether,
and I was just looking on, half sorry and half amused."
"Yes, that's right. Keep feeling like that, my lord," said Fleming,
cheeringly. "Depend upon it, it will come out right."
Yorke shrugged his shoulders.
"I dare say," he said, indifferently. "Don't sit up for me. I may be
late."
He came in a little after two in the morning, and Fleming could have
been almost glad if his beloved master had showed signs of having
spent a 'warm' night; but Yorke was 'more than sober,' and looked
only weary and sick at heart, as he had done for weeks past.
"Oh, by the way, Fleming," he said, as he took off his coat, and as if
he had suddenly remembered it, "you must call me pretty early to-
morrow. I have to be down in the city, you know."
That was all.
 CHAPTER XXXII.
BOUGHT AND PAID FOR.
A city law court is not exactly the place in which to spend a happy
day—unless you happen to be a lawyer engaged in a profitable case
there—and Yorke, as he entered the stuffy, grimy, murky chamber,
looked round with a feeling of surprise and grim interest.
Upon the bench sat the judge in a much-worn gown and a grubby
wig. A barrister was drowsing away in the 'well' of the court, and his
fellows were sleeping or stretching and yawning round him.
The public was represented by half a dozen seedy-looking individuals
who all looked as if they had not been to bed for a month and had
forgotten to wash themselves for a like period. There was an usher,
who yawned behind his wand, one or two policemen with wooden
countenances, and two or three wretched-looking individuals, who
were, like Yorke, defendants in various suits.
The entrance of this stalwart, well-dressed and decidedly
distinguished and aristocratic personage created a slight sensation
for a moment or two; then he seemed to be forgotten, and he stood
and looked on, and wondered how soon his case would be heard,
and whether he would be carried away to jail forthwith.
He waited for a half hour or so, feeling that he was growing dirty
and grimy like the rest of the people round him, and gradually the
sense of the disgrace and humiliation of his position stole over him.
Great heavens, to what a pass he had come! He had lost Leslie. He
was now to lose good name and honor—everything! Would it not be
better for himself and everybody connected with him if he went
outside and purchased a dose of prussic acid?
The suspense, the stuffy court, the droning voice of the counsel
began to drive him mad.
He went up to the usher. "Can you tell me when my case comes
on?" he said.
The man looked at him sleepily.
"Your case—what name?" he asked, without any 'sir,' and with a kind
of drowsy impertinence, which seemed to be in strict harmony with
the air of the place.
"Auchester!" said Yorke. "I am the—the defendant."
"Horchester? Don't know. Ask the clerk," said the man.
With a sick feeling of shame Yorke went up to the man pointed out
by the usher and put the same question to him.
"Auchester? Duncombe versus Auchester; Levison versus Auchester;
Arack versus Auchester?" said the clerk, in a dry, business-like way.
"Yes, I dare say that's it," said Yorke, hating the sound of his own
name.
The clerk looked down a list, then raised his eyes with the faintest of
smiles.
"Scratched out," he said, curtly.
"Scratched out?" echoed Yorke, blankly.
"Yes, sir—my lord," said the clerk, who, while looking at the list, had
come upon Yorke's title. "The cases have been removed from the
list. Settled."
"Settled? I don't understand," said Yorke, staring at him. "I've only
just come down—I've paid nothing."
"Some one else has, then, my lord," said the clerk. "Wait a moment
till this case is heard; it will be over directly, and I'll explain."
Yorke, feeling like a man in a dream, stepped into a corner and
waited. Presently the court adjourned for luncheon, and the clerk
came toward him.
"This way, my lord." He led Yorke into an office. "Now, my lord. Yes,
all the cases have been discharged from the list—been settled this
morning."
"This morning?" echoed Yorke, mechanically, still with a vast
amazement. "But—but who—I don't know who could have done this.
I have not, for the best of all reasons. I came down here prepared to
go to prison, or wherever else you sent me."
The clerk raised his brows and shook his head gravely.
"Yes, you would have been committed, my lord, for a certainty," he
said. "You see, you let things slide too long. But there is no fear
now. The money, all of it, has been paid. You are quite free, quite. I
congratulate your lordship."
"But—but"—stammered Yorke, and he put his hand to his brow
—"who can have done it—paid it? Is it the Duke of Rothbury?"
Could Dolph have heard of it in some extraordinary way and sent the
money?
The clerk went into the inner office for a few minutes, then he came
back with a slip of paper in his hand.
"I don't know whether I am doing right, my lord," he said, gravely,
and even cautiously. "Perhaps I ought not to give you this
information, but I trust to your lordship's discretion. You won't get
me into a scrape, my lord?"
"No, no!" said Yorke, "who is it?"
The clerk handed him the slip of paper.
It was a check on Coutts' for a large—a very large—sum, and it was
signed "Eleanor Dallas."
"Eleanor!"
The name broke in a kind of sigh from Yorke's lips, and his face
reddened. But it was pale again as he handed the check back to the
clerk.
"Thank you," he said.
He stood and looked vacantly before him as if he had forgotten
where he was; then he woke with a start.
"Then I can go?" he said.
"Certainly, my lord," said the clerk. "As I said, you are quite free.
There are no actions against you now; everything is squared—paid."
Yorke thanked him again, wished him good-day, and got outside.
Everything paid—and by Eleanor!
He repeated this as he walked from the city to the west; as he
tramped slowly, with downcast head, across Hyde Park.
He told himself that he ought to be grateful; that he could not feel
too grateful to the woman who had come to his aid and saved him
from ruin and disgrace.
But he knew why she had done it, and he knew what he ought to do
in return. The least he could do would be to go and kneel at her
feet, and ask her to accept the life which she had snatched from
disgrace. And why shouldn't he? The only woman he had ever loved
had proved false, and mercenary, and base, and there was nothing
now to prevent him asking Lady Eleanor to be his wife; and yet,
alas! he could not get that other face out of his mind or heart.
He thought of her—she haunted him as he walked along; the clear
gray eyes, so tender one moment, so full of fire and humor the next;
the dark hair, the graceful figure, the sweet voice. "Oh, Leslie, Leslie!
if you had but been true!" was the burden of his heart's wail.
He looked up and found himself close upon Palace Gardens;
unconsciously his feet had moved in that direction. He rang the bell
of Lady Eleanor's door.
Yes, her ladyship was at home, the footman said, and said it in that
serene, confident tone which a servant uses when he knows that his
mistress will be glad to see the visitor.
Yorke followed the man to the small drawing-room.
Lady Denby was there tying up some library books.
She started slightly as she saw his altered appearance, but she was
too completely a woman of the world to let him see the start.
"Why, Yorke!" she said, "what a stranger you are! We were only
speaking of you this morning at breakfast, and wondering where you
were. Have you been away? Sit down—or tie up those tiresome
books for me, will you? They slip and slide about in the most
aggravating way. I'll go and tell Eleanor; I fancy she was going out."
She met Lady Eleanor in the hall, and drew her aside.
"Yorke is in there, Eleanor," she said.
"Yorke!"
Lady Eleanor repeated the name and started almost guiltily, almost
fearfully.
"Yes, I came to tell you, and—well, yes—prepare you. I don't want
you to do as I did—jump as if I'd seen a bogey man. He has been ill,
or up to some deviltry or other, and he looks—well, I can't tell you
how he looks. It gave me a shock. I thought I'd prepare you."
Lady Eleanor touched her hand.
"Thank you, dear. No, I won't look shocked. He looks very ill?"
"Very ill, oh! worse than ill. Like a man who has robbed a church and
been found out, or lost everything he held dear."
Lady Eleanor put her handkerchief to her lips. They were trembling.
"I don't mind what he has been doing," she said.
"Oh, my dear Eleanor!"
"No, I don't. I'll go in now. Don't let any one disturb us. He—he may
have come to see me to talk about something."
She went into the room, and Yorke turned to meet her. It was well
that she had been forewarned of the change in his appearance. As it
was, she could scarcely suppress the cry that rose to her lips.
"Well, Yorke," she said, with affected lightness, "tying up aunt's
books? That is so like her. No one can come near her without getting
employed. What a shame to worry you!"
"It doesn't worry me," he said.
He leaned against the table and looked down at her. There is a
picture of Millais's—it is called, I think, 'A Hot-house Flower'—which
Lady Eleanor might have sat for that morning, so delicate, so
graceful, so refined and blanche was her beauty. She wore a loose
dress of soft cashmere, cream in color, almost Greek in fashion. Her
hair was like gold, her eyes placid yet tender, with a touch of
subdued sadness and anxiety in them. A charming, an irresistible
picture, and one that appealed to this man with the storm-beaten
heart aching in his bosom.
She glanced up at him, saw the haggard face, the dark rings round
the eyes, that indescribable look which pain and despair and utter
abandonment produce as plainly as the die stamps the hall-mark on
the piece of silver, and her heart yearned for him, for his love—
yearned for the right to comfort and soothe him. Ah! if he would
only have it so—if he would only let her, how happy she would make
him! All this, and much more, she felt; but she looked quite placid
and serene—like a dainty lily unstirred by the wind—and said in her
soft voice:
"We were thinking of advertising for you Yorke. Have you been
away?"
He might have answered: "Yes, I have been in the Valley of Sorrow
and Tribulation, on the Desert of Dead Love and Vain Hope," but
instead he replied:
"No, just here in London; but I have been busy."
She looked up and smiled.
"Busy! That sounds so strange, and so comic, coming from you!"
"And yet it is true," he said. "I have been busy thinking." If there
was a touch of bitterness in his voice she did not notice it. "And
that's hard work for me—it's so new, you see."
There was silence for a moment. He held the string with which he
had been tying up the books in his hands, and fidgeted with it
restlessly. Lady Eleanor dropped into small-talk. Had he been to the
chrysanthemum show at the Temple? Had he noticed that the
Duchess of Orloffe was not going to give her autumn ball? Did he—
He broke in suddenly as if he had not been listening, his voice
hoarse and thick:
"Eleanor, why did you do it?"
"Why did I—do what, Yorke?" she said.
"Why did you fling so much money away upon a worthless scamp?"
His face went white, then red.
"Who told you?" she breathed.
"They told me down at the court where I had gone to be disgraced,"
he said, "and you saved me! How can I thank you, Eleanor? How
can I? And you would have done it in secret, would have kept it from
me?"
"Yes, oh, yes," she murmured, her head drooping. "Don't—don't say
anything about it. It was nothing—nothing!" She looked up at him
eagerly, pleadingly. "Yorke, you will not think badly of me because I
did it? Why shouldn't I? I am rich—you don't know how rich—and
what better could I do with the stupid money than give it to a—a
friend who needed it more—ten thousand times more—than I do or
ever shall! Don't be angry with me, Yorke."
"Angry!" The blood flew to his face and his eyes flashed. He drew
nearer to the chair in which she sat, he knelt on one knee beside
her.
"Eleanor, I am utterly worthless—you know that quite well. I was not
worth the saving, but as you have saved me, will you accept me?
Eleanor, will you be my wife?"
Her face went white with the ecstasy which shot through her heart.
Ah, for how long had she thirsted, hungered for these words from
his lips! And they had come at last!
"Will you be my wife, Eleanor? I will try to make you happy. I will do
my best, Heaven helping, to be a good husband to you! Stop, dear!
If you act wisely you will send me about my business! There are fifty
—a hundred better men who love you; you could scarcely have a
worse than I, but if you will say 'yes,' I will try and be less unworthy
of you. All my life I will never forget all that I owe you—never forget
that you saved me from ruin and disgrace. Now, dear, I—"
She put out her hand to him without a word; then as he took it her
passion burst through the bonds in which she thought to bind it, and
she swayed forward and dropped upon his breast.
"Yorke, Yorke, you know"—came through her parted lips—"you know
I love you—have always loved you!"
"My poor Eleanor!" he said, almost indeed, quite pityingly. "Such a
bad, worthless lot as I am!"
"No, no!" she panted. "No, no; the best, the highest to me! And—
and if you were not, it—it would be all the same. Oh, Yorke, be
good, be kind to me, for you are all the world to me!"
They sat and talked hand in hand for some time, and once during
that talk he said:
"By the way, Eleanor, how did you hear I was in such a mess—how
did you come to know?"
It was a very natural question under the circumstances; but Lady
Eleanor started and turned white, absolutely white with fear.
"No, no; not one word will I ever say or let you say about this stupid
money business!" she exclaimed. Then she took his hand and
pressed it against her cheek. "Why, sir, what does it matter? It was
only—only lending it to you for a little time, you see. It will all be
yours soon."
Lady Denby came in after a discreet cough outside; but Lady Eleanor
did not move or take her hand from Yorke's.
"Oh!" said Lady Denby.
"Eleanor has made me very happy, Lady Denby," he said, rising, but
still holding Lady Eleanor's hand.
"Oh!" said Lady Denby again. "What do you want me to say? That
you deserve her? No, thank you, I couldn't tell such an obvious fib.
What I'm going to say in the shape of congratulation is that she is
much too good for you."
"That is so," he said with a grim smile.
"You'll stay to dinner?" murmured Lady Eleanor. "You will stay,
Yorke?"
"Yes," he said, bending down and kissing her—"yes, thanks. But I
must go and change my things. I'm awfully dirty and seedy."
She went with him to the door, as if she begrudged every moment
that he should be out of her sight, and still smiled after he had left
her and had got half-way down the Gardens. Then suddenly he
stopped and looked round him with a ghostly look.
And yet it was only the face of Leslie that had flashed across his
mental vision. Only the face of the girl who had jilted him!
"My God! shall I never forget her?" he muttered, hoarsely. "Not even
now!"
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