# The Bartenstein Case/Chapter 2

CHAPTER II
MR. BARTENSTEIN'S ULTIMATUM
Millicent Oxenham, from her healthy bringing-up and active childhood, was a young woman who was not conscious of possessing nerves, and certainly knew nothing of fear. But when she heard that the man for whom she had an instinctive dislike, a loathing which she had never even tried to account for, was waiting to see her, she was suddenly conscious of feeling afraid for the first time in her life—afraid in a vague, discomposing way. She felt herself looking at the old butler with a strained face as she turned to him in surprise.
"Mr. Bartenstein! Waiting to see me, Basset?" she exclaimed.
"In the library, miss," replied Basset. "He's been waiting half an hour. He said he would await your return, and that I was not to mention his presence to my lady."
A sudden definite fear seized upon Millicent. She grasped Basset's arm unconsciously.
"Oh, Basset!" she said. "Is it—can it be that anything has happened to—to my father?" ​The butler shook his head.
"I shouldn't think so, miss," he said. "I feel sure that Mr. Bartenstein would have mentioned the matter to me, if that had been the case."
Millicent nodded her head, and turning away, went slowly across the hall to the library door. Old Basset stepped swiftly and noiselessly past her, and opened the door before she could lay hands on it. She stepped in, still wondering, still feeling that vague fear which she had never known before. The door closed behind her. She was alone with Mr. Bartenstein.
Whatever might have been the grounds on which Lieutenant Lauderdale and Millicent Oxenham founded their mutual dislike of Mr. Marcus Bartenstein, it was certainly not his personal appearance which would have made him disagreeable to most people. Looking at him casually most people would have considered him a very good-looking man. Presumably about five-and-forty years of age, he was extremely well-set-up, tall, well-proportioned, and evidently in the best of condition and health. There was very little of the Semitic in his face; his nose was, perhaps, a little curved; his lips, perhaps, a little thick; his jaws, perhaps, a little heavy. But he had a good forehead, powerful eyes, with the instinct of force and command in them, and he was groomed to perfection.
Just as perfect was his attire: his morning coat fitted his fine figure like a glove, his white waist​coat was irreproachable, his trousers a marvel, his boots a dream of brightness. There was nothing loud or obtrusive about Mr. Bartenstein: his watch-chain was a plain affair of gold; his black cravat, tied with unerring precision, was ornamented with a single pearl pin of great beauty. And all over him there was an air of quiet dignity and power. Millicent felt, as he bowed to her, that whatever else this man might be, self-control was with him a virtue.
Mr. Bartenstein probably noticed some signs of agitation in Millicent's face as she met him, and was quick to surmise the cause.
"Don't be alarmed, Miss Oxenham," he said quickly, as she shook hands with him. "There is nothing the matter—you perhaps thought I came from your father, as he has not been well lately. No—I saw him an hour ago and he was quite well."
He handed her to a chair and took one near her.
"I am sorry if you were startled at my call," he said. "It is, of course, quite unusual for me to call here in the morning. The truth is, I wanted to see you—alone."
Millicent continued to watch him. Inwardly she was speculating as to the reason of his visit. Something told her that he was there for no good reason, but she would have found it difficult to explain why.
"You are aware, Miss Oxenham," continued Mr. Bartenstein, in his smooth, even voice, ​"you are aware, of course, that your father, Sir Nicholas, and I have for some time been closely connected in business matters."
Millicent bowed her head without speaking. What, she wondered, was he going to tell her? Instinctively she thought of her father's recent alteration of habits and temper.
"Have you noticed, Miss Oxenham, that Sir Nicholas has of late seemed somewhat harassed, troubled in mind?" asked Mr. Bartenstein.
"Yes," answered Millicent.
"You have no idea of the cause of his altered behaviour?" he said.
"No," she replied. "I thought—feared he might have business troubles."
Mr. Bartenstein brought his chair nearer and spoke in a low voice.
"You feared rightly, Miss Oxenham," he said. "He has business troubles—and very serious ones."
She made no remark upon this, but continued to watch him.
"They are so serious," he went on, "that they are irreparable. The true fact of the case is—your father is ruined."
She uttered a sharp cry of pain—Mr. Bartenstein's face remained immovable. His eyes watched her steadily.
"Do you mean that he is hopelessly and irretrievably ruined?" she said.
"Hopelessly and irretrievably ruined," he ​repeated after her. "The right words, Miss Oxenham."
"I do not understand," she said dully. "I thought my father was a very rich man."
Mr. Bartenstein smiled. His face was not so pleasant when he smiled as it was when in repose. His smile made Millicent shudder.
"Your father has been a very rich man," he said. "But of late years he has had many serious losses. Recently he has been engaged in a tremendous transaction which he trusted would be successful and enable him to make those losses good. The transaction has not been successful. He is ruined."
Millicent sat knitting her trembling fingers. On one of them was a ring which John Lauderdale had placed there that morning—she held it now as if she might gain some strength from it.
"Does—does he know?" she asked, forcing herself to look at her visitor, though she knew that tears were in her eyes.
"He will know during the afternoon," said Mr. Bartenstein. "At present he is wondering what is to happen. About four o'clock he will know the truth. And then, Miss Oxenham, he will come to me for help. Because I am the only man who can save him."
Millicent listened in silence. A terrible fear that she had not heard all that Mr. Bartenstein had to say was creeping over her—her quick woman's wit was already suggesting things. She sat as if she were in some awful dream.
​"The only man who can save him," repeated Mr. Bartenstein with emphasis. "Mind that, Miss Oxenham. The only man out of all the men he knows—the one, only man!"
Millicent forced herself to speak. It seemed to her that everything was a long way off—that her voice sounded to her a long way off—that the happy morning, and the sunlight, and her lover were far, far off, indeed.
"Are you going to save my father?" she asked, with dry lips.
Mr. Bartenstein rose from his chair, walked across the room to the window, and coming back, took up his stand on the hearth-rug, and looked down at Millicent's bent head.
"Miss Oxenham," he said, "I will save your father. But only upon one condition."
"And that is———" she whispered.
"That you become my wife," he replied.
He saw the girl's fingers tighten, he heard her catch her breath in a despairing sob. But no change took place in his own face. He sat down again and went on speaking in the same even tones.
"Don't be alarmed," he said. "And listen to what I have to say before you speak. It seems immaterial to say just now what I feel for you, because that must be evident. I want you to consider other matters which are of moment. Remember, first of all, that I am a very rich man—I am worth at least three millions———"
​"Oh, don't, please!" she said entreatingly.
"It is a matter worth knowing," he said dryly. "Secondly, after my ten years in the House of Commons I have great influence with my party. In fact, it is a settled matter that I receive a peerage at the coming Dissolution. Then———"
Millicent wrung her hands.
"Please, Mr. Bartenstein!" she exclaimed.
He went on without heeding her.
"Thirdly," he said, "although you have never seen it, you are aware that my town house in Princes Gate is one of the most beautiful in London, and that it contains an almost priceless collection of art treasures. In addition to that I am negotiating for the purchase of Everstowe Park, one of the finest places in Buckinghamshire, while . . . "
Millicent's mood suddenly changed. She leapt to her feet and confronted Mr. Bartenstein with flushing face and blazing eyes.
"Mr. Bartenstein," she exclaimed, "you are insolent!"
"On the contrary, I am explicit," he said calmly. "I wish to inform you exactly of what it is I am offering you. In addition to all these good things, which no sensible woman would refuse, I offer to save your father and to provide against any chance of a future reverse in his fortunes. I also offer you the handsomest settlements."
Millicent, who had retreated towards the ​door, stared at him. In her eyes there was as much wonder as there was indignation.
"So you believe in buying a wife!" she said.
"Not at all; far from it," he answered. "I believe in an honourable contract, and I wished you to know what I have to offer you. As for the rest, I will be a good husband to you—you shall never have cause to regret marrying me. I am a man of my word."
Millicent looked at him steadily.
"Mr. Bartenstein," she said, "I will not marry you. I don't want to seem rude, or to hurt your feelings, but I would not marry you to save my life, even if it were ten thousand times dearer than it is (and it is dear now, for Jack's sake, she added in her heart). Understand me, I will not marry you!"
Mr. Bartenstein was watching her with apparently impassive eyes.
"I think you will," he said quietly.
"You think I shall!" she exclaimed angrily. "How dare———"
"I think you will," he repeated. "You will—for your mother's sake. Listen, Miss Oxenham. You do not appreciate what your father's ruin means. He will have literally nothing. This house will go—everything in it will go—you will all be paupers. Your mother is a hopeless invalid—are you going to allow her to spend the last days of her life in poverty, when it is at your option to see that she spends them in luxury? Think the position over."
​He picked up his hat, gloves, and walking-cane, and made as if to leave the room. Millicent drew away from the door and spoke again.
"Mr. Bartenstein," she said, "if you have any real affection for me, you will have some pity for me and mine. I love someone else—and—I am engaged to be married."
But Mr. Bartenstein made no sign.
"I am not surprised to hear that," he said. "It makes no difference to my offer. As I said before, think the position over, Miss Oxenham. This evening you will see your father, whom I shall have seen before then, but to whom I shall not say a word of the offer I have made you. I shall arrange to see him tomorrow at one o'clock. I shall call here to see you at noon. Upon your answer to me depends my final reply to him."
Then he went out of the room, and Millicent was left alone.