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diff --git a/25899-h/25899-h.htm b/25899-h/25899-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..161fa2a --- /dev/null +++ b/25899-h/25899-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9271 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Prodigal Father, by J. Storer Clouston. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr.biggest {width: 75%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + hr.large {width: 60%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + hr.medium {width: 45%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + + div.centered {text-align:center;} /*work around for IE centering with CSS problem part 1 */ + div.centered table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto; text-align:left;} /* work around for IE problem part 2 */ + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .blockquot {margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .blockquot2 {margin-left: 25%; margin-right: 25%;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + .add1em {margin-left: 2em;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + .right {margin-left: 25em;} + .right2 {margin-left: 30em;} + .right3 {margin-left: 33em;} + .gap {margin-top: 2.5em;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Prodigal Father, by J. Storer Clouston + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Prodigal Father + +Author: J. Storer Clouston + +Release Date: June 25, 2008 [EBook #25899] +Last updated: March 2, 2009 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRODIGAL FATHER *** + + + + +Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1> The<br /> + Prodigal Father</h1> + +<h3> BY</h3> + +<h2> J. STORER CLOUSTON</h2> + +<p class="center"> <span class="smcap">Author "The Lunatic at Large,"<br /> +"A County Family," etc.</span></p> + +<p class="gap"> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 127px;"> +<img src="images/i001.jpg" width="127" height="125" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p class="gap"> </p> + +<h3> New York</h3> +<h2>The Century Co.</h2> +<h3>1909</h3> + +<hr class="biggest" /> + +<p class="center">Copyright, 1909, by</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">J. Storer Clouston</span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Published, September, 1909</i></p> + +<p class="center">J. F. TAPLEY CO.</p> +<p class="center">NEW YORK</p> + +<hr class="biggest" /> + +<div class="blockquot2"><p>WITH GRATEFUL ACKNOWLEDGMENT TO AN UNKNOWN CORRESPONDENT WHO ONCE +MADE A CERTAIN SUGGESTION. IF HE READS THIS STORY HE PERHAPS WILL +REMEMBER</p> + +<p class="right"> +J. S. C.<br /> +</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="biggest" /> + +<h2>TABLE OF CONTENTS</h2> + +<div class="centered"> +<table border="0" width="50%" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="1" summary="CONTENTS"> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Introductory</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Part I</span></td> +<td align="right"> </td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter I</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_7">7</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter II</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter III</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter IV</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter V</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_42">42</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter VI</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_52">52</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter VII</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_61">61</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter VIII</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Part II</span></td> +<td align="right"> </td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter I</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_81">80</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter II</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_89">89</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter III</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_96">96</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter IV</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_102">102</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter V</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_112">112</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter VI</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_122">122</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter VII</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Part III</span></td> +<td align="right"> </td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter I</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_143">143</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter II</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_151">151</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter III</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter IV</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter V</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_168">168</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter VI</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_178">178</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter VII</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_187">187</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter VIII</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_194">194</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter IX</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_202">202</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter X</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_206">206</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter XI</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_211">211</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter XII</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_217">217</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter XIII</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_225">225</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Part IV</span></td> +<td align="right"> </td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter I</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_235">234</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter II</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_247">247</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter III</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_251">251</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter IV</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_260">260</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter V</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_268">268</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter VI</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_272">272</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter VII</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_282">282</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter XIII</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_293">293</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter IX</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_297">297</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Part V</span></td> +<td align="right"> </td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter I</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_301">300</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter II</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_313">313</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter III</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_318">318</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter IV</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_324">324</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter V</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_330">330</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter VI</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_339">339</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="add1em"><span class="smcap">Chapter VII</span></span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_350">350</a></td></tr> + +</table></div> + +<hr class="biggest" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1-2]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_PRODIGAL_FATHER" id="THE_PRODIGAL_FATHER"></a>THE PRODIGAL FATHER </h2> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> +<h3><a name="INTRODUCTORY" id="INTRODUCTORY"></a>INTRODUCTORY</h3> + +<p>In one of the cable tramway cars which, at a reverential pace, +perambulate the city of Edinburgh, two citizens conversed. The winds +without blew gustily and filled the air with sounds like a stream in +flood, the traffic clattered noisily over the causeway, the car itself +thrummed and rattled; but the voices of the two were hushed. Said the +one—</p> + +<p>"It's the most extraordinary thing ever I heard of."</p> + +<p>"It's all that," said the other; "in fact, it's pairfectly +incomprehensible."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Walkingshaw of all people!"</p> + +<p>"Of Walkingshaw and Gilliflower—that's the thing that fair takes my +breath away!" added the other; as though the firm was an even surer +guarantee of respectability than the honored name of the senior partner.</p> + +<p>They shook their heads ominously. It was clear this was no ordinary +portent they were discussing. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p><p>"Do you think has he taken to—?"</p> + +<p>The first citizen finished his question by a crooking of his upturned +little finger, one of those many delicate symbols by which the north +Briton indicates a failing not uncommon in his climate.</p> + +<p>"It's a curious thing," replied his friend, "that I haven't heard that +given as an explanation. Of course he's not a teetotaler—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, none ever insinuated that," put in the other, with the air of one +who desired to do justice even to the most erring.</p> + +<p>"On the other hand, he's ay had the name of being one of the most +respectable men in the town, just an example, they've always told me."</p> + +<p>"I knew him fine myself, in a business way, and that's just the +expression I'd have used—an Example."</p> + +<p>"Respected by all."</p> + +<p>"An elder, and what not."</p> + +<p>"A fine business, he has."</p> + +<p>"His daughter married a Ramornie of Pettigrew."</p> + +<p>They shook their heads again, if possible more gravely than before.</p> + +<p>"He must be going off his head."</p> + +<p>"He must be gone, I'd say." </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p><p>"Yon speech he made was an outrage to common sense and decency!"</p> + +<p>"And about his son's marriage!"</p> + +<p>"That's Andrew Walkingshaw—his partner?"</p> + +<p>"Aye."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you've heard the story, then? I wonder is it true?"</p> + +<p>"I had it on the best authority."</p> + +<p>They pursed their lips solemnly.</p> + +<p>"The man's mad!"</p> + +<p>"But think of letting him loose to make a public exhibition of himself! +It's an awfu' end to a respected career—in fact, it's positively +discouraging."</p> + +<p>"You're right: you're right. If as respectable a liver as him ends that +way—well, well!"</p> + +<p>In this strain and with such comments (exceedingly natural under the +circumstances) did his fellow-citizens discuss the remarkable thing that +befell Mr. Walkingshaw. And yet they could see only the outward symptoms +or manifestations of this thing. Now that the full circumstances are +made public, it will be generally conceded that few well-authenticated +occurrences have ever at first sight seemed less probable. This has +actually been advanced <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>as an argument for their suppression; but since +enough has already leaked out to whet the public curiosity, and indeed +to lead to damaging misconceptions in a city so unused to phenomena +other than meteorological, it is considered wisest that the unvarnished +facts should be placed in the hands of a scrupulous editor and allowed +to speak for themselves. </p> + +<hr class="biggest" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7-8]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="PART_I" id="PART_I"></a>PART I </h2> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE PRODIGAL FATHER</h2> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h3> + +<p>At a certain windy corner in the famous city of Edinburgh, a number of +brass plates were affixed to the framework of a door. On the largest and +brightest of them appeared the legend "Walkingshaw & Gilliflower, W.S."; +and on no other sheet of brass in Scotland were more respectable names +inscribed. For the benefit of the Sassenach and other foreigners, it may +be explained that "W.S." is a condensation of "Writers to the Signet"—a +species of beatified solicitor holding a position so esteemed, so +enviable, and so intensely reputable that the only scandal previously +whispered in connection with a member of this class proved innocently +explicable upon the discovery that he was affianced to the lady's aunt. +The building in which the firm had their office formed one end of an +austere range of dark stone houses overlooking a street paved with cubes +of granite and confronted by a precisely similar line of houses on the +farther <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>side. The whole sloped somewhat steeply down a hill, up which +and down which a stimulating breeze careered and eddied during three +hundred days of the year. Had you thrust your head out of the office +windows and looked down the street, you could have seen, generally +beneath a gray sky and through a haze of smoke, an inspiring glimpse of +distant sea with yet more distant hills beyond. But Mr. Walkingshaw had +no time for looking gratis out of his window to see unprofitable views. +The gray street had been the background to nearly fifty years of +dignified labor on behalf of the most respectable clients.</p> + +<p>His full name was James Heriot Walkingshaw, but it had been early +recognized that "James" was too brief a designation and "Jimmie" too +trivial for one of his parts and presence, and so he was universally +known as Heriot Walkingshaw. His antecedents were as respectable as his +clients. One of his eight great-great-grandfathers owned a landed estate +in the county of Peebles, one of his maternal uncles was a theological +professor in the University of Aberdeen, and his father before him had +been a W.S. Young Heriot himself was brought up on porridge, the tawse, +the Shorter Catechism, and an allowance of five shillings a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>week. His +parents were both prudent and pious. Throughout such portions of the +Sabbath as they did not spend with their offspring in their pew, they +kept them indoors behind drawn blinds. His mother kissed young Heriot +seldom and severely (with a cold smack like a hailstone), and never +permitted him to remain ten minutes in the same room with a housemaid +unchaperoned. His father never allowed him to sleep under more than two +blankets, and locked the front door at nine o'clock in summer and six in +winter.</p> + +<p>The supreme merit of this system in insuring the survival of the fittest +was seen in its results. Heriot's elder brother passed away at the age +of two in the course of a severe winter. Clearly he would never have +been a credit to oatmeal. His younger brother broke loose at nineteen, +pained his relatives exceedingly, and retired to a distant colony where +the standard was lower. His name was never mentioned till at his decease +it was found that he had left £30,000 to be divided among the survivors +of the ordeal. And finally, here was Heriot, a credit to his parents, +his porridge, and his Catechism—in a word, an Example.</p> + +<p>One damp February morning, Mr. Walkingshaw, accompanied as usual by his +eldest son, set forth <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>from his decorous residence. It was one of a +circle of stately houses, broken in two or three places to permit the +sedatest kind of street to enter. The grave dignity of these mansions +was accentuated by the straight, deep-hewn furrows at the junctions of +the vast rectangular stones, and by the pediment and fluted pillars +which every here and there gave one of them the appearance of a Greek +temple dedicated to some chaste goddess. In the midst, a round, +railed-in garden was full of lofty trees, very upright and dark, like +monuments to the distinguished inhabitants.</p> + +<p>Just as Mr. Walkingshaw and his son had got down the steps and reached +the pavement, the door opened again behind them and a figure appeared +which seemed to light the dull February morning with a ray of something +like sunshine. Her dress was a warm golden brown; her face clear-skinned +and fresh-colored, with bright eyes, a straight little nose, and, at +that moment, eager, parted lips; her hair a coil of curling gold; her +age nineteen.</p> + +<p>"Father!" she cried, "you've forgotten your muffler!"</p> + +<p>"Tut, tuts," muttered Mr. Walkingshaw.</p> + +<p>He stopped and let her wind the muffler round <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>his neck, while his son +regarded the performance with a curiously captious eye.</p> + +<p>"Thanks, Jean," said Mr. Walkingshaw.</p> + +<p>He threw the girl a brief nod, and the two resumed their walk. Jean +stood for a minute on the steps with a smile half formed upon her lips, +as though she were prepared to wave them a farewell; but neither man +looked back, and the smile died away, the door closed behind her, and +the morning became as raw as ever.</p> + +<p>For a few minutes father and son walked together in silence. In Andrew's +eye lurked the same suggestion of criticism, and in his parent's some +consciousness of this and not a little consequent irritation. They were +the same height—just under six feet—and there was a decided +resemblance between Mr. Walkingshaw's portly gait and Andrew's dignified +carriage, but otherwise they were not much alike. The father had a large +and open countenance, very ruddy and fringed with the most respectable +white whiskers; and something ample in his voice and eye and manner +accorded with it admirably. Andrew's face also was full, but rather in +places than comprehensively. The chief places were his cheeks and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>upper +lip. This lip was perhaps his most striking characteristic. It was both +full and long, meeting his cheeks at either end in a little dimple, and +protruding above the lower lip. Beneath it his chin sloped sharply back +and then abruptly shot forward again in the shape of a round aggressive +little ball. His eye was cold and gray, his hair dark, his age +six-and-thirty, and for the last few years he had been his father's +partner. He was the first to break the silence.</p> + +<p>"Why you don't see a respectable doctor, I can't imagine," said he.</p> + +<p>"I went to Mackenzie. I went to Grant," replied Mr. Walkingshaw shortly. +"A lot of good either of them did my gout!"</p> + +<p>"Gout!" said Andrew. "And have you exchanged that for anything better? +You ought to have stayed in bed to-day. I wonder you ventured out in the +state that man's got you into."</p> + +<p>The words might conceivably be taken to represent a very natural filial +anxiety, but the voice was reminiscent of the consolation of Job. Mr. +Walkingshaw had always been able to inspire his children with a respect +so profound that it was a little difficult at times to distinguish it +from awe. Even Andrew when he became his partner had not lost <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>the +attitude. But to-day his father accepted the rebuke without a murmur. In +a moment the hard Scotch voice smote again—</p> + +<p>"The idea of a man in your position going to an infernal quack like +Professor Cyrus! Professor? Humph! The man's killing you."</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw's ruddy face grew redder. The standard of common sense +is high in Scotland; the humiliation in being taken in profound; the +respect for the professional orthodoxies intense. And he had been the +protagonist of everything sensible, orthodox, and prudent! He felt like +a constable caught in the pantry.</p> + +<p>"Cyrus is a man of remarkable—ah—ideas. He assures me I shall see the +beneficial effects soon. Patience—patience; that is what he says. +I—ah—have probably only caught a little chill. I believe in Cyrus, +Andrew, I believe in him."</p> + +<p>Andrew received the explanation with outward respect. His father's eye +had become formidable; but in silence his own expressed his opinion of +this paltry defense. Presently he inquired—</p> + +<p>"Would you like people to know who you're going to?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw started.</p> + +<p>"I'll trouble other folks to mind their own business," <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>he said sharply; +yet he cast an uncomfortable glance at his son.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm not anxious they should know my family's escapades," said +Andrew reassuringly.</p> + +<p>But his gray eye had now a triumphant gleam, and his father realized he +had no case left to go before the court. If people were to know—well, +he would certainly be a less shining example. Mr. Walkingshaw of +Walkingshaw and Gilliflower in the hands of a quack doctor! It would +sound awful bad—awful bad. Little did he dream what people would be +saying of that reputable Writer to the Signet three months later.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>Business happened to be slack that afternoon, and at the early hour of +four o'clock Mr. Walkingshaw resumed his overcoat and muffler. As Mr. +Thomieson, his confidential clerk, decorously tucked the scarf beneath +the velvet collar, he offered a word or two of respectful sympathy.</p> + +<p>"Far the wisest thing to go home, sir. But will you not take a cab? It's +an awful like day to be out with a chill on ye."</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw perceived his junior partner gazing on him in severe +silence, and defiantly decided to walk. Yet as he paced homewards he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>could not but admit, in the unquiet recesses of his own mind, that it +certainly was an odd sort of chill. He felt—well, he found it hard to +tell exactly how he felt—rather as though he had swallowed some ounces +of quicksilver which kept flashing and running about inside him with +every step he took. Suppose Cyrus's wonderful new system were actually +to prove dangerous to the constitution, possibly even to the life, of +his august, confiding patron? You could not always know your luck, +however deserving you might be. The tower of Siloam fell both upon the +righteous and the unrighteous. What would people say if Professor Cyrus +metaphorically fell on him? Heriot Walkingshaw had more at stake than +mere existence. He had a character to lose.</p> + +<p>The sight of his house, so dignified and so permanent, soothed him a +little. As he hung his coat upon the substantial rack in the dark and +spacious hall, he was soothed still further. Ascending to his +drawing-room, the thick carpet underfoot completed his tranquillity. +Surely nothing disconcerting could happen to a man who owned such a +house as this. But alas! regrettable episodes have a habit, like migrant +birds, of arriving in companies. </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h3> + +<p>Mrs. Walkingshaw had been dead for many years, and in her stead Heriot's +maiden sister, a thin, elderly lady of exemplary views and conduct, +ruled her household. As her brother ruled her, he found the arrangement +worked admirably.</p> + +<p>"Are you not coming out with me in the carriage?" said she to her niece +that afternoon.</p> + +<p>Jean excused herself. She had letters she positively must write; and so +the two tall horses pranced off, bearing in the very large and very +shiny carriage only the exemplary lady. As she heard them clatter off +over the resounding granite, Jean gave a little skip. Her eyes danced +too and her lips smiled mysteriously. She ran upstairs like a whirlwind +and had the drawing-room door shut behind her before she paused. Only +then did she seem to feel safely alone and not in the carriage shopping. +The room was very long, and very wide, and immensely high, with three +tall windows down one side and substantial furniture purchased in the +heyday of the Victorian epoch. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span>The slim, fair-haired figure was quite +lost in the space considered suitable by an early nineteenth-century +architect for the accommodation of a Scottish lady; and the fire made +much more of a display, glowing in the gloom of that raw February +afternoon.</p> + +<p>Jean sat by a little writing-table and took up a pen. Then she waited, +evidently for ideas to come. Ten minutes later they arrived. The door +was softly opened, a voice respectably subdued announced the name of +"Mr. Vernon," and the duties of the pen were over.</p> + +<p>The gentleman who entered made a remarkable contrast to the sedate +upholstery. He had a mop of brown hair upon a large and well-shaped +head, a broad face with rugged, striking features, very bright blue +eyes, a dashing cavalier mustache, and a most engaging smile. His +clothes were light of hue and very loose, his figure was of medium +height and strongly built, his collar wide open at the neck, and his tie +a large silk butterfly of an artistic shade of brown. Altogether he was +a most improbable person to find calling upon a daughter of Mr. Heriot +Walkingshaw.</p> + +<p>He gave Jean's hand the grasp of a friend, but his eyes looked on her +with a more than friendly <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>light in them. When he spoke, his voice was +as pleasant as his smile, and his accents were those of that portion of +Britain not yet entirely occupied by the victors of Bannockburn.</p> + +<p>"It's very good of you to stay in," he said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I wasn't going out in any case," said Jean demurely.</p> + +<p>She seated herself in one corner of the sofa, and the young man, after +hesitating for an instant between a seat by her side and a chair close +by, and failing to catch her eye to guide him, chose the chair, and for +the moment looked unhappy.</p> + +<p>"I've come to say good-by," he began.</p> + +<p>She looked up quickly.</p> + +<p>"Are you going away?"</p> + +<p>He nodded his brown mop.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'm off to London again."</p> + +<p>"For good?"</p> + +<p>"I hope so; anyhow, it can't be for much worse than I've done here."</p> + +<p>"Haven't your pictures been—been appreciated here?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"They haven't been sold," he said, with a short laugh.</p> + +<p>"What a shame! Oh, Mr. Vernon, I do think people might have had better +taste." </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p><p>"So do I," he smiled, "but they haven't had. I've made nothing here but +friends."</p> + +<p>He had a musical voice, rather deep, and very readily expressive of what +he strongly felt. His last sentence rang in Jean's ears like a +declaration of love. Her eyes fell and her color rose.</p> + +<p>"We have all been very glad to see you."</p> + +<p>He shook his head; his eyes fastened on her all the time.</p> + +<p>"No, you haven't."</p> + +<p>She looked up, but meeting that devouring gaze, looked down again.</p> + +<p>"Not all of you," he added. "Your father disapproves of me, your eldest +brother detests me, and your aunt distrusts me. It's only you and Frank +who have been my friends."</p> + +<p>Frank was her soldier brother, and Jean adored him. She thought she +could never care for any one but a soldier, till she encountered art and +Lucas Vernon.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Frank certainly does like you very much indeed," she said warmly.</p> + +<p>"Don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she answered firmly.</p> + +<p>He smiled and bent towards her.</p> + +<p>"Your hand on it!" </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p><p>She held out her hand, and he took it and kept it.</p> + +<p>(At that moment Mr. Walkingshaw was opening his front door.)</p> + +<p>For a minute they sat in silence, and then she tried gently to draw the +hand away.</p> + +<p>"Let me keep it for a little!" he pleaded. "I'm going away. I shan't +hold it again for Heaven knows how long."</p> + +<p>His voice was so caressing that she ceased to grudge him five small +fingers.</p> + +<p>(Mr. Walkingshaw had removed his muffler and was hanging up his coat.)</p> + +<p>"Are you at all sorry I'm going?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," murmured Jean, "Frank and I—we'll both miss you."</p> + +<p>The artist murmured too, but very indistinctly. The idea he expressed +thus inadequately was, "Hang Frank!" But she heard the next word too +plainly for her self-possession.</p> + +<p>"Jean!"</p> + +<p>(Mr. Walkingshaw was now ascending his well-carpeted staircase.)</p> + +<p>She gave him one glance which she meant for reproof; but when he saw her +eyes, so loving and a little moist, he covered the short space between +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>them with one movement, and was on his knees before her.</p> + +<p>"Do you love me?" he whispered.</p> + +<p>Her head bent over his, and she answered very faintly something like +"Yes."</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw entered his drawing-room.</p> + +<p>For a moment there was a painful pause. Jean's face had turned a +becoming shade of crimson, and the artist was on his feet. Naturally the +woman spoke first.</p> + +<p>"I—I didn't expect you back so soon, father."</p> + +<p>"So I perceive," said Mr. Walkingshaw.</p> + +<p>The young man turned to him with creditable composure.</p> + +<p>"One can hardly judge of the effect in this light," said he.</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw had heard of people becoming insane under the stress of +a sudden shock, and he wondered uneasily whether this misfortune had +befallen Lucas Vernon or himself. The artist perceived his success, and +hope began to rise afresh. He cocked his head professionally on one side +and examined the confounded girl.</p> + +<p>"We must try the pose in my studio."</p> + +<p>Jean also saw the dawn of hope. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p><p>"May I inquire what you are talking about?" demanded her father.</p> + +<p>"Miss Walkingshaw has promised to sit to me for her portrait," explained +the artist. "We were trying one or two positions."</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw breathed somewhat heavily, but said nothing. Jean's +color began to subside.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Vernon was arranging my hands," she contributed towards his +enlightenment.</p> + +<p>Mr. Vernon was now gazing on her in the attitude which he had learnt +from plays and poems conveyed to the laity the best conception of +artistic fervor.</p> + +<p>"The head a little more to the right!" he exclaimed. "The hands crossed! +A smile, please! Now, sir, how do you like that?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw ignored the question altogether and addressed his +daughter.</p> + +<p>"If Mr. Vernon can give any reasons why he should paint your portrait, I +think he had better give them to me before the matter goes further."</p> + +<p>His formidable eye supplied the addendum, "And you leave the room!"</p> + +<p>She obeyed, and the painter was left with this singularly favorable +opportunity of obtaining a commission at last. </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h3> + +<p>"Well, sir?" said Mr. Walkingshaw.</p> + +<p>Lucas was unused to the subtleties of diplomacy, but it seemed to him an +evident case for tact.</p> + +<p>"What do you think about it yourself?" he began cautiously.</p> + +<p>"I think," replied the W.S., "that you'd be better back in England."</p> + +<p>His eye again spoke for him, and this time it said, "There is no further +use in attempting to deceive me."</p> + +<p>The artist took the hint. His strong, pleasant face became a mirror +reflecting the very truth; his blue eyes were filled with a light +brighter even than the inspiration of art; his mellow voice burst out +abruptly—</p> + +<p>"I love Jean!"</p> + +<p>The effect was rather like discharging a cannon and bringing down a +scrap of plaster.</p> + +<p>"Oh, indeed," said Mr. Walkingshaw. "You mean my daughter?"</p> + +<p>"I should think I do!" </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p><p>"I merely asked for information, Mr. Vernon."</p> + +<p>"Then I can guarantee your information!" Lucas smiled frankly, but he +might as well have smiled at the hat-rack in the hall. "I'm quite aware +you don't think me good enough for her—and I agree with you. But if it +comes to that, who is? You may say my name's neither Turner nor Rubens; +you may think it's like my dashed impudence asking you to let me make a +short cut to heaven across your hearth—"</p> + +<p>It was at this point that Mr. Walkingshaw discharged his ordnance.</p> + +<p>"What is your income?" he inquired coldly.</p> + +<p>His aim was more accurate. The artist descended to earth with a thud.</p> + +<p>"My <i>income</i>?" he gasped.</p> + +<p>"Your income," repeated the bombardier.</p> + +<p>The artist ran his fingers convulsively through his hair.</p> + +<p>"Now, what the deuce should I put it at?"</p> + +<p>"An approximately correct figure," suggested Mr. Walkingshaw.</p> + +<p>"To tell you the truth, I haven't the least idea."</p> + +<p>"A thousand?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, good God, no!"</p> + +<p>"A hundred?" </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p><p>"Oh, more than that."</p> + +<p>"Can't you suggest a figure yourself?"</p> + +<p>"Well, let's say that in a good year I make anything up to three or four +hundred pounds, and in a bad year anything down to fifty or sixty."</p> + +<p>"We'll say that if you like. Do you expect any legacies to fall in to +you—anything of that kind?"</p> + +<p>"Unfortunately I don't."</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw regarded him with contemptuous severity.</p> + +<p>"Then you propose to marry my daughter on maybe fifty or sixty pounds a +year?"</p> + +<p>"I told you that was in a bad year," protested the artist.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, but I don't want any of your fluctuating incomes for my +girl. I don't care if you earned ten thousand pounds this year. So long +as you can't guarantee that to last, you're no better than a +speculator—a hand-to-mouth, don't-know-where-you-are-to-morrow sort of +person. Now, that sort of thing <i>won't do</i>, Mr. Vernon. Before you next +think of marrying a girl in my daughter's position, let me give you this +bit of advice: learn to paint your pictures on some kind of proper +business principles. If you do them, say, once a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>month and sell them at +a standard price—just as other folks have to manufacture and sell their +goods—you'll not find yourself in the same ridiculous position you're +in at this moment."</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw rose to indicate that the interview was at an end; but +the artist's endurance ended first.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Walkingshaw! Did you ever <i>make</i> anything in your life?"</p> + +<p>The W.S. stared at him.</p> + +<p>"I have made most of what I possess, sir."</p> + +<p>"Pooh! You're talking of money. Does your mind never run on anything but +money? I mean, have you ever made a hat or a shoe, or a book or a +picture, or even a cheese? Have you ever actually turned out anything +that was the least use or pleasure to anybody?"</p> + +<p>Vernon's blue eyes were bent upon him in such an extraordinarily intense +and flashing manner that Mr. Walkingshaw found himself compelled to +answer.</p> + +<p>"That kind of thing is—ah—not in my line."</p> + +<p>"Then," burst forth the artist, "you can no more judge of my work than a +toasting-fork can judge of a steam engine. The woman who cooks your +dinner understands more than you do. She <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>knows better than to think it +costs no more time and trouble to cook an omelette than boil an egg. A +picture a month, and the same price for each! Confound it, Mr. +Walkingshaw, you make me ashamed of you!"</p> + +<p>"Do you imagine, sir, that that affects me?"</p> + +<p>"If I were you, I'd prefer my son-in-law to respect me."</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw positively jumped.</p> + +<p>"You mean to—er—"</p> + +<p>"Marry her, whether you like it or not! I'm in love—and she loves me! +There's not the least use trying to explain to you what love means. It +would be like trying to explain a cigar to a chicken. You're too +respectable. You can't understand."</p> + +<p>The tirade ceased abruptly, and the young man smiled again upon the +petrified Writer to the Signet.</p> + +<p>"I am going back to London to-night. Just give me a year or two, Mr. +Walkingshaw. I'll make an income for her."</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw regained his senses.</p> + +<p>"You will never be admitted inside this house in your life again, sir. +You will never marry <i>my</i> daughter; and mind you, you needn't flatter +yourself she will correspond with you or anything of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>that kind. My +children have been decently brought up. What I say is done; and what I +say shan't be done, is not done!"</p> + +<p>He had recovered his formidableness now, and the artist's face fell. For +a moment he looked gloomily at his father-in-law elect, and then he +turned for the door.</p> + +<p>"We shall see," he said.</p> + +<p>"You shall not see <i>her</i> again," retorted Mr. Walkingshaw.</p> + +<p>The door slammed behind art and love and impracticability, and he stood +in his vast drawing-room alone. </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h3> + +<p>It is a pleasant and an edifying thing to contrast the difference +between the fates of the reputable and the Bohemian even in the lists of +love. Clearly these matters are managed by some scrupulously equitable +power. One hesitates to dub it Providence for fear of seeming +sentimental, but one may safely describe it as something almost as wise +and decidedly more respectable. Here was Lucas Vernon, without a settled +income or any very coherent notion of how to make one, dismissed the +house of the girl he was foolish enough to love. There, on the other +hand, was Andrew Walkingshaw, who had first devoted himself to amassing +and investing a handsome competence, and then, without any further +difficulty to speak of, had selected and secured one of the most +charming girls imaginable. In every respect but one he had chosen +obviously well. She was fair to see, and hence very gratifying to be +seen with; she was quite young, and therefore amenable and not too +sophisticated; and she came of so excellent and ancient a family that +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>it was a pleasure merely to mention the name of his prospective +father-in-law to his envious acquaintances. Archibald Berstoun, Esq., of +that ilk, was the style in which that gentleman preferred to have +correspondence addressed to him, accepting Berstoun of Berstoun as a +less satisfactory alternative, and answering very briefly letters to +plain Archibald Berstoun, Esq.</p> + +<p>The only drawback to Ellen Berstoun was her father's unfortunate +financial position. Andrew had to take her without a penny; but then, on +the other hand, he might not have got her at all had her parents the +wherewithal to display her charms in London ballrooms. Also, Archibald +of that ilk might have looked for a showier mate for her under more +prosperous circumstances. As it was, her parents spent a strenuous +fortnight in persuading her to accept so excellent an opportunity of +reducing their supply of marriageable daughters to the more reasonable +number of five, and the approval of their creditors was practically +unanimous.</p> + +<p>They had been engaged for a month, when, upon that same afternoon, she +arrived on a short visit to the Walkingshaw's house. Andrew would have +met her at the station had her train arrived only twenty minutes later, +but it was one of the most <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>admirable features in his character that he +made a point of never on any pretext leaving the office before the hour +had struck. Frank, however, showed remarkable alacrity in offering +himself as substitute. So zealous and obliging a brother was he that he +started for the station with half an hour to spare, and whiled away a +portion of that time in purchasing a bouquet of flowers and a very +ornamental box of chocolates.</p> + +<p>Holding the chocolate-box and his umbrella under one arm and the bouquet +in his other hand, this best of brothers paced that eligible promenade, +the platform of the Haymarket station. People, especially women, glanced +at him with approval as the erect, military young figure passed and +repassed on his vigil, marching as though on parade. He was twenty-five, +bronzed of skin, well-featured, trimly mustached, modest and yet gallant +of mien, attired in an overcoat drawn in at the waist and a hat +becomingly cocked a little towards his left ear—in a word, a credit to +that distinguished corps, the Cromarty Highlanders. At present they were +in India, and he was home on furlough.</p> + +<p>Sometimes his clear young eyes looked disconsolately into space, as +though the saddest thoughts afflicted him; and then they would brighten +with a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span>sudden excitement. As these brightenings almost invariably +coincided with the first rumbling of a train far down the line that +glimmered beneath red lamps and green, leading from the north out of the +gathered dusk, it seemed as though the cheering prospect came from +thence. This probability would appear to be increased by the +disappearance of the excitement when the train proved to come from some +locality of no interest whatsoever. An observant female in glasses and a +golf cape, who entertained herself by furtively studying this +agreeable-looking stranger, smiled knowingly at each of these +manifestations: <i>she</i> knew whom he was waiting for, even without the +palpable evidence of the bouquet and chocolate-box, and the only thing +that puzzled her was why he should have these very mournful lapses. A +secret grief seemed inappropriate both to the gentleman and the obvious +situation. But how could she guess that she was merely witnessing an +accentuated variety of the pleasure with which any good brother looks +forward to meeting his future sister-in-law at the end of a cold +journey?</p> + +<p>"Yon's her noo," said a porter to whom the young officer addressed a +question for the fourteenth time. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p><p>The north line runs for a long way very straight just there, and Frank +could see the two round glows far off in the darkness grow larger and +larger, brighter and brighter, with the furnace-lit smoke streaming ever +more brilliantly above, till the shape of a great engine started out, +thundering close upon him. And then the observant female was gratified +by a glimpse of a slender girl, rather tall, smiling very kindly as the +interesting unknown handed her down from her carriage and placed the +flowers in her small gray glove. Her hair was dark; she wore handsome +furs; she left the entire charge of her luggage to her escort, like a +lady accustomed to be waited on; she moved down the platform with a +graceful air of distinction, and as she passed close by, the observant +female's heart was won by the sweet and innocent expression on her face. +She thought them one of the nicest-looking couples she had ever seen.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, the man whose virtues had earned this charming girl, and +whose high position could command the services of a Highland subaltern +to do his station work for him, was dictating a letter to his +typewriter.</p> + +<p>But when Andrew sat down to dinner beside the lady of his choice, and +felt that at last he could <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>conscientiously lay aside the serious +business of life for a little dalliance with the fruits of his industry, +it was pleasant to see with what happy mingling of pride and calm he +accepted his good fortune. He conveyed that suggestion of having put the +lady in his pocket from the moment she whispered "Yes," and kept her +there among his keys as a valued, yet not foolishly over-valued, +possession, which is so virile a characteristic of the thoroughly +successful man. Now he was taking her out to have a look at her, and +incidentally—as it were, unconsciously—exhibit his trophy to the +company. As for Ellen Berstoun, she looked so kind, so delicately +radiant, so gently bred, and so anxious to give pleasure, that she made +just the contrast to her dominating betrothed that sensible people +believe in. Here, they would tell you, was a match made in a more +practicable place than heaven.</p> + +<p>The rest of the company at dinner consisted of Mr. Walkingshaw, +evidently proud of his future daughter-in-law, yet singularly silent and +abstracted; Miss Walkingshaw, very erect at the end of the table; Jean, +very downcast, poor girl (yet did she not deserve to be?); Frank, +looking for some reason considerably less happy than when he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>handed +Miss Berstoun out of her carriage; and Mrs. Dunbar. Madge Dunbar was a +second cousin, and the widow of Captain Dunbar of Hammersmith's Horse, +who was killed at Paardeberg. She was left with no children, a very +small income, and a number of relatives occupying excellent stations in +life. With one or other of these she generally stayed, but latterly had +shown a decided preference for the hospitality of Mr. Walkingshaw. In +fact, she had already been with them for three months, and as Mr. +Walkingshaw was always very emphatic in his refusals to let her think of +leaving, and remarkably gracious on every occasion on which they were +seen in company, while his sister declared her to be one of the best +women she knew, acquaintances had begun to exchange whispers. She was +forty-five, full-figured, though not yet precisely stout, dark-eyed, and +irreproachably dressed. She was also irreproachably diplomatic.</p> + +<p>Champagne was drunk in honor of Miss Berstoun, and as being the beverage +most suitable to her pedigree (though, as a matter of fact, she had only +tasted it twice before, since Archibald of that ilk confined himself to +whisky, and his wife to dandelion porter). As the butler passed behind +Mr. Walkingshaw's chair, his master arrested him <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>by pointing to his +glass. The vigilant Andrew bent forward in his seat.</p> + +<p>"Are you giving the system up?" he inquired, with his cross-examining +smile.</p> + +<p>"I feel that a glass of wine would do me good to-night," his father +replied with dignity.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm so glad to see you enjoying yourself again, Heriot!" smiled +Mrs. Dunbar.</p> + +<p>"Thank you. Thank you, Madge," said he, and made a little courteously +old-fashioned indication that he drank to her health.</p> + +<p>The lady in a sprightly fashion returned his toast, and the junior +partner frowned. He disapproved of Mrs. Dunbar, he strongly suspected +her of ulterior designs, and he regarded the adoption of Christian names +by second cousins as superfluous, and in the circumstances a little +indecorous. His long upper lip grew longer as he addressed his relative.</p> + +<p>"I was under the impression it was you who encouraged him to go in for +this so-called system."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but it's possible to overdo everything, you know," said the lady, +with a smile whose sweetness he inwardly decided to be compounded of +some base imitation of sugar. "Don't you agree with me, Heriot?" </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p><p>"Absolutely," pronounced her host, with emphasis.</p> + +<p>So passionate a lover naturally regretted parting even for a moment from +his betrothed, yet under the circumstances Andrew felt decidedly +relieved when the ladies left the room, and the three Walkingshaw men +drew together at the end of the table. His father passed the port to his +sons and then helped himself. Andrew frowned again: he believed in never +neglecting an opportunity for salutary criticism.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you're going to take port too?"</p> + +<p>"I am," said Mr. Walkingshaw, and drinking his glass straight off, +filled it afresh.</p> + +<p>Andrew drew down the corners of his lips, raised his eyebrows, and +glanced across at his brother; but Frank was staring abstractedly at the +tablecloth.</p> + +<p>The second glass seemed to revive their father. He smacked his lips over +it with something of his old gusto, threw out his chest, frowned +formidably, yet with a certain complacency, and said—</p> + +<p>"I've had to perform an unpleasant duty this afternoon, Andrew."</p> + +<p>Andrew pricked up his ears and looked sternly expectant. Yet on neither +of them did the idea of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>an unpleasant duty seem to have a saddening +effect.</p> + +<p>"That fellow Vernon has been making love to Jean. I ordered him out of +the house. He's off to London again, I'm thankful to say."</p> + +<p>"Upon my word!" said Andrew.</p> + +<p>He looked as though he had been told of the attempted assassination of +the President of the Court of Session. But on Frank the news produced +quite a different effect. He started out of his reverie and exclaimed—</p> + +<p>"You ordered him out? Poor Jean!"</p> + +<p>The two older and wiser men turned upon him together.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," said his father, "I did order him out. It would have been +'poor Jean' if I hadn't."</p> + +<p>"I'd have kicked him downstairs!" said Andrew.</p> + +<p>"You'd have had a devilish thin time if you'd tried," retorted his +brother. "Vernon could take you across his knee. He's a good fellow—a +deuced good fellow; he'd have made Jean a deuced good husband. Kick him +downstairs? By Gad, you'd have squealed when the kicking began!"</p> + +<p>He addressed himself entirely to his brother, though he had done no more +than approve of the exiling of Lucas, and he spoke with a curious +bitterness. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>Mr. Walkingshaw struck the table with his fist, not +passionately, in any disorder of mind, but sternly and effectively.</p> + +<p>"Hold your tongue," he said, and kept his eyes on him to see that he +held it.</p> + +<p>Frank rose.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon," he said to his father, and, not looking again at +his brother, walked out of the room.</p> + +<p>The two wiser heads, being then left undisturbed by the follies of +youth, discussed at length and in complete accord the outrageous episode +of the afternoon. </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h3> + +<p>Frank strode hurriedly across the hall, flung into the library, and +there relieved his feelings by a few crisp expletives. Gloom succeeded +anger, but after a few minutes youth began to prevail even over these +high emotions. He turned up the light, adjusted his tie and smoothed his +hair before the mirror over the mantelpiece, and ran upstairs to the +drawing-room. Outside the door he paused, looking now like the expectant +watcher on the platform. Faintly he heard Ellen Berstoun's voice, and +the same look came into his eyes as when he caught the distant roaring +of the train. He straightened his neck, banished all expression from his +face as a soldier should, and entered the room.</p> + +<p>It is generally conceded by such as have enjoyed the privilege of +sitting in a drawing-room waiting for the gentlemen to lay down their +cigars that no period of the day is more immune from the bustle and +turmoil of modern life. But the peace of an ordinary drawing-room was a +bank holiday compared with the Walkingshaws'. Not too much gas <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span>was +burned, or too much coal, since money is not made and well-born wives +secured by waste of fuel. That leads to mere cheerfulness. The monastic +atmosphere was completed by the Victorian upholstery and the hushed +voices of the four ladies, so that even the young soldier instinctively +trod more like a burglar than a Cromarty Highlander as he advanced +towards one of the groups of two.</p> + +<p>Near the fireplace sat Miss Walkingshaw and Mrs. Dunbar engaged on +fancy-work, and occasionally murmuring references to "my last +cook"—"that tall girl Jane." But it was not they that Frank approached. +On two chairs very close together and far removed from the others, Jean +and Ellen talked. Their voices, too, were hushed, but the subject of +their conversation was evidently more agitating than cooks. In fact, +there was something very like a sob more than once in Jean's voice, and +Ellen held her hand and gently pressed it. But when poor Jean saw her +favorite brother coming towards her with a warm sympathy in his eyes +that told her he knew her trouble, she could control herself no longer. +Up she jumped, and throwing him one wry, tearful smile as she passed, +ran out of the room.</p> + +<p>The two elder ladies looked up and then down <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>again at their work. They +had not yet heard of the painful episode. Frank came forward and took +his sister's chair, which had been drawn so very close to Ellen's. He +was thus able, by exercising caution, to take up the confidential +conversation.</p> + +<p>"I suppose she has told you?" he muttered, with a wary glance towards +his aunt.</p> + +<p>"Yes," murmured Ellen. "I'm so sorry!"</p> + +<p>She looked nearly as distressed as Jean, and her gentle voice made her +words sound like a sweet lament for all unhappy loves.</p> + +<p>"I call it the deuce of a shame!" said the soldier.</p> + +<p>"Can't we do anything to persuade your father?"</p> + +<p>He was conscious of a little glow at being adopted so instinctively as +an ally.</p> + +<p>"I've told him what I think about it."</p> + +<p>"Have you?"—there was a sparkle in her eyes.—"How good of you! What +did he say?"</p> + +<p>"Told me to hold my tongue."</p> + +<p>Her face fell.</p> + +<p>"I must talk to Andrew about it."</p> + +<p>Frank smiled sardonically. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p><p>"I'm afraid you won't find him very sympathetic either."</p> + +<p>She looked down at her little pointed shoe and said nothing.</p> + +<p>"Who isn't very sympathetic, Frank?" asked Miss Walkingshaw, suddenly +looking up.</p> + +<p>He started guiltily.</p> + +<p>"Oh—er—a lot of fellows one can think of," he explained.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dunbar looked at the two young people curiously. She knew whom she +herself did not consider sympathetic, and jumped to a conclusion. There +was nothing the junior partner would dislike more than being critically +discussed by that dear girl who was so much too nice for him, and that +engaging boy who was so infinitely better-looking. It seemed a pity they +could not enjoy their conversation without interruption.</p> + +<p>"Would you like me to play you something, dear?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, dear," said Miss Walkingshaw. "Do, please!"</p> + +<p>They were the most affectionate of friends. Indeed, it was touching to +see how devoted Madge was to Heriot's wintry sister. Nobody else had +ever seen so much in her to love. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p><p>The music began, and, once started, showed no sign of stopping. Over the +top of her music Mrs. Dunbar's black eyes smiled a discreet approval of +the confidential pair. She only wished that Andrew, gagged and bound +beneath his brother's chair, was here to listen to them. She was sure +they must be discussing something it would do him good to hear.</p> + +<p>"Is Mr. Vernon a very nice man?" asked Ellen.</p> + +<p>"One of the best. These artist fellows are apt to be a bit +swollen-headed for my taste, but Lucas Vernon's a sportsman."</p> + +<p>She appreciated the distinction succinctly indicated.</p> + +<p>"He does sound nice," she said. "Oh, I wish everybody had enough money!"</p> + +<p>Frank drew another distinction.</p> + +<p>"Everybody who deserved it, anyhow."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Ellen softly, "if I had the arrangement of things, I would +risk it and give <i>everybody</i> enough. It makes me so unhappy to see +people longing for things they can never possibly get—whether they +deserve them or not."</p> + +<p>The young soldier looked at her oddly from the corner of his eye. Could +it be possible that two people could sit so close together and speak in +such <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>hushed confidence, and yet that one of them could be so strangely +oblivious as not to know when she had laid her slender little finger on +the other's open wound? He had the strictest notions of duty and of +honor: it was absolutely essential she never should realize: but, alas! +the sympathetic widow was playing the most divinely romantic waltz. To +complete the horrible temptation, Ellen looked suddenly at him with her +tender eyes shining and her delicate skin gently flushed and murmured—</p> + +<p>"It makes me wretched—I pity them so!"</p> + +<p>The waltz grew more romantic with every note, the temptation to feel +this pity soothe his own wound more irresistible.</p> + +<p>"I'm one of 'em," he said.</p> + +<p>He endeavored to compromise with duty by throwing the most unfeeling +ferocity into his confession; but even the best drilled soldier cannot +simultaneously advance and stand where he was.</p> + +<p>Ellen's eyes were riveted on him now.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry. Have I said anything I shouldn't?"</p> + +<p>She looked distressed, and he realized he had overdone the ferocity.</p> + +<p>"No, no, I assure you. I only meant I—I—well, one can't have +everything." </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p><p>He wished that delirious waltz would stop. It made it so hard to collect +one's thoughts, and especially to recover the blank countenance he had +managed to assume before he took this chair and heard that music and +looked into those eyes. She smiled with playful kindness.</p> + +<p>"Are you so frightfully hard up?"</p> + +<p>"It isn't money! Oh, can't you—"</p> + +<p>He didn't finish his sentence; nor did he need to. A sudden light dawned +in Ellen's eyes; her lips instinctively parted; and then she turned her +face away. And thus they sat for what seemed an hour, while the +sympathetic widow poured out voluptuous harmonies without cessation.</p> + +<p>In reality it was only two minutes later that Mr. Walkingshaw and Andrew +entered: the senior partner looking, for a habitual diner-out, curiously +flushed after his mild indulgence in port; the junior partner's full +cheeks bulging with the backwash of a lover's smile. Frank sprang up, +and his brother, smiling even more affectionately, took his chair. At +the same moment the widow stopped playing, and the scales seemed +suddenly to fall from the young soldier's eyes. He saw himself as the +most despicable villain in Europe, and Ellen as lost for ever, whether +as sister or friend. So <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>distraught was he that he had nearly tried to +open a mid-Victorian cabinet before he discovered it was not the door. +Downstairs he hurried wildly, threw on an ulster and cap, and the front +door banged behind him.</p> + +<p>The unhappy young man looked up at the circle of solemn mansions which +towered above him, black against the dark gray heavens, and it seemed to +him that each one as he passed it silently rebuked him; while the trees +across the street, even though they were decidedly less solid, gave vent +to their displeasure audibly. He had been brought up in the severest +Scotch traditions, and though life in the army had vastly changed his +outlook, it had in certain particulars but substituted "form" for +"duty." To-night both standards rose spectrally and shook their awful +fingers at him. He had let his heart get the better of his head! No +member of his family (save luckless Jean) whom he ever knew or heard of +had done such a thing before. Or if they had, the indiscretion had been +judiciously hushed up, and the family escutcheon kept stainless. As for +the divinity he had scandalized, she would never forgive him; she would +always think of him as a traitor to his respectable brother!</p> + +<p>At this point a little star peeped out of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>hurrying clouds and +vanished again instantly. It was as though some power above had winked.</p> + +<p>On he strode through the steep, empty streets, lines of black freestone +houses, built by regular church-goers and unbreathed upon by scandal +ever since, frowning upon him perpetually; and the wind, which had risen +greatly, wailing and booming all sorts of morals. And now a fresh +trouble agitated him. He was growing less contrite! He kept seeing his +brother's bulging cheeks, and Ellen's innocent, kind smile, and all +sorts of backslidings suggested themselves. He had been criminal enough +to fall in love, and now was added another crime—he could not fall out +again. Never had he dreamt of such depths of depravity in him, Frank +Walkingshaw.</p> + +<p>Again a little star twinkled for an instant.</p> + +<p>It was a full two hours later that he returned home, footsore (for he +had been walking in his pumps) and with a mind as far from calm as ever. +He assumed that everybody would be in bed, but no sooner had he shut the +door than Jean appeared, flying downstairs to meet him.</p> + +<p>"Oh," she cried, with a note of disappointment, "I hoped it was the +doctor!"</p> + +<p>"The doctor!" he exclaimed. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p><p>"Hush!" she whispered, and came close up to him. "Father has suddenly +been taken very ill."</p> + +<p>At that moment Andrew also appeared, to see who had entered. He looked +portentously grave.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said, "what have I been saying? It's happened just exactly as +anybody but a fool might have known it would—just precisely. He's no +one to blame but himself for it—and his precious Mrs. Dunbar."</p> + +<p>He rubbed his hands almost pleasantly.</p> + +<p>"That quack's done for him—and his wine to-night finished the job. +Well, I warned him against both. People that will not take advice must +bide the consequences. Are you going to stay up for Dr. Mackenzie, +Jean?"</p> + +<p>"Of course," she said.</p> + +<p>"Well then, I might as well get off to my bed. If there's any immediate +danger,"—his face grew very solemn,—"if the end's expected in the +night, or anything like that, just knock on my door."</p> + +<p>The junior partner bade them a grave good-night and retired; and such +imaginative persons as are not satisfied with this bald record of facts, +may picture him either as offering up a brief prayer for his father's +happy recovery, or meditating upon the image of his betrothed—or both.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h3> + +<p>Fortunately, it proved unnecessary to disturb the junior partner during +the night, but next morning, when he had heard the doctor's report and +personally visited the sick-bed, he took the most serious view of the +situation. He summoned his two married sisters, urging them to lose no +time; he spent only half an hour at the office; and then he sat down +with his <i>Scotsman</i> in the library (his Bible accessible in case of +emergencies) to await the developments that he grieved to think were now +practically inevitable. The doctor had paid a second visit and given the +gloomiest report. Put in a nutshell, it came to this: that he could make +neither head nor tail of his patient's symptoms, but that, as they were +clearly the result of a course of treatment at the hands of an +unqualified practitioner, it was improbable that Mr. Walkingshaw would +recover from the consequences of his error.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon he was told that his father would like to see him. He +had finished the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span><i>Scotsman</i> and begun a conversation with his betrothed +in a gently facetious vein, but it took him not a moment to adjust his +features to the rigidity of an urn, and save for the faint squeaking of +his boots, he ascended the stairs with noiseless solemnity. He found Mr. +Walkingshaw propped up on pillows and breathing heavily. The demeanor of +both was exactly becoming to the situation.</p> + +<p>"Are you suffering much pain?" inquired the son in a hushed voice.</p> + +<p>"It comes and goes," sighed the father. "It was just diabolical a few +minutes ago; now it's a wee thing better, thanks."</p> + +<p>"A kind of temporary relief," suggested the son.</p> + +<p>"Possibly, possibly. I'd like to think it was going to last, though."</p> + +<p>"I wish I could hold out hopes," said Andrew sympathetically.</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw stirred suddenly.</p> + +<p>"The doctor's not given me up yet, surely?" he exclaimed in a louder +voice.</p> + +<p>"Hush, hush! It'll only hurry things if you let yourself get excited."</p> + +<p>"But, Andrew, my dear boy, tell me what he said to you." </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p><p>The junior partner shook his head, kindly but resolutely.</p> + +<p>"No, no; not yet awhile. So long as your mind remains clear, just keep +composed; and then, when you feel any decided change, I'll hold nothing +back from you, and we can get the rest of the family round the bedside. +You'll agree that's the best thing."</p> + +<p>The orthodoxy of this programme ought, one would think, to have soothed +the W.S. But it is strange what fancies sick men take.</p> + +<p>"I don't agree at all," said Mr. Walkingshaw warmly. "In fact, I may +tell you Cyrus warned me there might be kind of temporary +complications."</p> + +<p>He looked at his son for a moment and then added, with sudden decision—</p> + +<p>"Andrew, I'd like to see Cyrus."</p> + +<p>A grim smile dilated Andrew's cheeks.</p> + +<p>"You'll have to catch him first. He's off."</p> + +<p>"Off?"</p> + +<p>"Bolted this morning as soon as he heard he'd done for you. I hear he +owes a couple of hundred pounds in the town, one way and another. That's +your Professor for you!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw groaned. His son thought it <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>well to improve the +occasion, since he did not expect to have many more.</p> + +<p>"Him and his radio-electricity! What was it he was going to do—renew +the cells of the body?"</p> + +<p>"Well, why shouldn't cells be renewed?" protested the invalid weakly.</p> + +<p>"There will be," said his son facetiously. "He'll find himself in one +again or I'm mistaken."</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw lay silent for a few minutes. Then suddenly he groaned.</p> + +<p>"Another of them coming on!" he muttered, and twisted his face away.</p> + +<p>It was a few minutes more before he spoke again.</p> + +<p>"I trust they'll catch the rascal! Andrew, my boy, can you not do +anything to assist the police?"</p> + +<p>It was impressive to see how adequately the junior partner handled each +fresh development of the situation. At these last words he looked +exceedingly grave.</p> + +<p>"Had your thoughts not better be turning to other things?" he suggested.</p> + +<p>The invalid's head started forward from the pillow.</p> + +<p>"Will you have the kindness to mind your own—" he began; and then, in +judgment, another spasm assailed him. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p><p>Andrew closed his eyes, drew down the corners of his mouth, and his lips +moved silently but evidently piously. It was impossible to remain +callous to such an elevating influence.</p> + +<p>"You are right, Andrew; you are right," said his father. "And now, just +supposing I was taken, you'll see that affair of Guthrie and Co. through +the way we decided on?"</p> + +<p>Andrew opened his eyes immediately and exhibited a fresh instance of his +adaptability to each changing circumstance.</p> + +<p>"I've just been thinking of a better method still," he answered +promptly. "Why should the creditors get any more than they're legally +entitled to? You mind yon five thousand pounds invested in the Grand +Trunk Railway?"</p> + +<p>"Perfectly, perfectly."</p> + +<p>"Well, when one goes into the thing, they've really no more than a moral +right to that; and if one once begins on moral rights, there's no end to +them."</p> + +<p>"That sounds a bit worldly-wise, Andrew; but as you like—as you like."</p> + +<p>His junior partner regarded him severely.</p> + +<p>"I may remind you that I'm only following your own precepts." </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p><p>"One says things in health that one repents of on a bed of sickness. +Manage Guthrie and Co. as you like, but don't quote me if you mean to +neglect moral obligations. I had the decency never to quote my own +father, and it's the least you can do for yours, Andrew."</p> + +<p>Andrew still looked displeased. It seemed to his fastidious ears that +there was an unpleasant smack of something remotely resembling cynicism +in this speech. It sounded almost as though he were expected to +acquiesce in the outrageous proposition that members of his family +occasionally allowed moral to be overridden by practical considerations. +He could not conceive of himself admitting the possibility of such a +thing even in the secret recesses of his soul. It was most uncomfortable +to listen to his own father going on like this. He must be very ill +indeed—evidently at death's door.</p> + +<p>He walked to the window and looked out gloomily upon the gray clouds +driving over the black chimney-cans. The wind had risen to a moderate +gale, and the air was filled with sounds. It struck him as a very +uproarious day for a Writer to the Signet to be going to his long home. +He had given his father credit for soberer tastes. In fact, he was +reminded unpleasantly of the riotous people <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>he had heard of who passed +away in company with a pint of champagne and a cigar. This sort of thing +would really not do.</p> + +<p>"About my will, Andrew," said his father's voice.</p> + +<p>He turned with remarkable alacrity and a forgiving eye. At once he was +the deferential offspring.</p> + +<p>"You'll find you're left very well off," continued Mr. Walkingshaw.</p> + +<p>His son's cheeks bulged in a melancholy smile; precisely the right smile +under the circumstances.</p> + +<p>"Not at the expense of the others, I hope," he answered modestly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I was meaning you'd be well off as a family."</p> + +<p>The smile subsided.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I beg your pardon," said Andrew.</p> + +<p>"But of course you'll get the bulk."</p> + +<p>The smile mournfully returned.</p> + +<p>"You have the position to keep up, and I thought it only fair to you," +said Mr. Walkingshaw.</p> + +<p>Andrew bent his head in solemn acknowledgment of the truth of this +observation and the justice of the arrangement. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p><p>"There's just one little addendum I want to make. This unpleasant affair +of Jean's has set me thinking, and supposing I'm taken, Andrew—just +supposing—"</p> + +<p>"Assuming it's as we fear—I understand, I understand."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, you see, I'll not be here myself to keep Frank and Jean +from doing foolish-like things if they happen to have a mind to; and +they're not like you and their sisters. You've all chosen sensibly, but +they're in a kind of way different. I ought to have had them educated at +home."</p> + +<p>"What I've always said," his son agreed.</p> + +<p>"Anyhow, it's too late now, and what I'll just have to do is +this—introduce a clause making them forfeit their shares if they marry +without your consent in the next five years."</p> + +<p>"Would ten not be safer?" suggested Andrew.</p> + +<p>"We'll say seven, then. And of course you'll not withhold your consent +unreasonably? I'll trust you for that."</p> + +<p>Andrew's attitude expressed to such perfection the confidence that might +be reposed in him that his father shed him a satisfied smile.</p> + +<p>"And now," said he, "I wonder had you not <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>better get me my will?—or we +might wait till to-morrow, and see how I'm feeling then."</p> + +<p>If the junior partner had looked grave before, he looked funereal now.</p> + +<p>"Your mind's clear now," he said. "I wouldn't put it off."</p> + +<p>"Well, well," said Mr. Walkingshaw, "there are my keys on the +dressing-table: you know where to find the will."</p> + +<p>Andrew went downstairs as solemnly as he had come up, and with the same +faint squeak. </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h3> + +<p>It never occurred to Frank and Jean to blame their father in any way for +electing so boisterous a day for his probable decease. Clearly they had +not so fine an instinct for respectability as their brother. Their +orthodoxy, compared with his, was built upon a sandy foundation: warm +hearts can never hope to sustain, in its impressive equipoise, the head +of an Andrew Walkingshaw. One might as well expect to find sap running +up the legs of his office stool.</p> + +<p>That afternoon they instinctively drifted away from the others and sat +unhappily together. The gusty booming of the wind and the clash of +branches in the garden across the gale-scourged street tormented them +with fancies. It seemed as though a thousand riotous misfortunes were +buffeting their hearts.</p> + +<p>"Rain!" cried Jean, with a little start and then a shiver.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it beastly?" muttered Frank, his eyes on the carpet. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p><p>It came on with the sudden violence of a thunder-clap. In a moment the +tossing trees became gesticulating ghosts seen dimly through a veil of +glistening rods of water sharply diagonal—nearly horizontal; and even +through the musketry rattle on the window-panes they could hear the +pavement hiss beneath their deluge.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Frank dear!" murmured Jean.</p> + +<p>Giving way to illogical tenderness, the young soldier took her hand and +held it.</p> + +<p>Of course, the least turn for hard argument would have reassured them. +The storm would blow over; they could find new lovers; their father, +even suppose he died, would receive suitable interment. Besides, they +would be the richer by his decease. But they remained foolishly moved.</p> + +<p>"If anything does happen to father," said Jean sorrowfully, "I shall +never forgive myself."</p> + +<p>Frank looked surprised.</p> + +<p>"Forgive yourself—for what?"</p> + +<p>"For not loving him more. I almost hated him yesterday."</p> + +<p>Her voice sank very low and she looked apprehensively at her brother. +But he did not rebuke her as he ought. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p><p>"It's jolly difficult to love him sometimes," he admitted sadly.</p> + +<p>She seemed to gain courage.</p> + +<p>"Frank," she said, "have you <i>ever</i> actually felt as affectionate about +him as one ought?"</p> + +<p>He shook his head.</p> + +<p>"He never struck me as wanting that kind of thing. I've respected him, +of course."</p> + +<p>"Oh, so have I—enormously."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Frank, "that's all he wanted out of us, I fancy."</p> + +<p>"Still," she murmured, "we might have given him something more."</p> + +<p>"'Pon my word, I don't know what he'd have done with it."</p> + +<p>She could not but admit that that, in fact, was just the difficulty. The +cultivation of sentiment had not been included in Mr. Walkingshaw's +youthful curriculum. His father before him had enjoyed but two forms of +relaxation from his daily burden of obligations to clients and Calvin—a +glass of good claret, and a primitive form of golf played with a missile +of feathers in the interstices of a tract of whins. His mother had not +even these amusements. Small wonder Heriot <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>Walkingshaw found it a +little difficult to sympathize with soft creatures who demanded +hot-water bottles at night and affection by day. Jean had a weakness for +both, and had only managed to obtain the hot bottle—and even that was a +secret.</p> + +<p>The deluge continued and the wind bellowed. Lower and lower sank their +spirits.</p> + +<p>"I sometimes wish I were more like Andrew," sighed Jean.</p> + +<p>The young soldier started.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Heaven forbid!" he exclaimed, and then in a moment added in a low +voice, "I wish I had his luck, though."</p> + +<p>Jean softly pressed his hand. She understood.</p> + +<p>"I wish you had, Frank," she whispered.</p> + +<p>As if in rebuking answer to these impious desires, the portly form of +Andrew filled the doorway. He looked like the reincarnation of all the +mourners who had ever followed a hearse.</p> + +<p>"He is worse," he said in a sepulchral voice. "The end's not far off. +You had better come up and see him."</p> + +<p>In the sick chamber they found already assembled Miss Walkingshaw, Mrs. +Dunbar, Ellen (who kept in the background and never caught Frank's eye +once), and their two elder sisters. Of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>this pair, Maggie, the eldest of +them all, had long been coupled with Andrew as the two greatest credits +to the family. She was the wife (and incidentally, it was said, the +making) of Ramornie of Pettigrew, a laird of good estate in the kingdom +of Fife. Her business capacity was almost equal to her brother's. She +had extracted Pettigrew from the hands of the friends who had been +"doing him no good," paid off the bonds on his property, presented him +with three creditable children, including the necessary heir male, and +would undoubtedly have put him into Parliament could she have ensured +her own presence always at his side. But as he would have to deliver his +speeches himself, even if she composed them, she was content with making +him a deputy-lieutenant. In person this lady suggested the junior +partner as well as in mind. She, however, was blonde, and though her +cheeks took after his, her upper lip was not quite so substantial.</p> + +<p>Gertrude, the second sister, was now Mrs. Donaldson, wife of Hector +Donaldson, advocate. At the time, it was considered a middling sort of +marriage; since his cross-examination of the co-respondent in Macpherson +<i>v.</i> Macpherson and Tattenham-Welby, it had been considered a creditable +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>marriage; and if his practice continued its present rate of increase, +it would soon become a good marriage. In any case, she had justified the +Walkingshaw reputation for investing money or person soundly and +shrewdly. She resembled her father, and he had always been considered a +fine-looking man. Both Andrew and Maggie thought she got too many of her +clothes in London. They made her a little conspicuous, and they hoped +she could afford it. Still, one heard very encouraging things said of +Hector nowadays.</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw was evidently weakening. He lay back with his eyes +closed till they were all assembled, and then Andrew, who seemed to have +the entire management of the melancholy ceremony, stepped up to the +bedside and, with lowered eyelids, murmured—</p> + +<p>"They are all here now."</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw opened his eyes.</p> + +<p>"I'm likely to be taken," he said in a weak voice. "Andrew'll have told +you."</p> + +<p>He paused: and one little stifled sob was heard, too gentle to catch his +ear. It came from Jean.</p> + +<p>"I'd just like to say a word to you all before <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>I go. I've tried my best +to do my duty by my children and my sister and my kinsfolk."</p> + +<p>At this specific inclusion of herself the sympathetic widow could keep +silence no longer.</p> + +<p>"Indeed you have, Heriot!" she murmured.</p> + +<p>"Hush!" said Andrew sternly.</p> + +<p>"Let them say what they feel, Andrew," said his father, with a glance of +melancholy kindness at the widow. "It's natural enough."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ramornie at once took that hint, and her brief words of eulogy were +corroborated by a general murmur.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, thank you," said Mr. Walkingshaw. "I may possibly have made +mistakes now and then—I am but human. At the same time, I think there's +none will gainsay I've shown a kind of respectable example. It's a great +thing to be thankful for if one can die without making an exhibition of +oneself—a great thing to be thankful for."</p> + +<p>The master of ceremonies by a grave glance indicated to the company that +another approving murmur would be appropriate, and his own voice led the +hum.</p> + +<p>"I've another thing to be thankful for," resumed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>the invalid, "and +that's my eldest son. Andrew'll take good care of you all—of you and +the business both. Oh, Frank, my lad, he's a fine example to you; just +as your sister Maggie is to you, Jean. Mind you both follow them. You'll +never give folks reason to talk about you then. Don't get yourselves +talked about! That's the main thing. Of course, you'll take every +opportunity of bettering yourselves, both of you; but do it in a kind of +sober, decent way. Do it like Andrew: I can say no more than that."</p> + +<p>All eyes were sadly fixed on the two distressed young people, but they +made no answer, and the affecting scene now terminated with these last +few words—</p> + +<p>"If by any kind of chance it happens I'm given a year or two more after +all, I'll take no more part in worldly matters. I'll leave things to +you, Andrew, just the same as if I was gone. If I linger on, a chastened +man, taking for a wee while an interest in your welfare, that's all that +will be left to me—that's the whole I look forward to."</p> + +<p>Andrew's sorrowful eyes replied, "And that's more than we do," as he +silently shook his father's hand. Then the company tiptoed sadly out of +the sick-room. </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h3> + +<p>Of all the anticipatory mourners, the most demonstrative was the +sympathetic widow. She could barely control her emotion till she reached +the drawing-room. There she broke down quite.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mary, Mary!" she sobbed.</p> + +<p>They were alone together—Mary, commonly styled Miss Walkingshaw, and +she. The exemplary spinster was likewise distressed, but in a calmer +manner, as became a lady who had shared Heriot's Spartan upbringing.</p> + +<p>"Whisht, whisht," said she. "He'll maybe get over it yet."</p> + +<p>"No—no, he won't! That horrible beast will see that he doesn't!"</p> + +<p>Miss Walkingshaw started nervously.</p> + +<p>"You're not meaning the nurse?"</p> + +<p>"I mean that—ugh!—that Andrew!"</p> + +<p>A bright pink spot appeared in each of Miss Walkingshaw's cheeks. But +the widow was too agitated to observe either them or the horrified stare +with which she greeted this outburst. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p><p>"I believe he would <i>kill</i> him to spite me!"</p> + +<p>"Madge!" said the exemplary spinster in a voice which for the first time +reminded her of Heriot's.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dunbar collected herself. Doubtless she realized the injustice she +was doing that excellent man.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry, Mary," she said gently. "I don't know what I'm saying. I +admire Andrew as much as any one. I didn't mean it. It was only that I +felt I <i>had</i> to blame some one for this terrible sorrow."</p> + +<p>Her friend continued to look at her with decidedly diminished warmth.</p> + +<p>"Our religion forbids us—" she began austerely; but the sympathetic +widow hurriedly anticipated her.</p> + +<p>"I know, I know, dear—so it does. How true, Mary; oh, how true! How +sweet of you to remind me."</p> + +<p>She turned her large black eyes, glistening pathetically, full upon her +friend; but for some reason Mary continued to regard her with a new and +curious expression. A trace of suspicion seemed to be among its +ingredients.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile her slandered nephew was in the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>library with his two elder +sisters. The gas was now lit and the storm curtained out. Mrs. Ramornie +and Andrew talked in decorously lowered voices; Mrs. Donaldson more +loudly, and almost more airily, as became her dashing appearance and +smart reputation. Yet she too had a nice sense of the solemnity of the +occasion, and they forgave her elevated voice, since they knew several +people of rank who talked like that.</p> + +<p>"An irretrievable loss," Andrew was saying; "an irretrievable loss."</p> + +<p>They agreed with him as heartily as people could who were feeling so +depressed.</p> + +<p>"A public loss," he added; and again they concurred.</p> + +<p>"That will have to be taken into consideration in making the +arrangements," he went on.</p> + +<p>They looked graver than ever.</p> + +<p>"Something like Sir James Maitland's?" suggested Mrs. Donaldson.</p> + +<p>"Something of the sort," said he.</p> + +<p>"I only hope it will not be a wet day," said Mrs. Ramornie. "George +caught lumbago at his last funeral—Lord Pitcullo's, you know."</p> + +<p>George was the laird of Pettigrew. Nowadays his wife saw that he mixed +with none but the most <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>desirable company, whether it were alive or +dead.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my dear, he must come over for it!" said her sister.</p> + +<p>"He will," replied Mrs. Ramornie; and they knew that point was settled.</p> + +<p>"To tell the honest truth, I'm devoutly thankful for one thing," +observed Andrew, with the first smile he had permitted himself, and even +it was appropriately grim: "this will put Madge Dunbar's nose out of +joint."</p> + +<p>"Thank Heaven for that!" replied Mrs. Ramornie devoutly.</p> + +<p>"She meant to get him," said Mrs. Donaldson. "I never saw a woman try +harder."</p> + +<p>"If you'd been living in the house, you'd have seen still more of her +trying," replied her brother.</p> + +<p>Another fierce shower beat upon the window, with it the gale rose higher +and the branches clashed more noisily. Even behind curtains one felt in +the presence of something elemental. Silence fell on the three, and when +they spoke again it was more solemnly than ever.</p> + +<p>"It will make a considerable difference to us all, of course," said Mrs. +Donaldson.</p> + +<p>Her brother seemed to take this as a question, for he nodded gravely and +answered—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p><p>"Oh, decidedly it will make that."</p> + +<p>She mused for a moment and then turned to her sister.</p> + +<p>"What was the name of the shoot the Hendersons had last season?"</p> + +<p>"Glenfiddle."</p> + +<p>"They paid two hundred, didn't they?"</p> + +<p>"Two hundred and twenty," said Andrew.</p> + +<p>He was a mine of information on the affairs of his acquaintances, +especially on what they paid for things.</p> + +<p>"Can you not get enough invitations in the meantime?" asked Mrs. +Ramornie.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dozens. But we want a little shoot of our own—when we can afford +it."</p> + +<p>"I only mean to build that new conservatory we've always been talking +about," said Mrs. Ramornie; and Andrew pursed his lips and nodded his +approval. The pursing was meant as a hint of criticism on their too +dashing sister.</p> + +<p>It was at that moment that there came the first gentle tap upon the +door.</p> + +<p>"Come in," said Andrew, and the invalid's nurse entered.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Walkingshaw would like a pint bottle of champagne," said she. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p><p>The junior partner stared first at her and then at his sisters. They in +turn opened their eyes.</p> + +<p>"Is it the—er—usual thing?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"The doctor said nothing about it. Who would ever imagine he was going +to want champagne again?"</p> + +<p>"Is it ever given?" asked Andrew cautiously.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know it's given," interposed Mrs. Ramornie decisively. "George's +uncle drank it up to five minutes before he died."</p> + +<p>George's uncle had been a very bad example. At the same time he had been +a baronet, and Andrew swithered between the dissoluteness of the request +and a certain stylishness it undoubtedly possessed.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Walkingshaw is very determined for it," said the nurse.</p> + +<p>"Very well," he answered. "I'll get it for you."</p> + +<p>He went out with her and then returned to his sisters.</p> + +<p>"Does it mean the end is near?" asked Mrs. Donaldson in a very hushed +voice.</p> + +<p>"It means it's nearer," he answered grimly.</p> + +<p>Undoubtedly this was a wild end for one of the most respectable lives +ever lived in Edinburgh. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>Outside, the gale was now positively +shrieking; and inside, he presumed the cork was already popping.</p> + +<p>"What a pity!" said Gertrude.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know about that," replied her sister. "It keeps them happy. +George's uncle tried to sing after they thought all was over."</p> + +<p>Her brother frowned. The possibility that the head of Walkingshaw & +Gilliflower might exit singing exceeded his gloomiest forebodings. He +wished women did not have that habit of talking about unpleasant things. +Could they not keep the like of that to themselves?</p> + +<p>Even as he frowned the second tap disturbed them.</p> + +<p>"What is it now?" he snapped.</p> + +<p>"Could you tell me," asked the nurse, "where Mr. Walkingshaw keeps his +cigars?"</p> + +<p>"Cigars!" he cried.</p> + +<p>"He is very set upon one."</p> + +<p>Andrew silently opened a cupboard and handed her a box of cigars. Then, +still in silence, he seated himself before the fire and frowned at the +dancing flames. Behind his back his sisters talked in low voices, but he +seemed to have no taste for further conversation.</p> + +<p>A few minutes later came the third tap, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>this time there was so +curious a look in the nurse's face that the junior partner was on his +feet in an instant.</p> + +<p>"Is it—shall we come up?" he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Walkingshaw would like to know what there's to be for dinner," said +the nurse.</p> + +<p>He looked at his sisters and they at him, and then he rang the bell. +Nobody spoke till the butler came up.</p> + +<p>"Will you ask the cook what's for dinner? Mr. Walkingshaw wants to +know."</p> + +<p>Andrew threw into this speech all the concentrated bitterness of his +soul. Here was the quintessence of unorthodoxy in the very home of +Walkingshaw & Gilliflower! The head of the firm proposed to die not +merely drinking and smoking, but, if possible, feasting. They might be +in some wretched Bohemian den.</p> + +<p>In a few minutes the butler returned with a menu. Andrew read it with a +sardonic smile.</p> + +<p>"Tell him," he said, "that he can have cocky-leeky soup, boiled cod and +oyster sauce, loin of mutton, apple charlotte, and cheese straws—any or +all of them he likes."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said the nurse.</p> + +<p>Andrew planted himself before the fire. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p><p>"A fine story this is to get about!" he exclaimed darkly.</p> + +<p>"But surely father must be light-headed," said Mrs. Ramornie.</p> + +<p>"Umph," he replied.</p> + +<p>He clearly did not consider this a very creditable excuse.</p> + +<p>"Or perhaps he is really feeling better," suggested Gertrude.</p> + +<p>"Better! A man at death's door one minute—given up by the doctors—and +wanting to eat his dinner the next!"</p> + +<p>He started.</p> + +<p>"I wonder's that nurse fooling us! I didn't like the look of the woman +from the moment she came into the house. I don't believe in your +good-looking nurses."</p> + +<p>On this point his sisters cordially agreed with him. Still they didn't +believe it was the nurse.</p> + +<p>"Then what is it?" he demanded. "If he's light-headed, why does she pay +any attention to him?"</p> + +<p>The door opened, this time without a tap, and in petrified silence they +beheld the portly form of Heriot Walkingshaw, arrayed in a yellow +dressing-gown, holding between his fingers a cigar, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>smiling upon +them with a curious blend of satisfaction and meekness.</p> + +<p>"I have recovered," said he.</p> + +<p>As he made this simple announcement he blew luxuriously through his nose +two thin streams of smoke, while the meekness of his aspect seemed to +make some conscious effort to keep on terms with the satisfaction.</p> + +<p>A duet of questions and exclamations arose from the two ladies, and +again some conscious restraint appeared to underlie the paternal calm +with which he answered them.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said he, "it is probably one of the most extraordinary recoveries +on record. It began all of a sudden. The spasms passed completely away, +my temperature fell to normal, and I felt a curious sensation almost of +exhilaration. It grew stronger and stronger till at last I could keep in +bed no longer. I felt livelier than I have for years."</p> + +<p>He passed the cigar under his nose, drew in his breath, and smiled at it +with a kind of partially chastened affection.</p> + +<p>"Do you think could we not have dinner put on a little earlier, eh?"</p> + +<p>A cry from the open door startled them. The <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>sympathetic widow, her +black eyes dilated, was gazing at the patient.</p> + +<p>"Heriot!" she exclaimed, and there was a note in her voice that came +very near to damping the junior partner's enthusiasm at finding the head +of his firm restored to him.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Madge," said Mr. Walkingshaw, his beatific smile still blander, "I +have indeed been spared."</p> + +<p>He drew another deep whiff from his cigar, and added gently—</p> + +<p>"For maybe a few more years of quiet usefulness." </p> + +<hr class="biggest" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 80-82]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="PART_II" id="PART_II"></a>PART II </h2> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER I</h3> + +<p>Down the steep street where stands the office of Walkingshaw & +Gilliflower, careers a hat. It is a silk hat and of a large size, the +hat of a professional man of the most dignified standing and evident +brain capacity. Nothing could show better the innate depravity of March +winds than their choice of such a hat to play with. They had thousands +to choose from—bowlers, caps, wideawakes, all kinds of commonplace +head-gear—and here they have selected for their sport this cylinder of +silk, symbolical of all most worthy of the city's respect. It leaps and +bumps and slides, propelled by the breeze and the law of gravitation, +down the decorously paved hill, in company with a little cloud of dust +and some scraps of dirty paper. And behind it, now at a canter, now at a +panting trot, ambles the portly form of Mr. Heriot Walkingshaw. The very +devil must be in the wind to-day.</p> + +<p>At the corner of Queen Street the hat met the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>full force of the +easterly blast, and bidding good-by to gravitation, turned at right +angles and skimmed for forty yards through space as though the brothers +Wright had mounted it. Then it resumed the action of a Rugby football, +pitching now on its end and now on its middle, and behaving accordingly +each time. Mr. Walkingshaw, perceiving that it was now bouncing in the +direction he desired to go, fell for a moment to a walk and looked +around for some assistant. But the only spectators within hail happened +to be two errand boys who had not seen a circus for some time and +evinced no desire to interrupt the entertainment. So off he started +again, his white spats twinkling beneath his flapping overcoat, and +covered the first fifty yards in such promising fashion that he was able +to strike the revolving rim a series of smart raps with his umbrella +before the wind had recovered its breath. Then suddenly up leapt the +hat, cannoned from a lamp-post on to the railings of the Queen Street +Gardens, from them across the pavement into the gutter, and there, +getting nicely on edge, careered like a hoop, with the thud of Heriot's +footsteps growing fainter behind.</p> + +<p>Down the next cross street came two acquaintances <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>of the Writer to the +Signet, and they stopped at the corner in amazement.</p> + +<p>"Good God, that's Heriot Walkingshaw!" cried one.</p> + +<p>"A man of his age!" replied the other; "he's running like a wing +three-quarter—look at his stride!"</p> + +<p>A benevolent lady half stopped the hat with her umbrella. The W.S. was +up to it. He stooped to reach it—a quick grab and he had it by the rim.</p> + +<p>"Well picked up, sir!" cried one of the acquaintances.</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw did not hear. He was on the other side of the street and +engrossed in brushing his quarry with his coat sleeve.</p> + +<p>"It's a wonderful performance," remarked the other acquaintance; "but it +ought just about to finish him."</p> + +<p>"Will it? Look at him—he hasn't turned a hair!"</p> + +<p>"It's amazing—positively amazing!" they murmured together as they +watched their elderly friend not only replace his trophy on his head, +but cock it at an angle that breathed reckless defiance to the March +winds. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p><p>"Did you ever see Heriot Walkingshaw with his hat at that angle before?"</p> + +<p>"As often as I've seen him do even time chasing it!"</p> + +<p>Off he strode, breathing faster than usual, and his hat still a little +ruffled, but otherwise as jaunty a figure as ever left an office; while +his two acquaintances went away to narrate to the wondering city what +their astonished eyes had seen.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>Meanwhile the junior partner was unburdening his soul to the +confidential clerk.</p> + +<p>"That's the end of Guthrie and Co.!" he exclaimed wrathfully. "The whole +thing settled in a fortnight—we might be a marriage registry! It's just +been 'we agree to this,' 'we agree to that,' 'we agree to anything you +suggest.' We haven't fought a single point. I'd have made those +creditors whistle a bit before they saw yon five thousand pounds! But +what's my father say? You heard him yourself—'moral obligation'—'might +be fought!'—'get it settled.' He's botched the whole business."</p> + +<p>Mr. Thomieson shook his grizzled head.</p> + +<p>"It's certainly not been our usual way of doing business." </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p><p>Andrew glowered at his desk.</p> + +<p>"He said he was going to leave the business to me, and in forty-eight +hours he was taking more responsibilities on his shoulders than he had +for years! He barely has the decency to ask me for my opinion now; and +when I give it, he tells me it's timid. Timid!" The junior partner's +voice rose to a shout. "He just goes at things like a bull, and before +I've time to get in two words edgeways, the thing is settled and he's +out of the office whistling!"</p> + +<p>"That whistling's a queer thing he's taken to," observed the clerk.</p> + +<p>"He was doing it coming home from church last Sunday."</p> + +<p>"Verra strange, verra strange," commented Mr. Thomieson.</p> + +<p>He seemed more struck with the peculiarity of the senior partner's +conduct; Andrew with its offensiveness.</p> + +<p>"He shows a fine grasp of things all the same," added the clerk. "In +that way it fairly does me good sir, to see him so speerited. It minds +me of old times."</p> + +<p>"A proper like business we'd have had to-day if he'd gone on like this +in old times!" grumbled <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>Andrew. "He gets through things quick enough, I +admit; but I tell you he does not take the same interest in them. He +talks of 'dry details'!"</p> + +<p>"Is that so?" said Mr. Thomieson, his eyes opening.</p> + +<p>"It's a fact. And he's started cracking jokes with the clerks."</p> + +<p>"Aye, I heard him yesterday myself. It sounded awful bad in this +office."</p> + +<p>"I tell you what it'll end in," said Andrew. "It'll end in our losing +our business—that'll be the end of it. And this is what he calls 'a few +years of quiet usefulness'!"</p> + +<p>The junior partner's upper lip seemed to hang like a curtain half +covering his face. Behind it he swore so distinctly that the +confidential clerk discreetly withdrew. </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER II</h3> + +<p>"It's quite remarkable how well I'm keeping—quite astonishing," said +Mr. Walkingshaw to himself, as he continued his walk with his recovered +hat perched at the angle that had so surprised his acquaintances.</p> + +<p>A month had passed since the stormy afternoon when he had said farewell +to his family, and he now looked back upon that adieu as the rashest and +most premature act of his life. Andrew must have frightened him; that +was the only conceivable excuse for his conduct, seen in the white light +of his present rude health; and he secretly decided that the junior +partner had been getting a little too much rope. If you once let these +lads kick up their heels, the deuce was in it. He would do nothing +unjust, but he would see that he didn't encourage Andrew to alarm him +again. Thus does the virtue even of the most exemplary occasionally +over-exert itself.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, it was uncommonly pleasant to be able to chase one's hat for +a quarter of a mile and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>feel not a twinge of gout or rheumatism after +the merry pursuit. Mr. Walkingshaw felt half inclined to give his hat a +start again. What a joke it would be to kick it over the railings next +time! At this very undignified thought, he recollected himself and for a +few minutes looked as decorously pompous as the head of the firm should. +But somehow or other that run seemed to have stirred his blood. The fun +of kicking his hat over the railings returned so forcibly that there +spread over his ruddy face a smile which greatly surprised the wife of +one of his most respected clients passing at that moment in her +carriage. She too returned home to talk of Mr. Walkingshaw's curious +demeanor in the public streets of his native city.</p> + +<p>The kicking fancy, by a natural chain of thought, reminded him that the +England and Scotland International was being played next Saturday. He +must be there, of course; and wouldn't he shout himself hoarse for +Scotland! He had a moment's dismay when he remembered that old Berstoun +had made an appointment to come in on Saturday and see him about his +confounded money affairs. Then he cheered up again. Let the old chap be +hanged! He would wire and put him off. In fact, he must be put off. For +had not Madge Dunbar <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>promised to come to the match with him? By this +time he had reached the door of his house, and it occurred to him +forcibly that afternoon tea was always a much pleasanter function if +Madge were present. He hoped she wouldn't be out calling.</p> + +<p>The dignified twilight of his hall sobered him considerably. He had been +following a strangely frivolous line of thought, he told himself. +Certainly he must never allow his hat to escape again. That run had +quite upset his equanimity: he found himself going upstairs two steps at +a time, and had to pause and shorten his stride.</p> + +<p>In the drawing-room he found his sister and the widow.</p> + +<p>"Hullo!" said the W.S. before he could recollect himself.</p> + +<p>"Hullo!" smiled the widow archly.</p> + +<p>He had felt ashamed of the exclamation the moment it escaped him, but +finding it received so prettily, he secretly resolved to say it again +some day—after a week or two had elapsed, perhaps; confining himself to +more dignified remarks in the interval.</p> + +<p>"You look as though you had heard good news," said Mrs. Dunbar.</p> + +<p>"I've been chasing my hat," he chuckled. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p><p>He had meant to make no allusion to the undignified episode, and here he +was blurting it out first thing! He began to feel puzzled by this odd +persistence of high spirits.</p> + +<p>"Not in the street, surely?" said Miss Walkingshaw, with her longest +face.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I hope it was in the street!" cried the widow. "I'd have loved to +see you!"</p> + +<p>Her dear friend regarded this speech with the strongest disapproval; in +fact, she had never quite approved of Madge since those unlucky words of +hers. But Mrs. Dunbar had ceased for some reason to show the same marked +regard for her opinion. It was Heriot who had again refused to hear of +her leaving, and she seemed content to win his approval.</p> + +<p>"It was in the street," smiled Mr. Walkingshaw. "I chased it for quite half a mile, and ran it down single-handed. I +wish you had been there, Madge. You'd have seen there was life in the +old dog still!"</p> + +<p>He had doubled the distance and forgotten the lady with the umbrella; +but then, as Andrew had remarked, a distaste for dry detail had suddenly +become characteristic of his recovered health. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p><p>"Too much life sometimes, I think!" she exclaimed coquettishly; and Mr. +Walkingshaw winked in reply.</p> + +<p>He was inwardly as surprised at the wink as he had been at the "hullo." +These aberrations seemed to come quite spontaneously. He wished he could +understand what caused them.</p> + +<p>"Have you had a tiring day at the office?" asked the dry Scotch voice of +his sister.</p> + +<p>Her familiar accents instinctively banished the aberrations.</p> + +<p>"Tolerably, tolerably," he said, with his old air. "We had the affairs +of Guthrie and Co. to settle up. I settled them, though."</p> + +<p>"Andrew would be a great help," she replied, with an apprehensive glance +at him. She was much in her nephew's confidence at present.</p> + +<p>"Andrew, pooh!" said his father. "He'd talk the hind leg off an +elephant. When things need settling, I just settle them myself and leave +him to grumble away to Thomieson."</p> + +<p>Miss Walkingshaw gasped, and the widow gave the sweetest little laugh.</p> + +<p>"Poor Andrew!" said she.</p> + +<p>"Poor Andrew indeed," retorted her friend, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>with more indignation than +she had almost ever permitted herself in the presence of her formidable +brother.</p> + +<p>He looked at her in genuine surprise. So subtly had his point of view +altered that he quite failed to grasp her cause of complaint.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter, Mary?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, if you don't see, what's the good in my trying to explain?"</p> + +<p>He merely stared at her, and the widow tactfully interposed.</p> + +<p>"Of course you are going to the match on Saturday?" said she.</p> + +<p>"Of course, Madge."</p> + +<p>"Have you forgotten Mr. Berstoun is coming to see you?" asked Miss +Walkingshaw.</p> + +<p>He waved aside this objection with a dignified sweep of his hand. A +piece of cake happened to be in it, and the icing flew across the floor. +On the instant he was on his hands and knees collecting it.</p> + +<p>"Berstoun's a mere nuisance," he answered from the carpet. "He'll never +get out of debt if he lives to a thousand. What's the good in his coming +to see me? Let him tell his creditors to go to the devil; that's the +only sensible thing to do." </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p><p>He rose chuckling—</p> + +<p>"He'll go himself some day; so they'll meet again."</p> + +<p>His sister's face was too much for the widow's gravity. She began to +laugh hysterically, her black eyes dancing all the time in the merriest +fashion at her host. It was so infectious that in a moment he had joined +her.</p> + +<p>"Won't they?" he kept asking through his chuckles. "Won't they, Madge?"</p> + +<p>She kept nodding, choked with laughter, and another strange sensation +began to puzzle Mr. Walkingshaw. It was not so much something new as +something forgotten which was beginning to return, and it concerned this +very sympathetic widow. She was an uncommonly nice woman—really +uncommonly: and what an odd pleasure he began to feel in her society! He +felt even more satisfaction than when he had run down his hat. </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER III</h3> + +<p>It was upon a fine April morning that Mr. Walkingshaw made his momentous +discovery. His sister had left her room on her way to breakfast when she +heard his voice calling her. It had so curious a note of excitement that +she got a little flustered. Whatever could be the matter? She hurried to +his dressing-room door and tapped with a trembling hand. She was not +easily agitated as a rule, but her brother had been very disconcerting +for the past few weeks, and now his voice was odd. She remembered +reading of gentlemen lying on their dressing-room floors with razors in +their hands—</p> + +<p>"Come in!" he cried impatiently.</p> + +<p>She found him dressed all but his coat, and he was standing by the +window looking out over the street and the circular garden.</p> + +<p>"Come here, Mary," he said, and pointed at the houses seen through the +leafless trees. "Have they been doing anything to the Hendersons' +house?"</p> + +<p>"What doing to it?" she exclaimed. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p><p>"Painting it, or brightening it, or—or anything of that kind?"</p> + +<p>"Who ever heard of painting a house!"</p> + +<p>From which it may be gathered that the good lady was not in the habit of +visiting other cities.</p> + +<p>"Well then, washing it?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Henderson washing his house! Whatever would he do that for?"</p> + +<p>"Tuts, tuts," said her brother, "I'm only asking you. It looks so +uncommonly distinct. Can you not count the chimney-cans?"</p> + +<p>"Me? You must get younger eyes than mine, Heriot."</p> + +<p>"I can count them," he answered.</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> can! But I thought you'd been complaining you couldn't always +recognize people across the street nowadays."</p> + +<p>"I can count those chimneys," he repeated. "I've counted them five +times, and they come to fourteen each time. I'd like to get some one +younger to count them too. Where's Madge Dunbar?"</p> + +<p>He started impetuously for the door.</p> + +<p>"She's dressing!" cried the horrified lady. "You can't get her in +here—you with your coat off, too!" </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p><p>Mr. Walkingshaw turned back.</p> + +<p>"Well, anyhow," said he, "I'll lay you half a crown there are fourteen +chimneys on Henderson's house. Will you take it up?"</p> + +<p>"When did you hear I'd taken to betting?" she gasped.</p> + +<p>He waved aside the reproach airily, much as he waved aside everything +she said nowadays, the poor lady reflected. His next words merely +deepened her distress.</p> + +<p>"Look at my face carefully," he commanded. "Study it—touch it if you +like—examine it with a lens—give it your undivided attention while I +count twenty."</p> + +<p>He counted slowly, while she stared conscientiously, afraid even to +wink. "Now, what have you observed?"</p> + +<p>"You're looking very well, Heriot," she answered timidly.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever see a man of my age look better?"</p> + +<p>"N—no," she stammered.</p> + +<p>"Well, don't be afraid to say so, for it's perfectly true. Do you mind a +kind of deep wrinkle under my eyes? Where's that gone now?"</p> + +<p>"I can't imagine, Heriot." </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p><p>"Well, don't look distressed; it's bonnier away."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said in a flustered voice, "you do have a kind of smoother +look."</p> + +<p>"Smoother and harder," he replied, prodding his ribs with his fingers.</p> + +<p>She gave a little cry of distress.</p> + +<p>"You're growing thin! Your waistcoat's hanging quite loose. Oh, Heriot, +it's terrible to see you that way!"</p> + +<p>Her heart might be a little withered by all those northern winters, with +never another heart to keep it warm, but it could still beat faster at a +breath of suspicion cast upon her hospitality. She had not been feeding +her only brother properly!</p> + +<p>"Tell me yourself what you'd like for your dinner!" she entreated him.</p> + +<p>He laughed at her genially.</p> + +<p>"Pooh! Tuts! Did you ever in your life see me eat a better dinner than +I've been taking lately? You might give one a suet pudding oftener, but +that's all I have to complain of."</p> + +<p>Heriot had always been addicted to suet pudding, but for a number of +years past his doctor's opinion had been adverse to this form of diet +for a gentleman of gouty habit. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p><p>"But what about your gout, Heriot?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Gout? Fiddle-de-dee! Who's got gout? Not I, for one."</p> + +<p>He had been glancing complacently at his improved reflection in the +mirror. Abruptly he stepped up close to the glass and examined his +visage with unconcealed excitement.</p> + +<p>"Good God!" he murmured.</p> + +<p>Then, with much the expression Crusoe must have worn when he spied the +footprint, he turned to his sister, and, grasping a lock of hair upon +his brow, bent his head towards her, and demanded—</p> + +<p>"What color's that?"</p> + +<p>"Dear me," she said, "it looks quite brown. I didn't know you had any +brown hair left."</p> + +<p>He raised his head and looked at her in solemn silence till she began to +feel dreadfully confused. Then he bent again.</p> + +<p>"Do you notice anything else?"</p> + +<p>"N—no; unless your hair's got thicker. But that's not likely at your +time of life."</p> + +<p>"It is <i>not</i> likely," said he. "It is most improbable—in fact, it is +practically impossible; but it is thicker."</p> + +<p>He rubbed his chin and gazed at her with the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>queerest look. Mary had +known him since he trundled a hoop, but she never remembered him go on +like this before. As for Heriot, he seemed to be debating whether he +should spring something still more surprising on her or not. But she +looked so uncomfortable already, so totally without the least clue to +his mysterious words, so unconscious of anything stranger about him than +his shirt-sleeves and loss of weight, that he only uttered something +between a gasp and a sigh, and, turning away from her, took up his +brushes to smooth his augmented hairs.</p> + +<p>"I'll be down to breakfast in a jiffy," he said.</p> + +<p>Miss Walkingshaw thought that an odd kind of phrase for Heriot to be +using. </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER IV</h3> + +<p>Andrew no longer walked to the office with his father in the mornings. +Not that <i>he</i> had anything to do with the altered custom: in fact, he +was always most careful to assure his friends that he had more than once +waited as long as five minutes to give his father the opportunity of +having his company—if he was wishing it. But Mr. Walkingshaw was never +less than ten minutes late nowadays.</p> + +<p>On this particular morning he set forth a full half-hour after his son. +He had been very absent-minded after his talk with his sister,—not even +Mrs. Dunbar could keep his attention for more than a moment,—and he had +sat for the best part of twenty minutes thoughtfully putting on his +boots. One or two acquaintances who saw him on the way from his house to +his office often recalled his demeanor that morning. Now he would loiter +along with bent shoulders, his hands behind his back, trailing his +umbrella and brooding as though he contemplated bankruptcy. Then +suddenly his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>pace would quicken, the umbrella whirled round and round +like a Catherine wheel, and with his head held jauntily and the merriest +smile he would swagger along like a young blood of twenty-six who had +just been accepted by an heiress. And then abruptly he would lapse into +his mournful gait.</p> + +<p>"I want to see Mr. Andrew," said he, as soon as he was seated in his +private room.</p> + +<p>The junior partner entered with a melancholy visage and a reproachful +eye.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you've come at last," he remarked, too quietly to be rude, too +pointedly to be pleasant.</p> + +<p>But his father seemed not to have heard.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, sit down," he said; and then in an earnest manner and with +the gravest face began, "I've something to tell you, Andrew, that I +think you ought to know."</p> + +<p>Andrew's visage relaxed. This gravity promised better than anything his +father's behavior had led him to expect of late.</p> + +<p>"Something most extraordinary has happened. You've noticed a little kind +of difference in me of late, possibly?"</p> + +<p>"I have," said Andrew, with an intonation that made his acquiescence +particularly thorough. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p><p>"A sort of cheerfulness and healthiness, and so on?"</p> + +<p>"And so on," assented Andrew.</p> + +<p>"Well, I've accounted for it at last!"</p> + +<p>"Oh?" said Andrew.</p> + +<p>This did not strike him as quite so interesting. He thought of the +papers he had left, and glanced at his watch.</p> + +<p>"You mind my telling you about Cyrus's theory of the cells of the +body—that all they needed was the proper kind of stimulation, and +they'd be as good as new? Well, he went one better than that sometimes. +I never told you what his idea was—it sounded kind of daft-like when +you didn't hear him laying it down himself—but I'll tell you now."</p> + +<p>His voice sank impressively, and his junior partner grew vaguely uneasy. +This was a most unsuitable place and hour to be discussing quack medical +theories. He didn't approve of it at all.</p> + +<p>"His idea was that every cell of the body—mine and yours, +Andrew,"—(Andrew grew exceedingly uncomfortable: this verged on the +indecent),—"every single cell of them is just a kind of wee vessel in +which chemical and electrical <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span>changes are going on. While they keep +brisk we keep young, and when they get off the boil, so to speak, we +grow old. Well now, what's to hinder one stirring them up to boil faster +and faster, instead of slower and slower? And if they once did that, of +course you'd begin to grow young instead of going on getting old. +Andrew, it's happened to me."</p> + +<p>Andrew started.</p> + +<p>"What has?"</p> + +<p>"I'm growing young again!"</p> + +<p>His junior partner looked at him for half a minute in dead silence. Then +he decided that this statement had better be answered humorously.</p> + +<p>"Is this story a sample?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"You don't believe me?"</p> + +<p>Andrew's cheeks bulged in a faint smile.</p> + +<p>"Am I expected to?"</p> + +<p>"Look at my waistcoat—when did you ever see it as loose as that, and me +healthier than I've been for years, and eating more? Look at my +face—where are the wrinkles gone? Look at my head—how long is it since +you've seen a patch of brown hair there?"</p> + +<p>To complete this overwhelming series of proofs, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>he leapt up, and with +an agile jump on one foot whirled the other leg clean over the back of +his chair.</p> + +<p>"It's twenty years and more since I last did that!"</p> + +<p>Andrew was fairly startled out of his skepticism now. He had the eyes of +a goldfish, and his upper lip and swelling cheeks twitched nervously.</p> + +<p>"What an awful thing to happen!" he murmured.</p> + +<p>"It has happened, though," said his father.</p> + +<p>"But surely—oh, it must just be temporary. You don't think it will +last, do you?"</p> + +<p>"I think nothing," replied Mr. Walkingshaw, with conviction. "I have no +settled opinions left. I am a mass of cells in active eruption."</p> + +<p>He began to chuckle.</p> + +<p>"I'm like a dashed volcano, Andrew!"</p> + +<p>His son looked at him piteously. To suffer this sea change was bad +enough, but to laugh about it was diabolical. Mr. Walkingshaw could not +but sober down under such an eye. He gathered his countenance into an +aspect as portentously solemn as his dwindled wrinkles could achieve. +His son grieved afresh to see how their passing diminished the once +overpowering respectability of his parent. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p><p>"It's an awful predicament," said Mr. Walkingshaw, shaking his bronzing +head.</p> + +<p>"Awful—just awful! What will people say?"</p> + +<p>"That's just what I've been wondering. How am I going to break it to +them?"</p> + +<p>"You're not going to tell people!"</p> + +<p>"But they'll notice for themselves."</p> + +<p>Andrew gazed at him gloomily.</p> + +<p>"It may pass off,"—his face cleared a little,—"in fact, it's certain +to."</p> + +<p>"It doesn't feel much like it at present: I'm fairly bursting with +spirits," smiled Mr. Walkingshaw, and then recollected himself and grew +grave again. "What's to be done supposing people do notice?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"We'll just have to stretch a point," said Andrew somberly, "and give +some other explanation."</p> + +<p>"We might give some decent, respectable doctor the credit for it," his +father suggested.</p> + +<p>"They'd all be afraid to take it, if it went on any further. Imagine a +respectable doctor admitting he'd made a man grow younger! I dare say +they might be proud of such a performance in London, but they've more +decency here!" </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p><p>It seemed characteristic of Mr. Walkingshaw's calamity that he should +bounce up like a tennis ball after each well-meant effort to depress +him.</p> + +<p>"In that case," said he cheerfully, "we'll just have to say I am trying +to make myself more of a companion for you."</p> + +<p>Andrew started violently.</p> + +<p>"We'll say no such thing! Do you suppose <i>I'm</i> going to have my name +mixed up with it?"</p> + +<p>His father remained serene.</p> + +<p>"Well then, what do you suggest?"</p> + +<p>Andrew's cheeks drooped, carrying the corners of his mouth down with +them.</p> + +<p>"There's no good in suggesting. You can trust your friends to do that +for you. Pretty stories they'll be circulating!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw regarded him with dignity, mingled with a trace of +good-natured contempt for such a lack of spirit.</p> + +<p>"My dear Andrew," said he, "you need not be under the slightest +apprehension. Whatever my external appearance may become—and I trust it +will remain not altogether unpleasing—I shall see to it that my conduct +rebuts any breath of scandal. I shall be, if possible, more circumspect, +more scrupulously observant of the rules which should <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>regulate the +behavior of a man in my position, more discreet both in speech and +conduct. The tongues of the libelous will be effectually silenced +<i>then</i>."</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw accompanied these excellent sentiments by gently +swinging himself to and fro in his revolving chair and rolling a scrap +of blotting-paper into a pellet, which, at the conclusion of his speech, +he absent-mindedly discharged at the office clock. His son seemed as +impressed by these movements as by his words.</p> + +<p>"You'll find it easier," he began bitterly, "to set people talking than +to—"</p> + +<p>"When you come to think of it, the situation is not without decided +advantages," his father interrupted, springing up and pacing the room +with an animated air. "Just think of the renewed opportunities for doing +all kinds of useful and beneficial things! I might take a more prominent +part in public life: I might even go in for politics. I certainly shall +take a bit of salmon-fishing. The study of some of our classical authors +suggests itself as a relaxation for my leisure moments. The subjects of +aeroplanes and national defense are worthy of consideration, too. I +should like to visit several of the continental countries—our own +colonies are even more attractive; there wouldn't be the same +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>difficulties about the language. Or, by Jingo, Andrew, I might learn +French and Italian! Yes, the position is not without its compensations."</p> + +<p>He stopped beside his son and laid his hand upon his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"I propose to widen greatly the scope of my energies, without in the +least forfeiting the respect of my fellow-citizens. That is my ideal, +Andrew. Ah, my boy, you and I will have some great times together! By +that I mean, of course, some beneficial and profitable times."</p> + +<p>He took a sudden step forward and kicked the wastepaper-basket into the +fireplace.</p> + +<p>"I might even take up football some day, if this goes on," he smiled, +and then abruptly recovered his solemnity.</p> + +<p>"Beneficial and profitable," he repeated gravely. "Those are to be our +watchwords. Will you have a weed?"</p> + +<p>The junior partner started out of the reverie into which he had fallen.</p> + +<p>"Are you going to start smoking <i>here</i>?" he cried.</p> + +<p>"Why the deuce shouldn't I? It's my own office. These old-fashioned +ideas of yours about not smoking on business premises are getting out +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>of date. Besides, it keeps the flies away. And now I must get on to my +correspondence."</p> + +<p>With a cigar in the corner of his mouth and humming something resembling +an air, the senior partner dashed into his day's work with the ardor of +an egg-collector. </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER V</h3> + +<p>In the meantime, the two least satisfactory members of the family were +sadly enduring the consequences of their foolishness. To Frank and Jean +the world seemed a very gray place at present; and even the daily +increasing juvenility of their parent failed to enliven them. They were +too engrossed in their own unhappiness to take much notice of it; and +what they saw merely distressed them, for so far his beneficent projects +had not included them. Frank moped about the house, consorted +occasionally with an acquaintance, now and then went away for a day's +golf, and at frequent intervals confided to Jean his disgust with the +arrangements of the universe. Ellen Berstoun was to have paid them +another visit, but for some reason she put it off; and at this decision +he was plunged for forty-eight consecutive hours into a frenzy, +alternately of relief and despair, which left him at last more +lackadaisical than ever. A few days after his father's momentous +interview with Andrew, he was roused to fresh anguish by the junior +partner's departure <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>to spend a week-end at Berstoun Castle, and his +state of mind now became so unbearable that he abruptly announced to his +sister—</p> + +<p>"I can't stick this any longer! I'm going up to town."</p> + +<p>"What for?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"For a bust," he answered desperately. "I'm going to try to—to—to +forget."</p> + +<p>And the poor youth strode hurriedly out of the room to examine the state +of his silk hat and his finances.</p> + +<p>Jean devoutly wished she too could fly to London! Like a dutiful girl, +she had returned, at her father's peremptory bidding, two unopened +letters received from that city. Frank knew his address and forwarded +them for her. Once or twice after that he himself received a letter in a +hand suspiciously resembling the writing on the unbroken envelopes, and +it certainly was a fact that on each of these occasions the erring pair +were closeted for long together, and that Jean's spirits rose a little +for a few hours afterwards. But they soon sank again.</p> + +<p>After Frank had announced his desperate resolution she sat alone for +some time in the drawing-room. Everybody else was out, and the house +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>seemed prodigiously silent and vast. At last she heard a little noise, +which presently took the form of footsteps bounding upstairs, +accompanied by a cheerful tuneless whistling. The door was flung open, +and her father entered.</p> + +<p>It was only at that moment that Jean realized he was a curiously altered +man. He was dressed in brown tweeds and a light waistcoat; his face was +flushed, and a smile danced in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"I've been for a bicycle ride," he announced.</p> + +<p>She could hardly believe her ears.</p> + +<p>"You—on a bicycle?" she gasped; for Mr. Walkingshaw had been born long +before bicycles.</p> + +<p>"Yes; I've had a couple of lessons—only two, and I went for a six-mile +ride all alone to-day!"</p> + +<p>"Then weren't you at the office?"</p> + +<p>"In the morning; but one gets no exercise in that beastly office. I need +a lot nowadays."</p> + +<p>He threw himself into a chair and a smile broke over his face, in which, +to her further bewilderment, she recognized an unmistakable flavor of +roguishness.</p> + +<p>"Thinking of him?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>Poor Jean nearly jumped out of her chair.</p> + +<p>"Of—of whom?" she gasped.</p> + +<p>"The artist fellow, what's his name—Vernon." </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p><p>"Father!" she said in a low, pained voice.</p> + +<p>"Eh? What's the matter?"</p> + +<p>She looked at him between grief and amazement.</p> + +<p>"You said that his name was never to be mentioned. Do you mean to—why +do you—what do you mean, father?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw was finding it harder every day to retain his old +attitudes in all their dignity. He was altering at an astonishing pace. +How many years younger he had become already he could not compute. He +had tried once or twice to calculate about where he stood but the +surprising thing was that he found he cared less and less what was +happening, and how fast it happened. He enjoyed himself amazingly so +long as he did not worry; and the obvious moral was—don't worry. At the +same time, he had no intention whatsoever of forfeiting the respect of +his fellow-citizens, still less of his family. It was true this proviso +occurred to him more often after than before he had surprised them by +some trifling deviation; still, when it did occur, it occurred forcibly. +On this present occasion he suddenly became preternaturally solemn, +coughed with a little dry, respectable sound, and replied severely—</p> + +<p>"I meant that it must never be mentioned by <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>you, but—ahem—it +is—ah—different with your father. I still leave myself at liberty to +mention him with reprobation."</p> + +<p>Jean jumped up with a sparkling eye.</p> + +<p>"In that case I'll leave you. I've obeyed you so far, but I certainly +shan't obey you if you tell me to sit and listen to <i>anything</i> against +him!"</p> + +<p>And she started for the door.</p> + +<p>"My dear girl!" cried Mr. Walkingshaw.</p> + +<p>He jumped up too, caught her by the hand, and led her to the sofa.</p> + +<p>"Now, now," he said kindly; "sit down and tell me all about it."</p> + +<p>She looked at him in fresh amazement.</p> + +<p>"All about what?"</p> + +<p>He found it a little difficult to explain precisely what he meant. He +only knew that he felt an unwonted expansion of his heart towards this +really charming little daughter.</p> + +<p>"All about the weather and crops," he suggested playfully.</p> + +<p>Jean began to tremble a little.</p> + +<p>"I—I don't understand you at all," said she.</p> + +<p>He smiled pleasantly.</p> + +<p>"Am I such a very mysterious old fellow?"</p> + +<p>At this odd and novel mixture of kindness and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>queerness she felt her +words choking her, as much with fear as anything.</p> + +<p>"We—we never have understood each other," she found herself saying.</p> + +<p>He looked startled.</p> + +<p>"What? You don't mean to say you—But I'm your father."</p> + +<p>"I suppose that's the reason."</p> + +<p>"I have always tried to do my duty."</p> + +<p>"The trouble is, you succeeded."</p> + +<p>"What!" he exclaimed. "Do you actually mean to say you—ah—didn't +appreciate my duty?"</p> + +<p>She was sitting by his side on the sofa, her eyes downcast and her lips +obstinately set. Never before in her life had she stood up to him like +this, but now that she had begun she was discovering to her surprise +that she had more of her father's temper than she had dreamt of.</p> + +<p>"No," she said. "I didn't sometimes."</p> + +<p>Instead of getting angry, Mr. Walkingshaw seemed merely astonished and +interested.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it was the way I did it," he suggested.</p> + +<p>She looked up quickly.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she answered.</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear, I have lately discovered that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>I shall never be too old +to learn. Just tell me how you'd like to be treated, and I'll try to +manage it. I am very fond of you, Jean."</p> + +<p>Her mouth lost its obstinacy; her eyes and voice grew kind.</p> + +<p>"Father dear, if only you'd show it! If only—"</p> + +<p>He interrupted her by a resounding kiss.</p> + +<p>"More that kind of way?" he smiled.</p> + +<p>For answer she threw her arms round him and gave him what he immediately +decided to be the pleasantest hugging he had ever enjoyed. This was a +method of doing his duty that must certainly be repeated; he had no +doubts about that. It led to such surprising results, too. In a few +minutes he found himself embarked upon the most charmingly confidential +conversation.</p> + +<p>"It was a little rough on you," he confessed.</p> + +<p>"You mean—?" she hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Well, well, perhaps we'd better not allude to it again," he answered +kindly.</p> + +<p>But apparently she had no intention at all of avoiding the subject.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," she said eagerly. "I'd like to talk about it with you now."</p> + +<p>It did not seem to occur to the W.S. that he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>might end by committing +himself to some expression of sympathy he would repent of later.</p> + +<p>"Capital," he answered genially. "You still like the fellow, then?"</p> + +<p>"Like him!" she exclaimed. "Oh, father, I—I still love him."</p> + +<p>"I wish he'd brush his hair a little better and wear a respectable tie; +still, he undoubtedly has some original ideas."</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw found himself musing on the artist's outrageous opinions +with a new catholicity. They had staggered him at the moment: they began +to interest him now.</p> + +<p>"It's a pity he can't make a little more money," he added.</p> + +<p>"But I don't need a large income to be happy, father."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" said Mr. Walkingshaw.</p> + +<p>This was going rather too fast; yet when he looked into her shining +eyes, he found it really very difficult to keep severe.</p> + +<p>"Money is a very important thing, my dear," he replied.</p> + +<p>"It's not nearly so important as love! Surely, father, it's far, far +better that two people should be very, very fond of each other than have +plenty <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>of money! You do agree with that, don't you?"</p> + +<p>It was at this moment that there came to the little advocate-for-love's +assistance a recollection of the sympathetic widow. In his mind's eye +Mr. Walkingshaw suddenly saw a vision of her black eyes vivaciously +beaming, and for some reason this enabled him to regard Jean's point of +view in a wholly new and original light.</p> + +<p>"Well," said he, "I'm not sure that there isn't something in what you +say. I do believe you're right, my dear—in fact, I'm positive you're +right. The love for a fine woman—well, it's a first-rate +sensation—most refreshing."</p> + +<p>"For a woman?" asked Jean, a little surprised. "But we were talking +about a man."</p> + +<p>There was no mirror available, but Mr. Walkingshaw had a strong +suspicion that he must be blushing.</p> + +<p>"For a man—of course," he said hastily. "I meant for a man. But in a +general way I think I may say that love's the thing for everybody! It's +the thing for you and me anyhow, eh, Jean?"</p> + +<p>Jean felt as though she had scrubbed a lump of crystal and found it to +be a diamond. How was it she had never before discovered these depths of +affection and geniality below his awe-inspiring exterior? <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span>She had not +scrubbed hard enough!</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed!" said she. "Oh, I do understand you now. Father, I'm so +happy! And you won't think too hardly of Mr. Vernon, will you?"</p> + +<p>"H'm," smiled her father. "That's a matter we might well take to +avizandum, I think."</p> + +<p>For a daughter of a Writer to the Signet, Jean was woefully ignorant. +She did not know what avizandum meant in the least. But she felt sure it +was the name of one of the roads to happiness; and she hugged him again.</p> + +<p>It was in the midst of this embrace that Mrs. Donaldson entered. She had +always esteemed the author of her own existence and her family's +prosperity, but she had never hugged him; nor had he shown any evidence +of desiring such an operation.</p> + +<p>"Good gracious, Jean!" she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"We are arranging a bike ride," beamed her father.</p> + +<p>To complete the confusion of his more creditable daughter, this +improbable announcement was accompanied by an unabashed wink, directed +at his less creditable child apparently for the superfluous purpose of +assuring her he jested.</p> + +<p>That evening Mr. Walkingshaw began to be discussed by his +fellow-citizens in earnest. </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER VI</h3> + +<p>"You're not drinking, Andrew," said Mr. Walkingshaw. "Go on, fill up +your glass. Man, do you call that filling a glass? Here's the way."</p> + +<p>Leaning across the table, he poured in the port till it stood above the +rim, with the steady hand of a man of forty. He was hardly as young as +that yet, but he was amazingly rejuvenated. It could not possibly last, +Andrew said to himself; still, he felt dreadfully uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>"You seem very anxious I should drink," he said gloomily, looking +askance at his brimming glass.</p> + +<p>"You're so dull, my boy," his father answered genially. "There's no life +in you at all. You for a lover! You ought to have come back looking +happy. One would think she'd broken it off."</p> + +<p>It was the evening of the same day. Andrew had returned from his visit +to the Berstouns shortly after Mrs. Donaldson departed, and as Frank was +dining out, he and his father sat alone together over their wine. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p><p>"I've no reason to feel particularly happy," he said.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" cried his father. "Nothing gone wrong, is there?"</p> + +<p>"I don't understand these women."</p> + +<p>"No," said Mr. Walkingshaw, with jovial candor, "you'd be a bit of a +stick with the sex, I can well imagine. You haven't the cut of a ladies' +man: but it's all a matter of practice, my boy; just a matter of +learning experience as you go along. What did she say to you?"</p> + +<p>Andrew was divided in mind. This tone exasperated him beyond measure. He +felt inclined to leave the room. Yet, on the other hand, he judged +himself ill-used by his betrothed, and when he had any ground of +grievance, he had the pleasant habit of venting his complaints as long +as his audience would listen to him. To-night the habit proved even +stronger than his distaste for his high-spirited parent.</p> + +<p>"She was queer," said he.</p> + +<p>"They're all that," replied Mr. Walkingshaw knowingly. "The great thing +is not to mind what they say. It's what they do that counts: and she'd +be affectionate, I suppose, eh?"</p> + +<p>"I've never gone in for much of your spooning <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span>and kissing and that sort +of thing," began Andrew.</p> + +<p>"The more fool you!" interrupted his parent. "What do you think a girl +gets engaged for if it isn't to be cuddled?"</p> + +<p>He surprised himself by his own acumen. The late Mrs. W. had not been in +the least that sort of lady, and he had never been engaged to anybody +else; yet here he was laying down the law with the serenest confidence. +Some divine instinct must be inspiring him. His son seemed less +favorably impressed with his sagacity.</p> + +<p>"Ellen's not that sort of girl," said he.</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow, they're all that sort. At least, that's my view of the +matter. Well, what's gone wrong?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said Andrew sourly. "I can't make her out. She's +different somehow. It was almost as though she wasn't so fond of me."</p> + +<p>"Are you sure you've done nothing to annoy her? They're very touchy, you +know."</p> + +<p>"I haven't done a thing to annoy her. I can swear to <i>that</i>."</p> + +<p>"Then," said Mr. Walkingshaw, with inspired conviction, "there's some +other fellow cutting you out." </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p><p>Andrew started.</p> + +<p>"Who?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know all her neighbors. It's nobody she's met here, I +suppose."</p> + +<p>"She never saw a man when she was here but Frank and me."</p> + +<p>"Then it's some one in Perthshire," pronounced Mr. Walkingshaw, +emphatically but cheerfully.</p> + +<p>Andrew frowned at his still brimming glass. He trusted that he did not +overvalue himself; at the same time, the idea of another being preferred +by a girl who had once enjoyed the privilege of being engaged to Andrew +Walkingshaw struck him as far-fetched.</p> + +<p>"I don't think it's another man," he said.</p> + +<p>"It's my opinion it is, Andrew; and I'm not wanting to lose so nice a +daughter-in-law, so you've got to see that she doesn't turn round +altogether. You've got to go in and win; make sure of her, my boy!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw grew more and more animated and his son more and more +distressed. He was behaving so unlike the senior partner in Walkingshaw +& Gilliflower.</p> + +<p>"What are you wanting me to do?" </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> +"Behave less like a damned umbrella," pronounced Mr. Walkingshaw, with a +startling lapse into epigram.</p> + +<p>Andrew stared.</p> + +<p>"Oh?" said he.</p> + +<p>"Be lively, and—er—amorous, and—ah—sparkling; that's the sort of +thing. Go in for a few new ties and waistcoats. Socks, too, are things +that the young men display considerable enterprise in. I was tempted +myself this afternoon by a shop window full of really remarkably chaste +hosiery—pale green with stripes! you'd look first class in them. I came +to the conclusion at last that perhaps I was hardly young enough for +them yet; but I invested in half a dozen ties of quite a tasty design."</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> bought half a dozen ties!" exclaimed Andrew.</p> + +<p>"I did; and you're welcome to any of them you like. Or will you come +with me and we'll choose something?"</p> + +<p>"Thank you," replied his son sardonically; "but on the whole I'd sooner +trust to nature."</p> + +<p>"In that case, Heaven help you, my poor boy! You have your good points, +but beauty's not among them. Imagine you as a statue, Andrew! Eh?" </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p><p>The worthy gentleman laughed genially, but the unhappy lover did not +join in his mirth.</p> + +<p>"I am glad I amuse you," he said, and rose to leave the table.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, sit down, man," his father commanded; "I haven't half +finished with you yet. Have you read any poetry to her?"</p> + +<p>"I have not."</p> + +<p>"Well, read some; try a bit of—er—I'm not so well up in the poets as I +hope to be soon, but I fancy Byron has written some very stimulating +verses; or why go over the border for them—why not try her with Burns? +What's finer than—</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i4">"'Had we never loved sae kindly,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Had we—um—um—sae blindly,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Never—something—um—um—parted,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">We should—something about being broken-hearted?'"<br /></span> +</div> + +<p>"It's very sentimental, I've no doubt," answered the junior partner, in +a tone which implied that he was uttering the last word in caustic +criticism.</p> + +<p>But his father merely grew the more enthusiastic.</p> + +<p>"And what else have you got to be but sentimental? My dear boy, my eyes +have been opened this very afternoon. I've never been sentimental +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span>enough with my children; and what's the consequence? Here's you letting +a pretty girl slip through your fingers because you don't let yourself +loose on her! Now what you ought to say to her is something like this: +'My own darling—or sweetheart—or even duckie,'—use some popular +symbol, as it were, of affection,—'I am so passionately'—or fervently, +if you like—let us say, 'so fervently in love with you that I can't +hold out'—or perhaps you might find a better word than that; you want +to inflame the lassie without startling her. 'I can't endure'—that's a +better word—'I can't endure for another month. Marry me four weeks from +to-day!' And there you have the whole thing done."</p> + +<p>Andrew had remained standing beside the table.</p> + +<p>"Is that all now?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>His father regarded him with a fine jovial scorn, much as Sir John +Falstaff might have regarded the inventor of lemonade.</p> + +<p>"I doubt you're a hopeless case," said he. "There's ginger enough in an +ordinary policeman to make three of you. But I'm not going to let you +lose Ellen Berstoun if I can help it. Run away now and complain to your +auntie."</p> + +<p>In pointed silence Andrew availed himself of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>this permission, while his +father remained to light a cigar and meditate upon the disadvantages of +unalloyed respectability. A fine example in many ways Andrew undoubtedly +was, just as he trusted he had been himself; but he showed up poorly +when it came to love-making. He was too old for his age; that was the +trouble with Andrew. Now that he came to think of it, there was +something uncompanionable in elderly people. It was surprising he had +not noticed it before, but lately it had occurred to him forcibly. A +brisk young fellow like Frank, a pretty girl like Jean—one felt more in +touch with them. Perhaps they were a trifle on the juvenile side: the +choicest, the most sympathetic period of life was undoubtedly that +attained by—Mr. Walkingshaw jumped up, laid down his cigar, and started +for the drawing-room. What a fine woman Madge was!</p> + +<p>He spent a delightful hour in the ladies' society. The obliging widow +was easily prevailed upon to gratify a passion he had lately developed +for tuneful and romantic melody, and she thrummed through five waltzes +and the whole of two comic operas, while he sat on the sofa holding +Jean's hand and exchanging confidential smiles. Jean was in the seventh +heaven of happiness; the widow enthusiastically <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>approved of the +symptoms; and the only critic present appeared to be his exemplary +sister. She listened to the concert with a bleak face, and regarded the +dalliance on the sofa out of a troubled and uncomprehending eye.</p> + +<p>Aglow with sentiments, which from being mere amorphous ecstasies were +rapidly developing into shapely visions of black eyes and well-nourished +contours, Mr. Walkingshaw bade good-night to the ladies and settled +himself comfortably in his easy-chair before a friendly fire and in +company with a fragrant pipe. How delicious his tobacco tasted! +Evidently this last tin must be of a superior quality. He resolved that +he should insist on being supplied with the same high-class variety in +future.</p> + +<p>At this point his pleasant reverie was interrupted by the entrance of +Frank, just returned from dining with a friend. His father greeted him +genially.</p> + +<p>"Well, my boy, help yourself to a drink and light your pipe."</p> + +<p>Frank glanced at him suspiciously. He had never before been encouraged +either to drink or to smoke; indeed, he had more than once complained +that his father seemed to forget he was now a grown-up man. What his +sudden cordiality meant he could not divine; but on general principles +he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>feared it. This did not prevent him from accepting both overtures +and sitting down on the other side of the fire. Mr. Walkingshaw asked +him a few questions about how he had spent the evening, always with the +same friendly air, till the young soldier began to suspect he had +negotiated some peculiarly fortunate business transaction. He became +emboldened to approach what he feared might prove a delicate subject.</p> + +<p>"I'm thinking of running up to London for a week or two," he began.</p> + +<p>"An excellent idea," said his parent. "It must be rather slow for you +here."</p> + +<p>Frank got more and more encouraged.</p> + +<p>"The only trouble is, I find myself rather short of funds."</p> + +<p>"How much do you want?"</p> + +<p>The going was too smooth to last, thought Frank. He became cautious.</p> + +<p>"Oh, a tenner or so, I suppose," he suggested.</p> + +<p>"A tenner!" exclaimed his father.</p> + +<p>"Say a fiver, then," said Frank hurriedly.</p> + +<p>"A fiver for a week or two in London? My dear boy, you don't know how to +do the thing at all. Your return ticket will cost you over three pounds; +supposing one averages your dinners at ten shillings <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span>a night for a +fortnight—that's seven pounds more; suppers, even if you supped alone" +(here he winked upon his startled offspring), "will run you at least as +much. Put railway and grub at thirty pounds—just to be safe. Then +you'll be going to theaters and music-halls, and taking cabs, and having +a week-end at Brighton—and the Lord knows what else. My hat, it will be +a spree!"</p> + +<p>With sparkling eyes and a beaming smile he leant forward in his chair +and tapped his son upon the knee.</p> + +<p>"I'll come with you, Frank."</p> + +<p>"You!" gasped the poor youth.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Mr. Walkingshaw, apparently more to himself than to Frank, +"that's the way to set about it!"</p> + +<p>He beamed upon his son confidentially.</p> + +<p>"I've got a splendid idea, and you're just the very chap to help me. I +won't spoil sport, my boy, but I'll travel up with you—and, by Jove, we +might stop at the same hotel, if that wouldn't embarrass you. Would it?"</p> + +<p>"N—no," said Frank, "n—not at all."</p> + +<p>"Just what we were needing—a little blow-out in London, eh?"</p> + +<p>Frank gave a little nervous laugh. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p><p>"Do you really mean it?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw was now standing in front of the fire, alternately +rising on tiptoe and thumping down on his heels.</p> + +<p>"Don't I just! When shall we start—to-morrow morning?"</p> + +<p>"To-morrow! But I haven't done any packing."</p> + +<p>"Well, no more have I. We'll just chuck in a few things and buy anything +else we want in London. I need practically a new outfit myself. Can you +introduce me to a good tailor?"</p> + +<p>"Ye—es," stammered Frank.</p> + +<p>"That's all settled, then."</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw began to laugh mysteriously.</p> + +<p>"I'd like to see Andrew's face when he learns I've gone!"</p> + +<p>"But aren't you going to tell him?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw's voice sank.</p> + +<p>"Not a word to any of them, Frank! You put my things into your cab +without any one noticing; I'll say I'm going to the office; and we'll +meet at the station. I don't want to get talked about, you see."</p> + +<p>It was reassuring to find that Mr. Walkingshaw still valued his +reputation, even though the measures <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>he took to preserve it were not +excessively convincing.</p> + +<p>"All right, then," said Frank; "I'd better go and pack now. Good-night."</p> + +<p>"Good-night, my boy," his father answered fervently. "God bless you!"</p> + +<p>The Cromarty Highlander had been through some nerve-testing experiences, +but, as he went to his room, he realized that the severest ordeals often +occur in civil life.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, his parent at a leisurely pace was following him upstairs +when he perceived a light still burning in the drawing-room. He gently +pushed the door open, and a smile of peculiar pleasure irradiated his +rosy face. There, busy at the writing-table and quite alone, sat the +sympathetic widow. He remembered how prettily she had answered a simple +interjection once before.</p> + +<p>"Hullo!" he warbled. </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER VII</h3> + +<p>The widow started and turned in her chair. This time she did not archly +cap his greeting. Instead, her exclamation had a tincture of alarm. He +was so very unlike his usual self.</p> + +<p>"Writing a billet-doux?" he inquired, still smiling.</p> + +<p>He softly closed the door behind him, and approached her with a kind of +jaunty, springy gait that increased her perplexity. She loved to see him +lively, but this smirking manner was really almost peculiar.</p> + +<p>"May I sit at your feet, Madge?" he asked, and without waiting for an +answer, drew up a footstool and planted himself so close to her knees +that the sense of propriety felt by all fine women with any experience +of life impelled her to withdraw them some three inches farther from his +shoulder. At the same time she bent her head a very little forward and +gently drew in her breath. The late Captain Dunbar had possessed in +addition to the virtues of a dashing temperament, certain of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>its +failings, and her cousin's demeanor decidedly reminded her of his +conduct after particularly convivial evenings at the mess. But the test +was reassuring. Her nose was keen, and she noticed nothing—absolutely +nothing.</p> + +<p>"What a beastly big barn of a room this is," he began.</p> + +<p>She was at a loss quite what to answer. Could he mean this: he who +prided himself on the becoming stateliness of his house?</p> + +<p>"Oh, I think it is a very fine and—and—impressive room, Heriot," she +answered guardedly.</p> + +<p>"It's too big and gloomy for a widower. It makes one feel kind of +lonely."</p> + +<p>The widow smiled sweetly. She quite understood what he meant now. The +reminiscence of the late Captain Dunbar faded away, and once more she +was sympathy itself.</p> + +<p>"Are you often lonely?" she inquired softly.</p> + +<p>He looked up into her face with a curious hint of boyishness in his +face.</p> + +<p>"Not while you are here, Madge."</p> + +<p>Again a species of divine instinct possessed Mr. Walkingshaw. Without +permission asked or given, he took his fair cousin's hand and gently +held it. At the same time a longing to be confidential invaded <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>him. He +had a really prime secret to share with her.</p> + +<p>"I am going up to London to-morrow morning!" he announced.</p> + +<p>It did not surprise her that business should take him up to town; it did +that his eyes should twinkle at the prospect. She began to feel a trifle +less sympathetic.</p> + +<p>"Oh," she said, "why are you going?"</p> + +<p>For a moment he hesitated. Could he venture to confide in her? The young +and amorous Heriot said, "Of course! Such a divinity will be all +sympathy." But the senior partner in Walkingshaw & Gilliflower +emphatically retorted. "Never tell a woman what you don't want the whole +town to know!" He was still old enough to obey the more prudent +counselor.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to see my old friend Colonel Munro."</p> + +<p>Decidedly Mr. Walkingshaw was fast acquiring that quick adaptation to +circumstances which is the hall-mark of youth. He had not thought of his +old friend Charlie Munro for the last year or more, and here he was +coming in most usefully just when he was wanted. Heriot recognized with +a touch of awe his own unwonted fertility. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p><p>"Don't tell any one!" he added, and then immediately realized that at +the same time he must be losing a little of that valuable discretion +which had characterized the head of Walkingshaw & Gilliflower.</p> + +<p>"My dear Heriot, this sounds suspicious."</p> + +<p>He realized now the penalties for indiscretion.</p> + +<p>"I am going to see him on particularly private business. We do not wish +it to get talked about."</p> + +<p>He thought he had recovered his old manner to a nicety, but what was his +surprise when his cousin shook a well-manicured finger in his face, and +cried—</p> + +<p>"What a naughty boy you are getting! I wonder whether I ought to tell on +you or not?"</p> + +<p>This time he tried another of his ingenuous smiles.</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> wouldn't tell on me, Madge!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, indeed! Why should I care about your reputation?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw deliberately faced the situation. He had not meant to +commit himself that evening—not, in fact, till he had enjoyed an +untrammeled week in town; but he had placed his reputation in this +charming lady's hands, and he realized he must obtain a receipt for it.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p><p>"Don't you care about me?" he inquired tenderly.</p> + +<p>"What—what do you mean, Heriot?" she faltered.</p> + +<p>"You are everything to me," he answered, and looking into her black +eyes, inwardly decided that this expressed very little more than the +precise truth.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>It was a very few minutes after this that he found himself seated very +close to the sympathetic widow's side, with one arm encircling a +considerable segment of what had been a remarkably trim waist, and the +other hand toying with a collection of ruby and amethyst rings.</p> + +<p>"I do hope I shan't disappoint you, Heriot," she murmured.</p> + +<p>"No fear of that, my dear," said he, pinching one of her plump fingers.</p> + +<p>"It will be rather a Darby and Joan marriage, of course," she smiled.</p> + +<p>"Will it?" replied Heriot, with a glint out of the corner of his eye +that reminded her forcibly of the late Captain Dunbar.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Heriot!" she expostulated. "Remember you're the father of a +grown-up family." </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p><p>"Well," he replied, with amorous facetiousness, "what man has done, man +can do."</p> + +<p>The lady endeavored gently to withdraw her hand, but he held it firmly.</p> + +<p>"Will it be a long engagement?" she asked, with a colder smile.</p> + +<p>"By Jove, not very!" he whispered riotously.</p> + +<p>She felt like one of those intelligent persons who pull the triggers of +supposititiously unloaded guns. By a supreme effort she mastered her +emotion and remarked—</p> + +<p>"I wonder what your family will say."</p> + +<p>He kissed her demonstratively and cried—</p> + +<p>"My family be hanged! I'm not going to tell them yet."</p> + +<p>"When will you?" she asked, disengaging herself with a difficulty that +impressed her still further.</p> + +<p>"Time enough when I get back from London."</p> + +<p>The widow was not altogether unsophisticated. This blend of abandonment +and secrecy impressed her unfavorably. She had known of more than one +ballroom proposal where the gentleman was just sufficiently master of +his emotions to stipulate for silence till he had departed on a +twelvemonth's furlough. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p><p>"How soon are you coming back?" she inquired.</p> + +<p>"Week or two," he answered airily.</p> + +<p>"A week or two to see Colonel Munro!"</p> + +<p>"Intricate business," he answered her, with a fresh salute.</p> + +<p>"Poor old Charles Munro is a kind of relation of mine," she observed.</p> + +<p>He eyed her with more surprise than passion.</p> + +<p>"Oh! I didn't know that."</p> + +<p>"I haven't written to him for years. I think I must send him a letter +this week."</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw realized that he was marrying brains as well as beauty. +He also realized that Colonel Munro was now part of his London +programme. However, on second thoughts, Charlie Munro was a dear old +fellow, and very likely he'd have been looking him up in any case. His +spirits bounded up again. In fact, why should they ever sink with such a +fair creature by his side?</p> + +<p>"Do, darling," he whispered.</p> + +<p>She surrendered herself to his affection and sighed happily. Why should +she feel disturbed with one of the most respectable of Writers to the +Signet pledged to devote his declining years to her consolation?</p> + +<p>"I trust you, Heriot," she murmured. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p><p>"My little duck!" he answered tenderly.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>At twelve o'clock next morning the London express thundered on to the +bridge across the Solway. Mr. Walkingshaw looked up at his son.</p> + +<p>"We're out of Scotland now," he said, with a sigh of reminiscent ardor. +"Home and beauty are far behind us, Frank."</p> + +<p>Then in a different key he added—</p> + +<p>"It is curious that my spirits should keep rising."</p> + +<p>From which it appeared that he had grown young enough to realize that +though lunch may be over, there is always dinner to look forward to. </p> + +<hr class="biggest" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143-144]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="PART_III" id="PART_III"></a>PART III </h2> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER I</h3> + +<p>Colonel Munro drew the ends of his white tie through the loop in the +middle with infinite care. In a very wide circle of acquaintances he was +universally known as "Charlie" Munro; and you had only to look at him to +see how appropriate was this gallant diminutive. His head was bald at +the top, but cleanly and beautifully bald, like a head of the finest +marble; on either side and behind, his hair was both white and curly; +his eye was bright, his features remarkably handsome, his mustache a +slender ornament of silver, and his figure tall and slender. At +sixty-three he was probably handsomer than he had ever been before in +his life; and that was saying a great deal. He lived in very pleasant +bachelor chambers in St. James' under the charge of a competent valet.</p> + +<p>"Let me see that card again," he said, as he gave his tie those little +finishing touches that converted it from an elegant accessory into a +work of art.</p> + +<p>The valet went to his sitting-room and returned <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>with a calling card on +a tray. Colonel Munro studied it a trifle lugubriously.</p> + +<p>"James Heriot Walkingshaw," he read, with this addendum in pencil, +"Shall call for you 7:30. Count on your company at dinner."</p> + +<p>The Colonel buttoned his white waistcoat.</p> + +<p>"Didn't you tell Mr. Walkingshaw that I would probably be engaged?" he +asked.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir," said the valet smoothly, "the gentleman seemed such an old +friend of yours, I thought perhaps you wouldn't like to miss him."</p> + +<p>"One's oldest friends are sometimes d——d nuisances, Forman."</p> + +<p>The Colonel saw the pleasant evening he had contemplated spending in the +society of two or three of the gayest old bloods in London darkening +into a <i>tête-à-tête</i> with Mr. Walkingshaw at his portentously +respectable club, and regretted he had allowed Forman to lay out a clean +white waistcoat; for he was, by force of circumstances, economical as +well as gallant.</p> + +<p>"I tell you what," said he, "I don't mean to wait a minute after 7:30. +If he turns up late, you can make my apologies, and say I'll be happy to +lunch with him to-morrow."</p> + +<p>He put on his coat, added an overcoat and white <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>scarf, cocked his opera +hat on his shapely old head, and sat confronting his sitting-room clock. +At 7:29 he rose briskly, and then with a sigh sank back into his chair. +He heard a footstep on the stair.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Walkingshaw," announced the valet.</p> + +<p>The Colonel advanced with that courteous smile for which he was +renowned.</p> + +<p>"My dear Charlie!" cried his visitor.</p> + +<p>"Well, Heriot," smiled the Colonel, looking a little surprised at the +remarkable joviality of this greeting.</p> + +<p>He surveyed his old friend up and down, and seemed still more surprised.</p> + +<p>"What a buck you are!" he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>In truth, Mr. Walkingshaw, arrayed in a new opera hat, a new and shining +pair of dress boots, and a fashionable new overcoat, cut a very +different figure from the sedate W.S. of the Colonel's previous +acquaintance.</p> + +<p>Heriot looked a trifle self-conscious.</p> + +<p>"I hope I haven't overdone the thing," said he.</p> + +<p>"Not a bit," smiled the Colonel, as a bright inspiration struck him. +"The only criticism I'd make is that you are really thrown away on the +members of your very sedate club, Heriot." </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p><p>"Oh, but I didn't mean to dine you at my club."</p> + +<p>Colonel Munro opened his eyes and smiled again.</p> + +<p>"Where do you propose?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I thought perhaps you might advise me."</p> + +<p>"Let me see," mused Charlie, with a pleasant air.</p> + +<p>"What about the Carlton?"</p> + +<p>"First-rate, if you care to run to that."</p> + +<p>"I've booked a table there on spec," said Heriot.</p> + +<p>The Colonel beamed.</p> + +<p>"I say, you're coming out, Heriot. Blowing the expense this time, what?"</p> + +<p>"I don't care what I spend!" replied his old friend, in a burst of +confidence.</p> + +<p>"Then let's start," said the Colonel. "Like to take a cab?"</p> + +<p>"I've got one waiting."</p> + +<p>"After you," said Charlie, holding the door open.</p> + +<p>He was struck by the agility with which his old friend descended the +stairs, and smiled afresh at the increasing possibilities of the +situation.</p> + +<p>"I say, this is very pleasant," beamed Mr. Walkingshaw as they jingled +off in a hansom. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p><p>Rather bashfully he took from his overcoat pocket a pair of dazzling +white kid gloves.</p> + +<p>"These are the proper things in the evening, aren't they?" he inquired. +"I notice you've got on a pair."</p> + +<p>His guest chuckled.</p> + +<p>"They'll do to dance in afterwards if we go on to Covent Garden," he +laughed, and then added waggishly, "How would you like to go to a fancy +dress ball, Heriot?"</p> + +<p>"Is there one on to-night?" asked Heriot.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Are you going?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I've given up that sort of thing years ago; but of course, if +you're keen to go, I might stretch a point."</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw looked at him doubtfully out of the corner of his eye +and answered nothing.</p> + +<p>A little later the two old friends had grown more merrily confidential +than they had been since the days of their youth. Charlie Munro was a +little puzzled by the subtle alteration in his host, but he was not in +the least disposed to criticize it. He felt more and more inclined to +tempt him into a further display of frivolity. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p><p>"Well, now, what about the Covent Garden ball?" he suggested.</p> + +<p>Heriot's eyes grew bright, but his mouth pursed cautiously.</p> + +<p>"Aren't they rather—er—fast?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"As fast as you choose to make 'em."</p> + +<p>"But aren't the ladies rather—er—rather—well—"</p> + +<p>"Not a bit," said the Colonel. "There's a mixture, that's all."</p> + +<p>"But I say, Charlie, what about being seen by any one we know?"</p> + +<p>"We'll get a disguise for you," smiled Charlie.</p> + +<p>"Really, can you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'll see to that."</p> + +<p>He began to picture a very amusing evening with his old friend Heriot.</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw drank off his glass of champagne.</p> + +<p>"Well, if you're game—" said he.</p> + +<p>"I'm game for anything, my dear fellow, so long as I've you by my side," +laughed Charlie. "When you're tired, I'll promise to take you away. +Shall we call it arranged?"</p> + +<p>"I'll risk it," said Heriot stoutly. </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER II</h3> + +<p>Round came the big man in the purple domino and the long false nose, +hopping blithely to the crashing waltz, his arm encircling the waist of +a little lady attired to represent a hot cross-bun. Then he was lost in +the crowd, and the Colonel's eyes, in which for a moment a spark of +wonder had burned, grew old and tired again. As he stood there alone, +with youth and recklessness gamboling before him, he realized somberly +that for him this revel was ended. How he would have enjoyed it once! +But never, never again. His straight, soldierly back bent with +weariness; he jerked back his shoulders, but they slipped forward, +forward, and he let them stay. How little the fair faces interested him; +how stupidly riotous these young fellows were!</p> + +<p>Round came the false nose again, and this time the empurpled figure +unclasped one hand of the hot cross-bun and waved a genial greeting as +they stampeded by. And again a gleam, almost of fear, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span>lit the Colonel's +weary eyes. It was horrible, grotesque, inhuman, to see the friend of +his youth, a man older than himself, the honored head of a respectable +firm, the father of five grown-up children, going on like this. The +Colonel had thought it would be funny, but as hour succeeded hour, and +the ringleader of the frolic gradually became a wearied spectator, this +superhuman display of high-spirited energy grew long past a joke. +Charlie had never been austere, but there were limits to all things. +Good Gad, there were limits! If the man had got drunk or grown vicious, +he might have excused him. But to see him interminably bounding round +that floor behind six inches of pasteboard nose! He began to move away. +He could stand the spectacle no longer.</p> + +<p>Again the false nose hopped by, and this time disengaged himself +hurriedly from his partner and hastened after the retiring Colonel.</p> + +<p>"You're not going, Charlie?" he cried.</p> + +<p>His friend turned and stared at him piteously.</p> + +<p>"For Heaven's sake, take off that nose, Heriot!"</p> + +<p>The W.S. removed it with a laugh.</p> + +<p>"Put it on yourself, Charlie, and have a turn <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>with my partner," he +urged. "She dances really magnificently, you know."</p> + +<p>Colonel Munro laid his hand beseechingly upon his arm.</p> + +<p>"Come home, Heriot! You'll be devilish sorry for this to-morrow, as it +is; and if you dance any more, by Gad, you may kill yourself! My dear +fellow, think of your age."</p> + +<p>Heriot received this objection with a cheerful laugh.</p> + +<p>"You're not going yourself, surely?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"I am."</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw looked at him anxiously.</p> + +<p>"I say, you do look tired, Charlie. How's that?"</p> + +<p>"I am sixty-three," replied the Colonel, with an instinctive lowering of +his voice. He never stated his age if he could help it.</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw continued to gaze at him oddly.</p> + +<p>"I had forgotten how one feels at that time of life," he said musingly, +"quite forgotten. Poor old Charlie; I oughtn't to have kept you up so +late. I'd have felt like that at sixty-three myself. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>Well, my dear +fellow, I'm glad we were able to have this night together before it +became too late. It has made me feel quite old again to see you."</p> + +<p>Colonel Munro seized his arm and drew him towards the door, with all the +vehemence of which he was capable.</p> + +<p>"Come along—come along, Heriot!" he implored him; "you have had a +little more to drink than you quite realize!"</p> + +<p>Heriot disengaged himself very easily from his trembling grip.</p> + +<p>"My poor old boy," he smiled, "I'm as sober as you were when you +started! I positively require the exercise. Besides, you must remember +that this sort of thing is only just beginning for me; don't grudge me +my fling. Get you to bed as quick as you can, Charlie. Sleep is what +you're needing."</p> + +<p>"And do you know what you need?" exclaimed the Colonel, with another +grab at his sleeve.</p> + +<p>"A taste of life!" cried Heriot, evading his old fingers with wonderful +agility, and slipping on his pasteboard nose.</p> + +<p>He waved a gay farewell, threw his arm round the waist of the hot +cross-bun, and waltzed out of the Colonel's vision. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p><p>It was not till two hours later that Heriot Walkingshaw, smiling with +reminiscent pleasure and perspiring freely, set out on foot for his +hotel. A brisk walk in the early morning air was the only pick-me-up +<i>he</i> needed. </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER III</h3> + +<p>During their descent upon the Metropolis of England, Mr. Walkingshaw and +his son were residing at the Hotel Gigantique, that stately new pile in +Piccadilly, so styled, it is understood, from the bills presented when +you leave. On the morning after his evening spent with Charlie Munro, +they met as usual at breakfast. Fortunately, the state of Mr. +Walkingshaw's health did not in the least seem to justify the +forebodings of his friend. On the contrary, he tackled a fried sole with +confidence, even with ardor, and put a great deal of cream into his +coffee.</p> + +<p>"What were you about last night?" he inquired genially.</p> + +<p>"I dined with one or two fellows at the Rag," said Frank.</p> + +<p>"Doesn't sound very lively," observed his father, "that's to say, at +your age," he hastened to add; for he still believed in retaining the +confidence of his children.</p> + +<p>Frank smiled dreamily. This "bust" in town <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>was proving less solacing +than he had hoped. Now that he had got here, he found himself too +lovelorn to bust with any relish. At the same time, it was pleasant and +soothing to enjoy each day the society of so charming a parent. Any +disquietude he felt at the singular nature of the change had been +allayed by one of his friends, an R.A.M.C. man, who assured him that a +serious illness at his father's time of life was not infrequently +followed by a marked rejuvenation of the patient; so that he was able to +regard with unqualified gratitude the generosity and kindness of the +truant Writer to the Signet.</p> + +<p>"What were you doing yourself?" he inquired presently.</p> + +<p>"Dining with Colonel Munro," replied his father, truthfully if a trifle +meagerly.</p> + +<p>He sipped his coffee, and then remarked—</p> + +<p>"Poor Charlie Munro is growing old, I'm afraid. He knocks up very +easily."</p> + +<p>He sighed and added, "It's a melancholy thing, Frank, my boy, to see +one's old friends slipping away from one."</p> + +<p>"What! Is he seriously ill?" asked Frank.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't mean that. I mean—well, everything has its compensating +disadvantages. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>Mine is that my contemporaries are outgrowing me. +Charlie and I started the evening in capital style; he was up to +anything, and I was on for anything. But by the end of the night we were +quite out of sympathy. The fact is, he is still in the sixties. However, +my duty has been done; I've seen him, and that's over."</p> + +<p>He helped himself to some more fish, and continued with animation—</p> + +<p>"Now I can carry out my idea! I may or may not set about it the right +way, but I do want to make you all happy Frank."</p> + +<p>It was perhaps well for his continued equanimity that during the first +part of this speech Frank was lost in contemplation of a singularly +vivid image of Ellen Berstoun. She had a distracting habit of appearing +like that to the young soldier, of which he was unable to cure her. He +started out of his reverie with the last words.</p> + +<p>"My dear father, you're the best sportsman I know," he replied warmly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw looked highly gratified at this compliment.</p> + +<p>"That's what I'm aiming at," he answered.</p> + +<p>He leaned over the table and continued confidentially—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p><p>"Of course you are happy, Frank. There's really nothing Providence could +do for you except put a little money in your pocket, and give you a good +time—eh?"</p> + +<p>"Oh—er—nothing."</p> + +<p>"What's the matter? That doesn't sound very cheerful."</p> + +<p>"I assure you I'm as cheerful as—er—er—anything," said Frank +heroically.</p> + +<p>"I was sure of it. But poor Jean—she's got her troubles, eh, Frank?"</p> + +<p>Frank warmed up at his sister's name.</p> + +<p>"She has," he admitted.</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw thoughtfully piled several slices of bacon on his plate. +It would have reassured Colonel Munro greatly to have seen him.</p> + +<p>"I wish I was sure that Vernon was good enough for her."</p> + +<p>Frank looked up quickly.</p> + +<p>"I don't think anybody is quite good enough for Jean; but Lucas Vernon +is really a deuced fine fellow."</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw still seemed doubtful.</p> + +<p>"A bit lazy, I'm afraid."</p> + +<p>"I assure you he's not," said Frank. "He works, sir, like the very +dickens." </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p><p>"He can't sell his pictures," replied his father. "I'll never believe in +an artist till he can sell what he paints."</p> + +<p>"The difficulty for a painter is to get hold of the right man—the +fellow with the money," urged Frank.</p> + +<p>"That's a mere matter of time," said his father; "they are sure to meet +sooner or later, and then the point is, has he painted anything worth +selling? If Vernon can manage to prove that, I may begin to believe in +him. If he's a fraud it is time the thing was stopped for Jean's sake."</p> + +<p>He looked much more like the old Heriot Walkingshaw than he had for some +weeks. Then he smiled, though still with an exceedingly shrewd air.</p> + +<p>"Well," he concluded, "we'll see." </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER IV</h3> + +<p>There is a by-street which opens out of the King's Road, Chelsea, and +for a short distance pursues a course as respectable as the early career +of Mr. Walkingshaw. Then, not unlike that gentleman, it diverges at +right angles; and having once begun, goes on doubling for the remainder +of its existence, shedding, as it gets round each corner, the more +orthodox houses that once bore it company, till at last it becomes a +mere devious lane, the haunt of low eccentric buildings; in places, +owing to a casual tree or two, positively shady. The eccentric +buildings, one is not greatly surprised to hear, are nothing more +decorous than the studios of Bohemian painters. Such are the dangers of +deviating from a straight and adequately lamp-lit route.</p> + +<p>In one of these studios a young man fiercely painted. His powerful, +loosely clad figure stepped nervously back and forward, his brush now +poised trembling in the air, now dabbing and swishing <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span>on the +long-suffering canvas. His mop of brown hair had started the day brushed +back and comparatively sleek; it was now a mere tousel. His butterfly +tie had been a thing of some esthetic pretensions; it was become a +tangle of silk. His smile had been bland and his manner courteous; he +now resembled a buffalo with a bullet in it.</p> + +<p>"The beastly thing won't come right!" he roared.</p> + +<p>Another young man reclined upon a deck-chair in company with three +cushions. His appearance was equally artistic, but he seemed less +strenuous. He was pale, slim, rather pretty than handsome, and +engagingly polite.</p> + +<p>"Cheer up, dear old fellow," he suggested.</p> + +<p>"Damn!" muttered Lucas.</p> + +<p>He toiled in agitated silence for some minutes, and then burst out +again.</p> + +<p>"No one will ever exhibit the thing; no one will ever look twice at it; +there's not a fool big enough in England to buy it! And it's all but the +best bit of work I've ever done."</p> + +<p>"That 'all but' lets you down, I suppose," observed the other gently.</p> + +<p>"One could fill a lunatic asylum with you alone," replied the painter. +"Why don't you go <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>off and do some work instead of exhibiting your +incompetence here?"</p> + +<p>"I told you I'd a headache," said the young man in the chair languidly.</p> + +<p>"What the devil's in your head to ache beats me," declared Lucas, +accompanying this unkind speech by a brutal onslaught on the canvas.</p> + +<p>"Dear Lucas!" smiled his friend. "You seem to have come under some +softening influence lately. Can you be in love?"</p> + +<p>The painter turned and confronted him with a less furious air.</p> + +<p>"You know I am," he replied, and strode to the end of the studio and +back, while the other contemplated him in pitying silence.</p> + +<p>"I feel a fraud, Hillary," he resumed.</p> + +<p>"So long as you aren't found out—" began Hillary.</p> + +<p>"I have found myself out," retorted Lucas. "I boasted I could make an +income for her—and look at this daub!"</p> + +<p>"The public likes daubs."</p> + +<p>"If they know the signature; yes, by all means. But who knows mine?"</p> + +<p>"Some Jews are great picture-buyers," suggested Hillary. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p><p>An answering gleam lit Lucas's eye for an instant, and then burned out.</p> + +<p>"For the artist there are three ways of making a living," he pronounced. +"One is painting for the million—children with rosy cheeks and large +wheelbarrows; beds with angels hovering over them and kind doctors with +stethoscopes sitting beside them—that sort of thing—the obvious road +to the heart. The second is hitting the superior kind of idiot in the +eye—inventing a cheap new formula—putting a goblin upside down in one +corner, an immoral-looking woman in another, and passing the arrangement +off as an allegory. Then up jumps an interpreter and booms you. The +third is slowly making your name by the sweat of your brow, and selling +your pictures when you are fifty-five to people who never recognized +their merit till they had been told you were famous."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Hillary, "that gives you a biggish target."</p> + +<p>"Does it? I have no popular knack; I lack the conjurer's instincts; and +I don't mean to wait for Jean Walkingshaw till I am fifty-five."</p> + +<p>"Must it be she?" asked Hillary.</p> + +<p>"It must!" </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p><p>"Her father won't help?"</p> + +<p>"If he wasn't so infernally respectable he'd shoot me at sight."</p> + +<p>"Run away with her. Once you've got her, he won't be heathen enough to +let her starve."</p> + +<p>"In the first place," replied Lucas, "she wouldn't run away with me. +That's the infernal, charming, irritating, splendid thing about her—she +is true to us both."</p> + +<p>"Won't chuck you and won't chuck the old boy either?"</p> + +<p>Lucas nodded.</p> + +<p>"The thing can be done," said Hillary languidly; "it only wants a little +energy and enterprise. Great achievements are never accomplished by +slackness. Woman was created to yield to the energetic advances of man. +Remember that, Luc—"</p> + +<p>"Besides," interrupted the painter, who had paid singularly little +attention to this stirring speech, "I happen to be handicapped by a +little pride. Can you imagine me helping her to compose begging letters +to her father? 'We are in great distress this winter, and a check for +twenty pounds will be gratefully, etc. etc. etc.!' Can you see me +stooping to that sort of thing? What?" </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p><p>"I merely threw out the idea as it were tentatively," said Hillary +mildly.</p> + +<p>Lucas gave his mustaches a fierce twist and planted himself firmly with +his back to the despised picture.</p> + +<p>"It must have been a practical joke of the Devil's that gave Jean that +father and then threw me in her way. Old Heriot Walkingshaw is one of +those men who were created as an antidote to human affection. He stands +between his children's hearts and the sunshine outside like the brick +wall of a prison. His virtues are those of a paperweight. Neither his +daughter nor his fortune are likely to blow away while he is planted on +them; and there his merits end."</p> + +<p>"What a dreadful fellow," murmured Hillary.</p> + +<p>"And the worst of such fellows is that they are infectious. One can +catch grimness and hardness of soul just as one can catch high spirits +and courage. Bah! I won't think of him any more. I'll have another shot +at this thing."</p> + +<p>He took his brush again and faced the canvas. For a few minutes he +labored painfully, and then turned with an exclamation.</p> + +<p>"The memory of the old devil has got into my brush—" he began, and then +stopped. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p><p>There was a knock upon the studio door.</p> + +<p>"Hullo! A patron?" said Hillary.</p> + +<p>"A dun more probably," muttered Lucas.</p> + +<p>He opened the door and found himself confronting the rubicund +countenance and imposing form of Heriot Walkingshaw. Over the shoulder +of this apparition he looked into the clear eyes of Frank. They were +trying to convey a caution to use whatever tact he possessed; but the +artist was too dumbfounded to heed them.</p> + +<p>"Well?" he demanded. </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER V</h3> + +<p>"Good-day, Mr. Vernon," said his guest.</p> + +<p>He held out his hand, and Lucas mechanically shook it.</p> + +<p>"May we come in?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"If you want to—certainly," said Lucas; and they entered.</p> + +<p>"A fellow-artist, I presume?" inquired Mr. Walkingshaw, glancing at the +pale and pretty youth.</p> + +<p>Lucas automatically introduced them.</p> + +<p>"Very happy to meet you, Mr. Hillary," said the W.S. genially. "Let me +introduce my son."</p> + +<p>Leaving the two young men to entertain each other, he walked aside for a +few paces with his host. His countenance was composed and his air +dignified; though, as he thoughtlessly took Vernon's arm to direct his +partially paralyzed movements, the artist began dimly to apprehend that +no overt outrage was premeditated.</p> + +<p>"I say," he began in that pleasantly unconventional vein which appeared +to afford his vigorous <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>reflections the readiest outlet, "this must seem +a bit odd and so on, but why the deuce should we go on quarreling just +because we've once begun? We're above that, eh?"</p> + +<p>"I have no wish—" began the artist.</p> + +<p>"Exactly, exactly," interrupted his visitor breezily; "we both mean the +same thing, so that's all right. Perhaps we misunderstood each other on +a previous occasion. Of course perhaps we didn't—we may be a couple of +scoundrels just as we imagined, eh? Ha, ha! Still, let's assume there +was a little misunderstanding. Now what have you been painting?"</p> + +<p>The artist's blue eyes looked at him fixedly.</p> + +<p>"I am addressing the same Mr. Heriot Walkingshaw?" he inquired in a +voice compounded of several emotions.</p> + +<p>"The same, my dear fellow—essentially the same. I look +better—younger—fitter, I dare say, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Lucas, still eyeing him curiously, "you do."</p> + +<p>"But you see I am still Frank's father."</p> + +<p>He laughed genially, and this argument at last seemed to convince the +young man that he was not the victim of a strange delusion. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p><p>"I am sorry for being a little hasty—" he began, with a candid smile.</p> + +<p>"Not at all," interrupted Mr. Walkingshaw good-humoredly. "Don't mention +it. There was a lady in the case; that's excuse enough for any two men +quarreling. By the way, my daughter is not with me, but she would no +doubt wish to have her kind regards—that is to say—well, well, let me +see the pictures."</p> + +<p>In the course of this speech the affable gentleman had been reminded by +the senior partner that one must be careful not to commit oneself +rashly. It was odd how often he required these warnings nowadays—and +how frequently they came just half a sentence too late.</p> + +<p>"Brush been busy?" he added hastily.</p> + +<p>Lucas pointed to a dozen or more canvases stacked against the wall.</p> + +<p>"Fairly," he said.</p> + +<p>"May I look at them? Oh, don't trouble to take them off the floor. I'll +just turn them over for myself, if I may."</p> + +<p>He stooped over the stack and moved each canvas in turn till he could +catch a glimpse of its face. With this ocular demonstration that there +actually were pictures upon all of them he seemed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>content, for he +turned to his host with an approving smile.</p> + +<p>"You have not been altogether idle, then?"</p> + +<p>"Altogether idle!"</p> + +<p>Hillary turned at the exclamation.</p> + +<p>"Poor old Lucas is working himself to death," he said, with his gentle +and insinuating air.</p> + +<p>"Indeed!" exclaimed Mr. Walkingshaw, and surveyed the artist with +increased respect.</p> + +<p>"Hillary is inclined to talk—" began Lucas, but was silenced by a +ferocious stamp of Frank's boot.</p> + +<p>"Hush, you idiot!" he murmured.</p> + +<p>"No, Lucas," said his friend readily, "I am not inclined to talk as a +rule, but I cannot bear to hear you maligned. I never saw a man work as +you do."</p> + +<p>"Is that your candid opinion of our friend?" smiled Mr. Walkingshaw with +a pleasant air.</p> + +<p>"It feebly endeavors to express my opinion," replied the engaging young +man. "He paints on an average one picture per six hours of daylight; and +the most astounding thing sir, is their consistently high merit."</p> + +<p>Lucas looked decidedly uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>"I don't sell them, unfortunately," he blurted out. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p><p>The W.S. turned grave.</p> + +<p>"None of them?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"I haven't sold much lately."</p> + +<p>"How's that?"</p> + +<p>"The public is not yet educated up to him," said Hillary. "But between +ourselves, Mr. Walkingshaw, if I had a thousand pounds at this moment, I +should put it all in Vernons; they'll be worth five thousand in ten +years' time at a modest estimate—a very modest estimate."</p> + +<p>"You are a critic?" inquired the W.S.</p> + +<p>"I am considered so," answered the youth modestly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw turned to the embarrassed artist.</p> + +<p>"At the same time, I gather that whatever your merits, this is one of +your lean years, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Devilish," said Lucas.</p> + +<p>"That must be discouraging?"</p> + +<p>"It might be if I let it."</p> + +<p>"That is a damned good answer, Vernon," said Mr. Walkingshaw +emphatically.</p> + +<p>Before the three young men had recovered from the sympathetic surprise +which this reply occasioned, he had planted himself in front of the +unfinished picture on the easel. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p><p>"What's this you're doing? A wood? Ah, yes, I recognize the trees. Very +lifelike indeed—most creditable. What's the price of it, if I may ask?"</p> + +<p>"What I can get," replied Lucas, with a reminiscence of his afternoon's +despair.</p> + +<p>"Still the same unpractical fellow!" smiled Mr. Walkingshaw. "You're not +very strong on figures, eh?"</p> + +<p>"I don't meet many," said the artist candidly.</p> + +<p>"Well," suggested his visitor kindly, "what about fifty pounds?"</p> + +<p>"I'd think myself devilish lucky."</p> + +<p>"May I have it at that?"</p> + +<p>"<i>You?</i>"</p> + +<p>"It isn't booked already, I trust?"</p> + +<p>"N—no."</p> + +<p>"That's a bargain, then?"</p> + +<p>Lucas's eyes were again fixed in a strange stare. Then a quick change of +expression broke over his face.</p> + +<p>"You're very kind, Mr. Walkingshaw!" he said warmly.</p> + +<p>"Tuts, tuts, not a bit. I want to warm up my study with a splash of +color. That's the way you artists would put it. Eh?" </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p><p>"A splash of color—yes."</p> + +<p>"You see, I'm getting the hang of your lingo already, Vernon. And now, +what else have you got for sale? What do you recommend, Hillary, eh?"</p> + +<p>That young man displayed a sudden aptitude for business which had never +characterized his own efforts to make a livelihood.</p> + +<p>"As a work of art likely to rise enormously in value, I conscientiously +recommend that," he said, pointing to another canvas.</p> + +<p>"A nice head," commented Mr. Walkingshaw. "High-toned yet spiritual, one +might term it. I like the way the eyes seem to look out of the paper—or +is it canvas it's done on?"</p> + +<p>"Oh—er—I beg your pardon," said Lucas, waking suddenly from his +reverie; "I—I'll let you have that thrown in."</p> + +<p>"Wits a wool-gathering, Vernon?" smiled his patron indulgently. "But I +dare say you've some excuse. I'll take the picture with pleasure, but I +insist on paying for it. Let us put this at twenty-five pounds."</p> + +<p>"I won't let you!" cried Lucas. "I give it you—I make you a present of +it. You've been so kind already—" </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p><p>"Pooh! Come, come," interrupted Mr. Walkingshaw kindly, yet firmly. +"You've got to make your way, and how will you do that if you give away +your—fruits of the brush you'd call them, I suppose, eh?"</p> + +<p>The artist could not but admit the force of this argument, and in the +course of an hour had the satisfaction of selling, at considerably above +his usual market price, no fewer than four of his masterpieces; while +Mr. Walkingshaw, on his part, became the fortunate possessor of a +promising but unfinished sylvan scene, the portrait of an unknown lady, +a rainy day upon the Norfolk coast, and (what he considered the gem of +the collection) a recognizable panorama of Edinburgh from the north, +including among its minor details a splash of red ocher which he felt +certain was the grand stand at the Scottish Union's football field. This +recalled the sympathetic widow, and gave the picture a sentimental as +well as an artistic value. He could have wished that on this, as indeed +on most other occasions, the artist had paid more attention to +verisimilitude and less to mere vague harmonies and so forth, but as he +was assured by that intelligent young Hillary that this method was all +the Go at present, and that his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span>friend Lucas was recognized as a rising +Dab at it. That at least is how he retailed the argument afterwards.</p> + +<p>At the conclusion of these arrangements he again drew the artist aside.</p> + +<p>"Would you like a check immediately," he inquired, "or upon delivery of +the pictures?"</p> + +<p>With considerable animation Lucas assured him there was no hurry at all.</p> + +<p>"There is a distinction between punctuality and hurry," replied Mr. +Walkingshaw. "I recommend it to your notice, Vernon. As to the date of +payment, I suggest by the first post after the delivery of the pictures. +Does that satisfy you?"</p> + +<p>"Quite," said the painter, with a subdued air.</p> + +<p>"Strenuous work, patience, and the cultivation of business habits are +the recommendations I make to you, my dear fellow—as I would to any +other young man. They have been, if I may say so, the secret of any +little success I may have achieved myself. Good-by, Vernon, good-by!"</p> + +<p>He departed thus upon a note of austere benevolence, leaving behind him +a grateful yet chastened artist.</p> + +<p>"Well, Frank," said he, as they drove back together, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>"that young fellow +has managed to sell one or two pictures, I'm glad to find."</p> + +<p>His eyes twinkled merrily as he spoke, but before his son had time to +reply the senior partner spoke again.</p> + +<p>"I only hope he keeps it up," was his addendum.</p> + +<p>For a young man, Frank had remarkable discretion (apart from his one +lamentable lapse). He dutifully agreed with this sentiment, and then +proceeded to congratulate his parent on the taste with which he had +selected his pictures and the excellence of the investment he had made. +Mr. Walkingshaw appeared gratified by his approval.</p> + +<p>"I don't throw my money away, Frank," he said complacently. "By the way, +what's the cab fare?"</p> + +<p>"One and six," said Frank.</p> + +<p>In the temporary absence of the senior partner, Mr. Walkingshaw handed +the man half a crown, and entered the hotel humming a romantic melody.</p> + +<p>As he crossed the hall a deferential attendant approached with a +telegram.</p> + +<p>"Hullo!" said he, "a wire. I wonder who the deuce this is from." </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER VI</h3> + +<p>It is a lamentable fact, remarked upon even by popular politicians, that +the very measures which give the highest satisfaction to some people +produce the profoundest depression in others. And it is worth adding +that it is not always the most original reflections which have procured +for their authors the widest reputation (though, if one wanted to quote +an authority for this last axiom, one would perhaps turn rather to the +popular theologians).</p> + +<p>Of the truth of the first proposition, that worthy young man, Andrew +Walkingshaw, was an unhappy example. It is the case that his parent's +disappearance was not without compensating advantages. He was spared a +number of minor annoyances, which of late had been the undeserved +accompaniment of his blameless life; but then, the mystery of that +disappearance, its unorthodoxy, its appalling suggestions of scandal! He +knew now what it must feel like to have a relative engaged upon +fashionable divorce proceedings or <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span>conspicuously notorious on the +music-hall stage. For, despite his industry in circulating a +circumstantial account of the business that had called the head of the +firm so suddenly away, he thought he observed in the face of every +acquaintance a kind of sly and knowing expression. "Aha!" every one of +them seemed to say, "I've got my knife into <i>you</i>, Andrew!"</p> + +<p>Beneath the roof of the respectable mansion in which he had hitherto +spent a life unsullied by mystery or romance he found, to his horror, +that these sinister manifestations were even more marked than in his +club. The restored happiness of Jean was a bad sign, very ominous under +the circumstances. It is true that she professed complete ignorance of +their father's movements, but Andrew was too astute a lawyer to pay much +attention to what people said; it was how they behaved that he went by; +and Jean's conduct was suspicious. Why should she be smiling while this +dark cloud hung over their reputations? The like of that looked very +bad. He resolved to probe the matter a bit further.</p> + +<p>"There's some one wanting to know where Frank has got to," he began, +with an ingenuous air, when he met her next. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p><p>"What does he want to see him about?" inquired Jean.</p> + +<p>"He didn't say, but I thought perhaps you had heard Frank mention where +he was going. Did you by any chance?"</p> + +<p>His air remained as ingenuous as ever, but Jean looked at him +doubtfully. For a moment she hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, where was it?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I don't know whether he has gone there."</p> + +<p>"The chances are he has," said Andrew. "What was his intention?"</p> + +<p>"Who was the man that wanted to know?"</p> + +<p>Andrew was particularly scrupulous never to deviate far from the high +road of truth. Of course there were footpaths alongside that led to the +same place, and gave one a certain amount of latitude; but beyond these +no moral or respectable man should venture. Supposing one were caught in +an adjoining field cutting a corner!</p> + +<p>"That's neither here nor there," he said evasively.</p> + +<p>"Was there really anybody at all asking for him, or is the 'some one' +yourself?" </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p><p>Her brother looked severe.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Jean," said he, "you know where he has gone—I've got that +much out of you; and it's your duty to tell me."</p> + +<p>Her eyes were fixed on him steadily.</p> + +<p>"You think Frank and father have gone off together?"</p> + +<p>"I know nothing about that."</p> + +<p>"And that's why you are suddenly so curious about Frank?"</p> + +<p>He regarded her in injured silence; but instead of appearing affected by +his unspoken reproach, she continued with an air of knowing both his +intentions and her own.</p> + +<p>"If father wanted you to know he would have told you himself."</p> + +<p>"It is for his own sake I want to find out."</p> + +<p>"Then you admit you were trying to find out about father! What benefit +would it be to him if you knew?"</p> + +<p>"It is most inconvenient at the office not knowing his address."</p> + +<p>"If it really were very inconvenient, father would be certain to think +of that and send you his address himself."</p> + +<p>"He has not thought of it." </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p><p>"Well then, there can't be any great inconvenience."</p> + +<p>Not for the first time in his life Andrew wished that all humanity +belonged to his own sensible, candid, trustworthy sex.</p> + +<p>"I tell you there is," he insisted.</p> + +<p>"I trust father implicitly," she replied.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you think his recent behavior has been the kind of thing to inspire +confidence?"</p> + +<p>"It has in me!" she answered enthusiastically.</p> + +<p>"You have a high opinion of his sense," he sneered.</p> + +<p>"A great deal higher than I have of anybody else's in the world—in +Edinburgh, anyhow!" she retorted, and with her chin held high broke off +the conference.</p> + +<p>This was sufficiently exasperating, but it was not the worst that +treacherous sex could do. The widow's demeanor was a hundred times more +menacing. She was so motherly towards Jean, so sisterly towards his +unfortunate aunt, so skittishly condescending towards himself, that his +previous suspicions of her were sunshiny compared with the dark +convictions that lay heavier upon him each day. Her black eyes danced +mockingly whenever he looked into them; she seemed always <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>to be hugging +the most delicious secret. Andrew doubted she had hugged more than a +secret in this house.</p> + +<p>It was a further confirmation of her perfidy that ever since his +father's flight she had made a point of being down to breakfast before +him, so that he could never see what letters she received. That was +damning evidence against her—damnable evidence, in fact, for it argued +a degree both of intelligence and energy for which he had not given her +credit. Like his father before him, he was discovering that there was +more up this sparkling lady's sleeve than met the eye.</p> + +<p>A few mornings after the disappearance he thought he had caught her. +When he entered the room she was reading a letter. He snapped up the +chance instantly.</p> + +<p>"Is that my father's writing?" he inquired, dissimulating his acuteness +under an easy conversational air.</p> + +<p>"It's a little like it," she replied, with an amiable smile, slipping +the letter into its envelop and turning that face downwards on the +table.</p> + +<p>The W.S. began to respect as much as he detested her. All through +breakfast she rippled with the happiest smiles and the gayest +conversation. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>At the end, his detestation had again got its head in +front of his respect.</p> + +<p>But the following morning he himself received a letter which threw the +widow and her smiles so completely into the background that for the next +forty-eight hours he was scarcely aware of her existence. It ran thus:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="right2">"250 <span class="smcap">Bury Street,</span></span><br /> +<span class="right3"><span class="smcap">St. James', S.W.</span></span></p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">My Dear Andrew</span>,—It is with the greatest concern and regret that I +feel myself compelled to write to you on the subject of my old +friend, your poor father. No doubt you will be able to judge better +than myself how far he is responsible for his conduct, and whether +or not there is any serious need for anxiety; but I consider I +should be doing less than my duty if I failed to inform you of the +risks to his health and his reputation which he is running at +present. I spent last night with him; in fact, it was only in the +small hours of this morning that I left him still dancing at the +Covent Garden Fancy Ball. I assure you I am at a loss how to +express my consternation and alarm at his peculiar behavior. Are +you aware that he has taken to dyeing his hair and doctoring his +face, so that at first sight one might almost mistake him for a +much younger man than we know him to be? The extravagance of his +language <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>and restlessness of his movements lends color to the +suspicion that he is a little wrong in his head. I do not wish to +alarm you unnecessarily, but if you had seen him galloping about in +a domino and a false nose at two o'clock in the morning I cannot +help thinking you would share my concern. He seems also to have +lost all his old caution about money matters. Are you aware that he +is stopping at the Hotel Gigantique, of all places, and doing +himself and your brother Frank like a couple of millionaires? I +cannot help considering this a very remarkable symptom.</p> + +<p>"I myself am in bed to-day, so pray forgive the handwriting.—With +kind regards to you all, believe me, yours sincerely,</p> + +<p><span class="right3">"<span class="smcap">Charles Munro.</span>"</span><br /> +</p></div> + +<p>The firmament seemed to darken as though a thunderstorm brooded over the +devoted house. Already in fancy Andrew could hear the first crashings +and flashes of the coming scandal. His appetite vanished, his coffee +grew cold, and presently he rose and silently left the room. Yet the man +of superior mental equipment rarely fails to extract some crumbs of +consolation out of the direst disaster. Andrew extracted his by +summoning Jean before he started for the office and handing her the +terrible letter. As he watched <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span>her read it, the phrase shaped by his +countenance might be read without the aid of any signal-book—</p> + +<p>"What did I tell you?"</p> + +<p>Certainly there was a well-earned morsel of satisfaction to be derived +from her startled eyes and the little catches in her breath. She could +believe him now! When she spoke at last her first words were exceedingly +gratifying.</p> + +<p>"What a horrid old man he must be!"</p> + +<p>He looked suitably reproachful.</p> + +<p>"That is strong language to use of your father."</p> + +<p>Her eyes blazed.</p> + +<p>"I am talking of Colonel Munro! The idea of giving father away like +that. It's one of the very meanest things I ever heard of! I sincerely +hope he may be in bed for a month."</p> + +<p>She swept away, and her brother was left to brood gloomily upon the +selfish perversity that thus actually defrauded him of his legitimate +triumph. </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER VII</h3> + +<p>"Well," said Andrew, "what is to be done?"</p> + +<p>The problem was undoubtedly delicate. He had paid it the compliment of +summoning his two sensible married sisters to aid him with their +counsel; and even they, though not lacking in decision as a rule, +regarded first the Colonel's letter and then their brother with +disturbed and doubtful eyes. He gave them no hint of the dreadful and +disreputable change in their father's very being; that was positively +too shocking to confide even to a sister (besides, they wouldn't have +believed him), but he considered that the essentials of the problem were +now fairly grasped by them both, and he was pleased to find a +sympathetic unanimity of horror.</p> + +<p>"He can't be allowed to go on disgracing himself in London; that much is +perfectly clear," said Mrs. Ramornie.</p> + +<p>"Not to speak of ruining us all," added Andrew.</p> + +<p>"Can you not go and fetch him home?" asked Mrs. Donaldson.</p> + +<p>Andrew pursed his lips. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p><p>"In the first place, would he come? You know how infernally obstinate he +can be. In the second place, do we want him making an exhibition of +himself here?"</p> + +<p>"He would not have quite the opportunities here."</p> + +<p>"Not for spending money, I admit; but we don't want him taking the chair +and making speeches at the W.S. dinner to-morrow night in his present +condition."</p> + +<p>"Will he not remember and come back for it, anyhow?" suggested Mrs. +Ramornie.</p> + +<p>He shook his head.</p> + +<p>"He has never spoken about it for a long while. I'm practically positive +he has forgotten."</p> + +<p>"But do you not need him at the office?" asked Mrs. Donaldson.</p> + +<p>"<i>Need</i> him!"</p> + +<p>"I can only tell you," she replied, "that Hector says he gets through +business in a most surprising way, for all his eccentricity."</p> + +<p>"Very surprising," he retorted sarcastically.</p> + +<p>"Oh," she said airily, "I know you fancy yourself, but Hector declares +father is the man for his money nowadays."</p> + +<p>Andrew's cheeks drooped gloomily. He had <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span>heard hints of this +preposterous opinion once or twice lately, and they disgusted his sense +of fitness. How could a man possibly be good at business if he rushed +through it like a steam-engine? Supposing one of the telegraph posts at +the side wanted a touch of tar, how could you notice it going at that +pace! But what was the use in arguing with a woman?</p> + +<p>"Well, I can only tell you this," he snapped: "there's Madge Dunbar +waiting for him here with her mouth open."</p> + +<p>The two sisters immediately relinquished all idea of bringing him home.</p> + +<p>"But if we let him stay in London, he'll be bankrupt in a month!" cried +Andrew desperately.</p> + +<p>"What the deuce is to be done?"</p> + +<p>They pondered for a few minutes in silence, and then Mrs. Ramornie +exclaimed, with an inspired air—</p> + +<p>"He must go abroad!"</p> + +<p>"And how are you going to manage that?" inquired Andrew.</p> + +<p>"You've got to go and take him."</p> + +<p>"Me!" he cried. "But—but, dash it, Maggie, he'll never go with <i>me</i>."</p> + +<p>"You will have to dissemble a little, of course; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span>pretend you want a +holiday too, and take him to—to, well, we must look up some inexpensive +French watering-place."</p> + +<p>Gertrude smiled her approval.</p> + +<p>"That's the idea, Andrew! Go up in a white felt hat, and tell him you +know of a naughty little place in France where you can get dancing. +He'll jump at it!"</p> + +<p>Their brother regarded them with ever-increasing gloom.</p> + +<p>"That kind of thing is not in my line—" he began; but once more he was +impressed with the disadvantages of a bi-sexual world. The two ladies +seemed positively incapable of grasping his objections, either to +wearing a Homburg hat or recommending a naughty French watering-place.</p> + +<p>"I don't insist on its being white; grey will do," said Mrs. Donaldson.</p> + +<p>"Of course, I should never dream of taking him to a really disreputable +place," said Mrs. Ramornie; "you only want a Casino and a little +promenading, and so on."</p> + +<p>"It will be great fun, Andrew!"</p> + +<p>"It is your duty, Andrew."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes; of course we know you are an Elder <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span>of the Kirk and all the +rest of it; but on an occasion, don't you know, Andrew!"</p> + +<p>"What alternative do you suggest, Andrew?"</p> + +<p>Yet he was still hanging fire when Jean entered. It had been tacitly +understood that her presence was not required at the council of war, and +the marked silence which followed her entry might reasonably have warned +her that matters were being discussed too complicated for young +unmarried girls. Yet she closed the door behind her and came forward +with a quietly resolute air.</p> + +<p>"I've only just heard you were here," she said. "You are talking about +father, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"We are," replied Mrs. Ramornie briefly.</p> + +<p>Jean sat down.</p> + +<p>"What have you decided?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"We have decided he should go abroad with Andrew for a little change."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Do you need to ask why, Jean? Surely you don't want him to go on making +a fool of himself in London?"</p> + +<p>"I don't see why he shouldn't go to a dance occasionally if he wants +to."</p> + +<p>"Go to a dance!" exclaimed Mrs. Donaldson. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p><p>"My dear Jean! do you suppose this was an ordinary—"</p> + +<p>"Hush, Gertrude," said their brother austerely.</p> + +<p>"Anyhow," said Mrs. Ramornie, "it is quite settled that he must leave +London at all costs, and that it is inadvisable he should return to +Edinburgh at present."</p> + +<p>"But Aunt Mary was only saying to-day that he has to preside at a dinner +to-morrow night."</p> + +<p>"Oh, he'll forget all about that," said Gertrude, "and, of course, we +don't mean to remind him."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Because he is not to be trusted at present," said Andrew.</p> + +<p>A quick flush irradiated Jean's clear face.</p> + +<p>"He <i>is</i> to be trusted. He is to be trusted far more than ever before in +his life!"</p> + +<p>The three counselors exchanged glances.</p> + +<p>"We know better than you do," said Mrs. Ramornie severely.</p> + +<p>But Jean was not easily to be quelled.</p> + +<p>"I think it will be a perfect shame if you allow father to forget his +engagement," she protested.</p> + +<p>Her eldest sister's face grew more like Andrew's than ever.</p> + +<p>"He must <i>not</i> come home at present, and we <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>trust that Andrew will do +his duty and not permit him to stay in London."</p> + +<p>"Andrew!" exclaimed Jean. "How can he prevent him?"</p> + +<p>Their brother hung back no longer.</p> + +<p>"I shall go up to London to-morrow morning," he announced.</p> + +<p>"Splendid!" cried Gertrude.</p> + +<p>He looked at her coldly.</p> + +<p>"I do not propose to do anything ridiculous. If I can get him to go to +some place in the south of England and stop for a month or two, that +will be quite sufficient; and I do not propose, either, to wear any +other clothes than what I've got at present."</p> + +<p>Having thus asserted his independence of conduct and apparel, he turned +again to Jean.</p> + +<p>"That is what we have decided," he said.</p> + +<p>She jumped up, her lip quivering a little. Then she controlled herself, +and as she left the room only said quietly—</p> + +<p>"Thank you for telling me."</p> + +<p>The council was then able to conclude its deliberations without further +interruption. </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER VIII</h3> + +<p>After dinner that night, Andrew found Mrs. Dunbar alone in the +drawing-room, and immediately turned to withdraw.</p> + +<p>"Are you not going to have coffee, Andrew?" she asked.</p> + +<p>There was something different in her manner; something almost nervous; +something apparently less hostile. Andrew glanced at her suspiciously. +What new move in her diabolical game did this signify?</p> + +<p>"I've got letters to write," he answered coldly, and shut the door +decisively behind him.</p> + +<p>The fair widow sighed, and again picked up a letter lying in her lap and +looked at it unhappily. She had kept her word and written to Charlie +Munro, and unfortunately Heriot had forgotten to warn him that his +answer to any such communication must be exceedingly discreet. No wonder +she seemed distressed.</p> + +<p>Naturally, the junior partner gave his fair enemy no information +regarding his movements. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span>She saw him leave in the morning as usual, +apparently to go to the office, and it was not till some time later that +she learned from his aunt of his departure for London. Curiously enough, +she seemed rather pleased than otherwise by this move. Her +correspondence with Colonel Munro had left the most unsettling effects.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, Andrew was nearing London. He was pleased to find his train +arrive upon the stroke of 6:15, for he valued punctuality above +everything except his reputation. From the station he drove to the large +political club where he always put up, ate a dinner that exactly +accorded with his station in life, and took a horse bus to the Hotel +Gigantique. (Motor buses were only just beginning to be seen upon the +streets at that time, and he was always suspicious of noisy +innovations.)</p> + +<p>By the merest chance, the first person he saw in the hall of the hotel +was Frank, attired in overcoat and opera hat, and evidently bound for +some extravagant expedition, the cost of which would no doubt be +defrayed by his parent to the detriment of his brother's and sisters' +patrimony.</p> + +<p>"Well, Frank," said the elder brother, "where's your father?"</p> + +<p>The "your" was a subtle indication of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>depth to which Mr. +Walkingshaw had fallen in the estimation of the right-minded.</p> + +<p>"Out of town," said Frank briefly.</p> + +<p>"Where's he gone?"</p> + +<p>Frank shook his head.</p> + +<p>"You can ask at the office," he suggested.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to say you don't know?"</p> + +<p>"I mean to say it's none of my business."</p> + +<p>Andrew had begun the conversation in a decidedly hectoring manner. He +now began to alter his key a little.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Frank, things are pretty serious. We've got to stop this +tomfoolery."</p> + +<p>The other interrupted him.</p> + +<p>"What tomfoolery?"</p> + +<p>"Making an exhibition of himself all over London, and wasting his money +at a place like this. You know perfectly well what I mean."</p> + +<p>"I only know that he's in the best form I've ever seen him in my life. +He's just a devilish kind and sporting guv'nor, that's what he is."</p> + +<p>"If you mean going about the most disreputable places in London in a +half-intoxicated condition—"</p> + +<p>"That's a lie, anyhow," said Frank calmly, yet with a glint in his eye.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p><p>His brother recoiled a pace, but his manner grew none the less +uncompromising.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you'll say he's moving in fine high-class society, do you?"</p> + +<p>"It's a lot better than anything he ever found in his office."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," replied the junior partner; "and now perhaps you'll tell me +when he's expected back?"</p> + +<p>"Day or two," said Frank shortly.</p> + +<p>Andrew pondered for a moment.</p> + +<p>"Oh?" he remarked at length, and without so much as a good-night he +turned on his heel and walked out of the hotel.</p> + +<p>Frank's conscience harassed him for a long time after this interview. He +wished he could be quite certain that his manner towards his brother was +entirely the result of Andrew's disagreeable references to their father. +He would be the most ill-conditioned sweep unkicked, the most +dishonorable sneaking blackguard, if by any chance he had allowed his +luckless passion to prejudice him! He began to wish he were back in +India again. Was this beastly furlough never coming to an end? And so he +drove off in his hansom, alternately sighing and cursing himself, to +watch what he had <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>selected from the pictures in the illustrated papers +as the most sentimental drama in town.</p> + +<p>The advantage of living a well-regulated life was never better +illustrated than in the person of his brother Andrew. No qualms of +conscience annoyed him as he drove back economically in his bus. He knew +that he was right, and that people who violated his standards, and +disagreed with him impertinently were wrong; and secure in that +knowledge, he was enabled to hug against his outraged feelings the warm +consolation of a grievance. All through his life this form of moral +hot-water bottle had kept Andrew snug during many a painful night. It is +worth being consistently righteous for the mere privilege of possessing +this invaluable perquisite.</p> + +<p>He decided to wait in London for twenty-four hours longer on the chance +of his father returning, and so it happened that he found himself in his +club reading-room on the following afternoon at the hour when the +<i>Scotsman</i> appeared to cheer the exiles from the north. He secured it at +once, and with a consoling sense of homeliness proceeded to turn its +familiar pages. All at once he was galvanized into the rigidity of a +fire-iron—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p><p>"Writers to the Signets' Annual Dinner. Remarkable speech by Mr. Heriot +Walkingshaw."</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>It was a few minutes before he summoned up his courage to read any +further.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Mr. Walkingshaw began by remarking that it was by the merest +chance he was present among them to-night. He had been so engrossed +by the attractions of London (laughter)—he did not mean what they +meant (renewed laughter)—that he had positively forgotten all +about his duty to his convivial fellow-practitioners till he was +reminded by a telegram from a young lady (a laugh). He alluded to +his daughter (cheers). Several morals might be drawn from this +little incident. The advantages of the sixpenny telegram and the +even greater advantages of getting on the right side of the fair +sex (cheers and laughter); these were two morals, but what he +proposed to bring more particularly under their notice to-night was +this: that if a respectable old chap like himself could enjoy +himself so thoroughly as to forget his duty, there was hope even +for the oldest of them (slight applause). What satisfaction was it +to become prosperous and respected if at the same time one became a +bugbear to one's children and a bore to one's acquaintances? +Supposing that one of the old and valued friends he saw before him +could <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>suddenly see himself with the eyes of a young man of forty, +or better still of thirty, what would he think of himself?—He +would desire to drive a pin through the old fossil's trousers and +wake him up! (a laugh). He would realize he was out of touch with +life; that he was neglecting a dozen opportunities a day for giving +pleasure to people who were still young enough to enjoy themselves, +and thereby bucking himself up too. Mr. Walkingshaw begged his +audience, particularly that portion of it over fifty, to beware of +the fatal habit of growing old. How was this to be avoided? Well, +everybody could not hope to have his own good fortune, but he could +give them a few tips. In the first place, they should make a point +of falling in love at least twice a year (laughter). The old duffer +who ceased to fall in love was doomed. Then, while leading a +strictly abstemious life on six days of the week, they should let +themselves go a bit on the seventh; and when in that condition (a +laugh)—he did not mean 'blind fu',' but merely a little the +happier for it—while in that condition they should unlock their +cash boxes and distribute a substantial sum among the poor and +deserving young. Furthermore, they should make a point of mixing at +least twice a week in fresh society—Bohemians, sportsmen, and the +like. Also, nothing should be allowed to degenerate into a habit, +especially churchgoing—" </p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p><p>Andrew read no further. Half an hour later he was driving for King's +Cross as fast as a cab could take him. </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER IX</h3> + +<p>It was characteristic of Andrew's serviceable and soundly unimaginative +intellect that it should decline to grasp such a phenomenon as a father +who was rapidly approaching his own age. It accepted the fact, since the +evidence was now becoming overwhelming, but it firmly refused to go an +inch beyond this concession. If one were seriously to regard his conduct +as the natural result of youth and high spirits, there would be in a +kind of way an excuse for it; and once you started that line of +reasoning, where were you? You would be pardoning beggars because they +were hungry, and bankrupts because they had no money, and all kinds of +things. Andrew's conceptions of justice were not to be tampered with +like that. It therefore followed (since he was extremely logical) that +his parent must be looked upon simply as an erring and impenitent man. +His age did not matter. That was his business. His son's was to see +that, whether Mr. Heriot Walkingshaw professed to be eighty or eighteen, +he conducted himself in a manner <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>befitting the head of so respectable a +family and firm.</p> + +<p>The only defect in this pre-eminently honest way of regarding the matter +was that it handicapped the junior partner when it came to forecasting +his parent's probable movements. If you persist in basing your +calculations on the assumption that a bird <i>ought</i> to be too old to fly, +when it actually isn't, you will probably be wrong in expecting to find +it always in your garden.</p> + +<p>Andrew let himself into the house about the hour of 8:30 a. m., and +almost fell into the arms of the agitated widow.</p> + +<p>"Have you found him? Where is he? What has happened?" she implored him.</p> + +<p>It was another of Andrew's wholesome peculiarities that, having once +distrusted a person, his suspicions could hardly be allayed, even by +evidence that would have satisfied a hypochondriacal ex-detective. This +safeguard against deception effectually preserved him from the dangerous +extremes both of indigence and greatness. He looked upon his second +cousin with a shocked and doubtful eye. She had come very close. Did she +expect <i>him</i> to toy with her?</p> + +<p>"Have I found who?" he inquired coldly. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p><p>"Heriot!"</p> + +<p>"If you mean my father, I did not find him."</p> + +<p>He looked at her sarcastically, and added, "He didn't mention that +himself, of course?"</p> + +<p>"I haven't seen him!" she almost shouted.</p> + +<p>He looked thoroughly startled now.</p> + +<p>"Hasn't he been here?"</p> + +<p>"He was only in the house for an hour. That was the day before +yesterday. He didn't let me know he was here—he didn't let his sister +know—nobody knew but Jean!"</p> + +<p>"Where was he staying?"</p> + +<p>"At an hotel."</p> + +<p>"An hotel!" exclaimed Andrew in horror. "Going to all that expense, with +his house standing waiting for him? That beats everything I've heard +yet! Is he there still?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, he's not!" she cried, almost sobbing. "He's gone back to +London."</p> + +<p>"Gone back to London!"</p> + +<p>"And Jean's gone with him!"</p> + +<p>"Jean! Has he not got enough bills to pay at that infernal millionaire's +hotel without hers?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," wailed the lady. "I don't understand him. I thought he +cared for me—and he didn't even let me know he was here!" </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p><p>In spite of his anger with his erring parent, he was sufficiently master +of his emotions to feel a lively concern at all this speech suggested.</p> + +<p>"I must get my breakfast," he observed icily, and was starting for the +dining-room.</p> + +<p>She collected herself instantly.</p> + +<p>"Andrew!" she said, "you've got to go after him."</p> + +<p>He stared at her, first in extreme surprise, then with an exceedingly +sophisticated smile.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, I've got my business to attend to."</p> + +<p>"You can go to the office first. There's a train about two."</p> + +<p>"I'll not be on it," he replied.</p> + +<p>"Some one's <i>got</i> to go and fetch him back."</p> + +<p>"It won't be me."</p> + +<p>She looked at him for a moment with an expression which did not interest +him. He neither professed to understand women nor to think it worth +while trying.</p> + +<p>"Very well," she answered.</p> + +<p>They went in to breakfast, but throughout the meal she never referred to +Heriot again. Andrew flattered himself he had choked her off <i>that</i> +subject. </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER X</h3> + +<p>While Andrew was still patiently waiting in London, a south-bound +express swung down the long slope from Shap; past Oxenholme, past +Milnthorpe, past Carnforth, out into the green levels of Lancashire. In +one corner of a first-class carriage sat Jean Walkingshaw, her eyes +smiling approval at that very paper which was to disturb her brother's +serenity a few hours later. Her father sat opposite watching her.</p> + +<p>"Well, what do you think of it?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"I think it's most amusing and—and—"</p> + +<p>"Spirited?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, very spirited!" she laughed. "In fact, I think it's a splendid +speech."</p> + +<p>He seemed gratified.</p> + +<p>"Some fellows didn't seem to care for it," he observed.</p> + +<p>"They must have been very stupid, then!"</p> + +<p>"Old buffers generally are," he replied. "Some of the young chaps +thought it first-rate, even though they were a little startled for the +moment. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span>Though why people should feel startled by anything so +self-evident as my remarks beats me. Be hanged to them for silly idiots! +Eh, Jean?"</p> + +<p>His momentary expression of chagrin made way for a merry smile, which +set his daughter smiling gaily back.</p> + +<p>"If they disagree with you, father, they must be!" she laughed.</p> + +<p>They sat silent for a few minutes, Jean watching the green fields and +trees and gates and walls rush past to join the jagged fells behind +them, her father watching her.</p> + +<p>"It's awfully good of you taking me back with you," she said presently.</p> + +<p>"If it's a treat for you, you deserve it," he answered affectionately; +"and if it's not—well, anyhow, it's pleasant for me having your +company."</p> + +<p>"It is a treat for me, though I don't quite see what I've done to +deserve it."</p> + +<p>"You have stood by your father, my dear; and one good turn deserves +another. I'd have been most infernally sick if I'd forgotten that +dinner. It gave me the very chance of saying a word or two in season I'd +been longing for. I only hope it will do the old fogies good." </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p><p>He took up the paper and glanced again at the report.</p> + +<p>"'Remarkable speech,' they call it," he continued complacently. "Well, +they are not very far wrong. It <i>was</i> a remarkable speech. Eh, Jean?"</p> + +<p>The good gentleman seemed unable to obtain his daughter's approval often +enough. The fact was he had been a trifle disappointed with the attitude +of some of his old friends last night. There was no doubt about it, he +must go to the young folks for the meed of sympathy he deserved.</p> + +<p>Jean again looked out of the window, but she ceased to pay much +attention to the backward-drifting landscape. Her heart was too full of +hopes and questionings and restless wonder. In a little she turned to +her father again and said, with an eye so candid and a smile so kind +that many members even of her own sex would never have suspected a hint +of ulterior design—</p> + +<p>"Do you know, you are the very best of fathers!"</p> + +<p>He replied in the same spirit of affection, and she continued—</p> + +<p>"I can't tell you how much I am looking forward to being in London +again! You couldn't <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span>have done anything I'd have liked better."</p> + +<p>"Yes," he confessed, "London is an amusing place."</p> + +<p>"And one always meets so many people one knows there. That is one of its +attractions."</p> + +<p>He agreed that it was.</p> + +<p>"I wonder who I'll meet this time?"</p> + +<p>She spoke with an air of the most innocent speculation, but the nature +of her parent's smile changed subtly.</p> + +<p>"Goodness knows who one will meet in London," he replied. "Not Andrew, +we'll hope, eh? I wonder where he is now."</p> + +<p>At this change of subject her breast gave a quick little heave that +might have marked a stifled sigh, but she dutifully joined in what she +could not but think an unnecessarily prolonged series of speculations +regarding the movements of a quite uninteresting young man.</p> + +<p>But her eyes were very bright indeed and her face distinct with +suppressed excitement as they drove from Euston Station into the life of +the streets. All the while she kept looking out of the cab window, as +though amid the passing myriads she might happen already to recognize +one of those acquaintances she hoped to meet. At last she was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span>in +London! And London in early spring; London with the smuts washed off by +torrential showers and then flooded with glorious sunshine; London with +the young leaves like a thin veil of green on the limes and elms, and +the tassels hanging from the poplars, and the sycamores and horse +chestnuts already casting grateful shade; London with the mowing +machines whirling in the parks and the watering-carts swishing down the +streets—is a fairy city for a young girl with a large hotel to live in, +a generous father, and a lover somewhere hidden in those mysterious +miles of crowds and houses. Jean half wished she could feel a little +less impatient, so that she might relish every passing moment to its +dregs.</p> + +<p>Her father, Frank, and she dined sumptuously and went to the most +entertaining play afterwards—a stimulating medley of waltz refrains and +gorgeous clothes and a funny man and fifty pretty girls. She did not +pose as a dramatic critic, and thought it splendid. Then they had supper +at the Savoy, and—so to bed.</p> + +<p>But though she had gone to her room, Jean lingered for long before her +open window, looking wistfully over the humming, lamp-lit town. <i>His</i> +name had not been mentioned. </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER XI</h3> + +<p>Lucas painted, but not so fiercely as before; and again from the +deck-chair Hillary watched him. He rented the studio next door, and +having a comfortable private income of £80 a year, generally spent his +afternoons encouraging his friend. Occasionally, however, he considered +it advisable to supply chastening reflections.</p> + +<p>"I don't like it," he observed.</p> + +<p>"Don't like what?"</p> + +<p>"If he really meant to buy those pictures, I can't help thinking you +would have heard from him again."</p> + +<p>The artist turned abruptly.</p> + +<p>"It was only three days ago. I don't expect to hear yet."</p> + +<p>"Dear old Lucas, I don't want to discourage you, but I call it fishy. +Supposing he has met some one since who really knew something about +pictures?"</p> + +<p>His friend resumed work in silence.</p> + +<p>"There is also another possibility," continued <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span>Hillary in his gentle +voice. "He struck me as suspiciously extravagant—supposing he has gone +bankrupt? I noticed, too, that his complexion was somewhat +rubicund—supposing he has had an apoplectic fit? In that case, would +his executors be bound by his verbal promise? Honestly, Lucas, I don't +think so."</p> + +<p>There came a sharp rap on the door.</p> + +<p>"It will relax the strain on your intellect if you go and see who that +is," suggested the painter.</p> + +<p>"A telegram," said Hillary, strolling back from the door.</p> + +<p>"Good heavens!" cried Lucas. "Read that."</p> + +<p>Hillary read—</p> + +<div class="blockquot2"><p>"Come immediately. Unfortunate complication here. Require you to +explain fully.—<span class="smcap">Heriot Walkingshaw.</span>" </p></div> + +<p>He looked considerably sobered.</p> + +<p>"Of course I didn't really mean what I was saying—"</p> + +<p>Lucas interrupted him brusquely.</p> + +<p>"I'm off. Look after things here. What the devil—"</p> + +<p>He strode down the lane, hailed a cab, and drove <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span>off to an +accompaniment of the most anxious speculations.</p> + +<p>"This way, sir," said the attendant at the Hotel Gigantique.</p> + +<p>Lucas followed him, still racking his brains for some explanation not +too disastrous to his hopes. The man opened the door of a sitting-room +and closed it quietly behind him. In the room there was only one person, +a girl with the sunniest hair and the straightest little nose and the +most delightfully astonished face imaginable.</p> + +<p>"Jean!" he cried.</p> + +<p>He took a quick step towards her and then remembered the gravity of the +summons.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"Then it was you!" she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Me?"</p> + +<p>"Father only told me that some one—a man—"</p> + +<p>He held out the telegram abruptly.</p> + +<p>"What do you make of that?"</p> + +<p>She read it, and then read it again, and her bewilderment seemed to +change into another emotion.</p> + +<p>"What did your father tell you to do?" asked Lucas. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p><p>She gave him the queerest look.</p> + +<p>"Get rid of the man if I could," she said.</p> + +<p>He ran his fingers through his mop of brown hair.</p> + +<p>"But I don't understand—what's the 'complication'?"</p> + +<p>She began to smile shyly—</p> + +<p>"Lucas, don't you think—don't you see—there's nothing else. <i>I</i> must +be the complication here."</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>"Ahem!" coughed Mr. Walkingshaw.</p> + +<p>The lovers endeavored to look as though the artist had been merely +posing his patron's daughter.</p> + +<p>"Well?" inquired that patron genially.</p> + +<p>Lucas had not altogether lost his ready audacity.</p> + +<p>"I came at once, sir," he replied, "and I have explained fully. The +complication has been cleared up."</p> + +<p>Laughing gleefully, chattering away much more like the prospective best +man than the future father-in-law, he led them (an arm thrown about +each) towards the sofa, where they sat together, crowded but happy.</p> + +<p>"What would you put your income at now, Lucas?" he inquired +mischievously. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p><p>Lucas looked a little rueful.</p> + +<p>"The same fluctuating figures, I'm afraid," he confessed.</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow, don't worry," said Heriot kindly. "Money isn't +everything in this world. Youth and love and pluck are the main things. +Hang it, what if you do get into debt occasionally? You've got a pretty +oofy father-in-law. Of course, my dear chap, I don't encourage +extravagance; far from it"—he glanced complacently at the chaste +upholstery of the Hotel Gigantique. "I believe in paying your way, and +laying by for a rainy day, and all that kind of thing, just as much as +ever I did—in theory, anyhow. But in practice I may just as well tell +you at once, to ease your mind, that Jean will have three hundred a year +to keep the pot boiling."</p> + +<p>He pooh-poohed their gratitude with the most genial air.</p> + +<p>"Don't mention it, my dear young people, don't mention it. It comes out +of Andrew's share, so it's all right."</p> + +<p>"But I couldn't dream of robbing Andrew!" cried Jean warmly.</p> + +<p>"He spends his days in robbing our clients," chuckled the senior +partner, "so you needn't <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span>worry about him. Besides, he doesn't know how +to spend money even when he has got it." He lowered his voice +confidentially. "Andrew hasn't a spark of the sportsman in him; he's all +very well as a partner—one wants 'em tough; but as a son—good Lord!"</p> + +<p>And then the good gentleman tactfully retired to the billiard-room, +leaving behind him the two happiest people in London. </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER XII</h3> + +<p>Naturally, Lucas stayed to dinner, and naturally also he and Jean were +left in uninterrupted occupation of the private sitting-room, while her +father and Frank smoked and talked together in a quiet corner of the +hall. Mr. Walkingshaw was radiant with the reflection of the happiness +he had brought about. He could do nothing but make little plans for +introducing Lucas to his picture-buying acquaintances, select eligible +districts of London for their residence, and jot down various articles +of furniture or ornament that he could spare them from his own mansion. +Frank seemed equally delighted, though his good spirits were +occasionally interrupted by fits of reverie.</p> + +<p>"Somehow or other," said Mr. Walkingshaw, "I feel more and more like a +friend of Jean and you, and less and less like your father. Odd thing, +isn't it, Frank?"</p> + +<p>"A jolly fine thing," said Frank warmly. "By Jove, sir, I can't tell you +how much I prefer it!" </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span></p><p>"Do you really? Well, then, I won't worry about the feeling any more."</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw had not given the impression that he was worrying about +that or any other feeling, but one was bound to take his word for it.</p> + +<p>"I enjoy the sensation far more myself," he went on. "It produces a kind +of mutual confidence and that sort of thing. I hardly feel inclined to +explain the cause of this improvement yet, Frank; but you may take my +word that there is nothing in the least discreditable about it. In fact, +when one comes to think of it, there's nothing so very extraordinary +either. It's a perfectly sound scientific idea, perfectly sound; so you +can make your mind at ease too, Frank."</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact, Frank's mind had already wandered far afield from +these interesting but slightly obscure speculations.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's all right, I assure you," he answered vaguely.</p> + +<p>"It's a grand thing to know that Jean's love affair has turned out so +happily," his father continued. "I can't tell you what a satisfaction it +is to me."</p> + +<p>"Yes, isn't it?" Frank murmured from the clouds. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p><p>"I only wish I could feel as sure of Andrew falling on his feet."</p> + +<p>Frank's wits were wide awake now.</p> + +<p>"Andrew!" he exclaimed. "Good heavens, do you mean to say you don't +think he has fallen on his feet?"</p> + +<p>His father shook his head dubiously.</p> + +<p>"But, my dear father, I thought you agreed with me—agreed with all of +us, I mean—that Ellen's just the—well, the—er—the—er—the nicest +girl in the world."</p> + +<p>"Oh, she's all that."</p> + +<p>"Then what on earth do you mean?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw leant confidentially over the arm of his easy-chair.</p> + +<p>"Between ourselves, Frank, I'm rather doubtful whether she thinks Andrew +the nicest man in the world."</p> + +<p>"But—but—surely she—er—I mean, they are engaged."</p> + +<p>"Frank, my boy, not a word of this to a soul—not even to Jean or Lucas. +I may be wrong, and I don't want to make mischief; but I have a strong +suspicion there's another fellow."</p> + +<p>"What kind of fellow?"</p> + +<p>"A rival." </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span></p><p>"Good God!" cried Frank. "Who the devil is he?"</p> + +<p>"Hush, hush—not so violently, my dear fellow. It's pretty sickening, of +course; but till you know who he is, you can't knock him down."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, tell me who he is."</p> + +<p>"That's just what I'd like to know myself. It's some one in Perthshire."</p> + +<p>"How do you know?" demanded Frank.</p> + +<p>He controlled his voice, but in his eyes burned a light that boded ill +for his brother's rival when he caught him.</p> + +<p>"Well, you can judge for yourself how I know. Andrew noticed the change +in Ellen's manner the first time he saw her after she'd been staying +with us. The only fellow she met in Edinburgh was yourself, so it must +be some one in Perthshire."</p> + +<p>The militant Highlander fell back in his chair with a gasp, and the +light of battle died out of his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Don't you agree with me?" asked his father.</p> + +<p>"I—er—I don't know," he stammered.</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw had grown none the less shrewd as his weight of years +was lightened.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" he demanded quickly, "what do you know about it? Be perfectly +frank with me." </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p><p>"But why should you think that—er—I—"</p> + +<p>"Tell me this—do you know of any one who's been paying attention to +Ellen Berstoun?"</p> + +<p>Poor Frank's color grew deeper and deeper.</p> + +<p>"There—there was one fellow, I'm ashamed to say."</p> + +<p>"Ashamed? Why should you be ash—" Mr. Walkingshaw broke off suddenly +and gazed at his son with very wide-open eyes. "Frank—it was yourself!"</p> + +<p>The treacherous brother hung his head. And then, in the depths of his +penitence, he heard these extraordinary words—</p> + +<p>"My dear, dear chap, this is almost too good to be true!"</p> + +<p>"Too <i>good</i>!" gasped Frank.</p> + +<p>"What did you do—kiss her?"</p> + +<p>"No, no; not so bad as that!"</p> + +<p>"You let her know, though? There's no mistake about that, eh?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I did."</p> + +<p>His father took his hand.</p> + +<p>"She is yours," said he.</p> + +<p>"<i>Mine?</i> But, my dear father, she is Andrew's!" </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span></p><p>"She was; but he's such a perfect sumph, I'm thankful she's got quit of +him."</p> + +<p>"What! Is it broken off?"</p> + +<p>"It will be."</p> + +<p>"An engagement?"</p> + +<p>"What's an engagement? Speaking as a lawyer of many years' standing, I +may tell you candidly that engagements, and agreements, and bargains are +simply devices for keeping rascals from swindling one another. If honest +men agree, they don't need a stamped bit of paper; and if they disagree, +where's the point in leashing them together, like a couple of growling +dogs? And the case is a thousand times stronger when it comes to a man +and a girl. I was only afraid I should lose a charming daughter-in-law, +and now you've taken that weight off my mind. I can't tell you how happy +I feel!"</p> + +<p>Frank's young face was grave and his candid eyes looked straight at his +father.</p> + +<p>"Look here," he replied, "I'm going to do the straight thing by Andrew. +I don't know that I've ever loved him as much as I ought, but that's all +the more reason why I shouldn't chisel him now."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's your military idea of discipline and all the rest of it; but +let me tell you, falling in love <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span>is a different kind of thing from +forming fours."</p> + +<p>For the first time the young soldier clearly disapproved of his father's +rejuvenation.</p> + +<p>"Duty is duty," he persisted, "and I tell you honestly I'm not going to +sneak in behind my brother's back."</p> + +<p>"Is Ellen to have nothing to say in the matter? Do you propose to marry +her to the man she doesn't love, instead of the man she does, without so +much as giving her the choice?"</p> + +<p>The soldier met this flank attack by a change of front.</p> + +<p>"But Andrew has the means to marry her, and I've not."</p> + +<p>"I'll give you the means," said his father.</p> + +<p>Frank began to realize that Duty was in a very tight corner.</p> + +<p>"But I haven't any grounds whatever for thinking that Ellen cares for +me."</p> + +<p>"I have."</p> + +<p>"You'll have to convince <i>me</i>."</p> + +<p>"Is it not clearly your duty to settle that point first?"</p> + +<p>Frank hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Well—perhaps it is."</p> + +<p>The crafty strategist smiled. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p><p>"We'll settle it!"</p> + +<p>"When?"</p> + +<p>"At once. Where's a time-table?"</p> + +<p>"But look here, my dear father, there's the question of honor to be +settled after that."</p> + +<p>"After that—exactly; I'm with you all the way. But in the meanwhile, +first get this into your head. An engagement is an affair of two hearts, +not of two pockets or two heads. If the hearts are off, the bargain's +off. That's the whole ethics of an engagement. And let me tell you I'm +not without some experience."</p> + +<p>"Heriot!" exclaimed a familiar voice.</p> + +<p>The W.S. looked round with a start. There, through the middle of the +hall, attired in a most becoming traveling coat of fur, advanced the +sympathetic widow.</p> + +<p>"My dear Madge!" cried her betrothed.</p> + +<p>Almost in the same instant his off eye signaled to his son a hurried but +expressive warning. </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER XIII</h3> + +<p>The hour was late, but in spite of Heriot's kindly suggestion that the +rapture he anticipated from her conversation should be postponed till +she had recovered from the fatigues of her journey, his fiancée +unselfishly preferred to recompense him immediately for his prolonged +deprivation of her society. He acceded at once to her wishes, with the +most amiable air imaginable.</p> + +<p>"And now, my dear Madge," said he, when they were seated in a secluded +corner of the lounge, "tell me all your news. In the first place, how's +my own precious?"</p> + +<p>"I am very well, thank you," replied the lady, a little coolly.</p> + +<p>"Delighted to hear it!"</p> + +<p>"You could, of course, have discovered it sooner by simply writing to +inquire," she pointed out, with the same air.</p> + +<p>"But I did, my dear girl, I did."</p> + +<p>"Once." </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span></p><p>"Only once, was it? Now, I could have sworn it was twice."</p> + +<p>"And did you think twice was often enough?"</p> + +<p>"Well, you see, Madge," he explained, "we got engaged in such a deuce of +a hurry, and I had to rush off next morning, and so on. I didn't have +time to ask you how often you wished me to write."</p> + +<p>"Didn't my last two unanswered letters give you any idea on the +subject?"</p> + +<p>"Two letters, Madge? Now, do you know, I could have sworn it was only +one."</p> + +<p>She looked at him steadily.</p> + +<p>"Heriot, what is the meaning of your conduct?"</p> + +<p>"To what points in it do you refer, my dear?"</p> + +<p>"I may tell you I have heard from Charlie Munro."</p> + +<p>It was remarkable how quickly Mr. Walkingshaw had developed. That +reputation he still clung to when he saw her last was no longer a brake +upon his downward career.</p> + +<p>"Poor old Charlie!" he laughed. "By Jove, Madge, I jolly well hoisted +him with his own thingamajig!"</p> + +<p>She regarded him stonily. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p><p>"And what of the business you went to see him about?"</p> + +<p>"Did I say I was going to see him on business?"</p> + +<p>"You did!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, no, my dear girl; you must have misunderstood me. Of course, it +was natural enough; we were both rather carried away by our feelings +that night, weren't we, Madge?"</p> + +<p>He took her hand and pressed it affectionately, but it made no response.</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you come to see me when you were in Edinburgh?" she +inquired.</p> + +<p>"I ought to have," he answered, with an expression of the sincerest +apology. "Yes, I suppose I ought to have."</p> + +<p>"You suppose! Didn't it occur to you at the time?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, it occurred. In fact, my difficulty was to keep myself away +from you."</p> + +<p>"May I ask why it was necessary to make the effort?"</p> + +<p>"Well, the fact is," he explained, "I had a little scheme for Jean which +I wanted to keep a secret—"</p> + +<p>"And you couldn't trust me!" she interrupted. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p><p>"A charming woman and a secret?" he smiled archly. "My dear girl, your +rosy lips would have gone chatter, chatter, chatter all over the town!"</p> + +<p>She snatched her hand away with some degree of violence.</p> + +<p>"You talk like an idiot!" she replied.</p> + +<p>"My dear Madge! This is your own Heriot?"</p> + +<p>She took out a little handkerchief of lace and gently touched first one +eye and then the other.</p> + +<p>"I don't believe you love me!"</p> + +<p>Heriot's kind heart was sincerely moved.</p> + +<p>"I adore you!"</p> + +<p>A faint smile at last appeared upon her face.</p> + +<p>"How can you possibly when you go on like this?"</p> + +<p>"Like what?"</p> + +<p>The smile died away and a quick frown took its place.</p> + +<p>"Heriot! Do you mean to say you think your behavior has looked like +loving me?"</p> + +<p>"It's the heart that counts, Madge, not the behavior," he assured her.</p> + +<p>She sat up in her chair with an air of decision.</p> + +<p>"The behavior does count; so please don't talk as though you thought I +was a fool. For your own sake, for the sake of your reputation and your +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span>family, you've got to come back with me to-morrow!"</p> + +<p>He seized her hand.</p> + +<p>"My dear Madge, that's just what I meant to do."</p> + +<p>He rose and bent over her with every symptom of affection.</p> + +<p>"And now you must really go to bed. You're looking tired; really you +are. It quite distresses me."</p> + +<p>She still kept her seat.</p> + +<p>"You promise to come with me?"</p> + +<p>"I assure you I've got to come."</p> + +<p>"I must have your promise."</p> + +<p>He looked hurt.</p> + +<p>"Hang it, Madge, can't you trust me?"</p> + +<p>"No, I cannot. Give me your promise."</p> + +<p>His air of affection decidedly diminished, but he gave the pledge—</p> + +<p>"I promise to go north to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"I can really trust you?"</p> + +<p>He began to frown.</p> + +<p>"Implicitly."</p> + +<p>She rose at last, and they went together towards the lift.</p> + +<p>"When do you breakfast?" she asked. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span></p><p>He answered somewhat stiffly—</p> + +<p>"There is no necessity of starting before two o'clock. Breakfast when +you like."</p> + +<p>"We shall say ten o'clock, then."</p> + +<p>"That is fairly late, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"You forget that I have had a tiring day, and perhaps you hardly realize +whose conduct has tired me. Good-night."</p> + +<p>"Good-night," he replied in an unimpassioned voice.</p> + +<p>As the widow ascended she told herself that she had adopted entirely the +right attitude. She might relent to-morrow, but till then it was well he +should be deprived of the sunshine of her smiles.</p> + +<p>Next morning at the hour of 10:15 she stepped out of the lift to find +Jean waiting in the hall. She greeted Mrs. Dunbar with a markedly +composed air.</p> + +<p>"I hope you won't mind breakfasting alone?" she said.</p> + +<p>It was evident that the widow did mind.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to say your father has actually breakfasted without me?"</p> + +<p>"Unfortunately, he had to."</p> + +<p>"Had to!" </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p><p>"He and Frank found they must catch the ten o'clock train."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dunbar gasped.</p> + +<p>"He—has gone?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"But he promised to go with me!"</p> + +<p>"I understood him to say," said Jean quietly, "that he had merely +promised to go north."</p> + +<p>"Oh, indeed! Then he has run away?"</p> + +<p>"From whom?" asked Jean demurely.</p> + +<p>The widow bit her lip.</p> + +<p>"I consider his conduct simply disgraceful—"</p> + +<p>Jean interrupted her quickly—</p> + +<p>"I had rather not discuss my father's conduct. Don't let me keep you +from breakfast."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dunbar remained standing in silence, a magnificent statue of +displeasure. In a moment she inquired—</p> + +<p>"And why are you waiting here?"</p> + +<p>"Father thought you might like my company on the journey."</p> + +<p>"How very thoughtful of him! Then you go at two?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>The widow gazed at her intently. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p><p>"I can hardly believe this of Heriot. Is all this his own idea?"</p> + +<p>Jean flushed slightly, but answered as demurely as ever—</p> + +<p>"It is his wish."</p> + +<p>"Ah, I see!" exclaimed Mrs. Dunbar bitterly, "I thought there was a +woman's hand in this affair."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean another woman's hand?"</p> + +<p>The injured lady began uneasily to realize that there was a fresh factor +in the situation. But who would have dreamt of little Jean Walkingshaw +being dangerous? As Madge traveled north that afternoon, +uncompromisingly secluded behind a lady's journal, she could not get out +of her head the uncomfortable fancy that her trim, fair-haired escort +sat like a protecting deity (heathen and sinister) between Heriot and +all who desired, even with the most loving purpose, to chasten his +faults and moderate the exuberance of his too virile spirit.</p> + +<p>Jean herself was warmly conscious that some such duty was surely laid +upon her. With what less reward could she repay all he had done for her? +It will be discovered, however, from the succeeding instalment of facts, +that though the guardian <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span>angel of Heriot Walkingshaw might go the pace +with him thus far, it would probably have been beyond the power even of +a genuinely celestial spirit to keep at his shoulder when he spurted. </p> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 234-236]</a></span></p><h2>PART IV</h2> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER I</h3> + +<p>Archibald Berstoun of that ilk ("of y' ilk" was the form that most +delicately tickled his palate) still dwelt in the fortalice built by his +ancestors at a time when to the average Scot the national tartan +suggested but an alien barbarian who stole his cattle; and the national +bagpipe, the national heather, and the national whisky were merely the +noise the brute made, the cover that preserved him from the gallows, and +the stuff that gave you your one chance of catching him asleep.</p> + +<p>(A few reflections on the whirligig of time were here inserted, but have +since been omitted, as they were found to occur in a modified form +elsewhere.)</p> + +<p>The castle stood in the lowland part of Perthshire, and was erected by +the second of that ilk as a tribute to the dexterity with which his +highland neighbors had removed the effects and cut the throat of the +first. It was a sober and simple building, steep-roofed and battlemented +at the top, turreted at the angles, and pierced with a few narrow +windows so irregularly scattered about its gray <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span>harled walls as to +suggest that no two rooms could possibly be on the same level. +Naturally, the architectural genius who illumines the quiet annals of +every landed family had knocked out a number of French windows into the +lawn and constructed the first story of a Chinese pagoda, in which he +proposed to store Etruscan curios with an aviary above; but his +descendants had fortunately lacked the funds to complete these +improvements. In fact, the stump of the pagoda was now so entirely +overgrown with ivy that it had become the traditional fortress of +Agricola.</p> + +<p>This ancient habitation of a hard-fighting race was framed on two sides +by a garden that looked as old as the walls which towered above it, and +was well-nigh as simple and sober. Dark clipped yews, and smooth green +grass, and graceful old-world flowers were its chief and sufficient +ingredients. The genius who designed the pagoda had not yet turned his +attention to the garden when Providence checked his career.</p> + +<p>A wood of black Scotch firs stretched for a long way beyond this +pleasant garden, and struck a stern northern note befitting the gnarled +battlements; while, nearer the house, gray beech stems towered out of +the brown dead leaves below up <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span>to the brown live buds a hundred feet +nearer the clouds.</p> + +<p>On the remaining two sides of the castle you were not supposed to bestow +attention, since after the old custom the home farm approached more +closely than is fashionable nowadays; though to the curious they were +the sides best worth attention, owing to the cultured pagoda-builder +having deemed it beneath his dignity to molest them.</p> + +<p>One afternoon in early spring Ellen Berstoun walked slowly down a +sheltered garden path. She had been singularly moody of late—so +distressed, indeed, and so little like a lucky girl whose wedding might +be fixed for any day she chose to name, that her five unmarried sisters +held many private debates on the causes of her conduct. The three next +to her in years expressed grave apprehensions lest the very fairly +creditable marriage arranged for her should after all fall through. +Ellen was not treating Andrew well, they complained; while on the other +hand, the two youngest, being as yet irresponsibly romantic, declared +vigorously that they had sooner dear Ellen remained single to the end of +her days than introduced such a long-lipped, fat-cheeked brother-in-law +into the family.</p> + +<p>It was a part of poor Ellen's burden that she was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span>acutely conscious of +the duty which her parents and all her aunts assured her she owed these +sisters. But, on the other hand, to share the remainder of her existence +with Andrew Walkingshaw—There rose vividly a picture of that most +respectable of partners, and the emotion attendant on this vision drew +from her a sigh that ought to have convinced the most skeptical she was +very hard hit indeed.</p> + +<p>It was at this moment that she spied a lad approaching from the house.</p> + +<p>"Well, Jimmy?" she inquired.</p> + +<p>With an appearance of some caution, he handed her a note.</p> + +<p>"It was to be gi'en to yoursel' privately, miss," he said mysteriously, +and turned to go.</p> + +<p>"Is there no answer?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"He said I wasna to bide for an answer."</p> + +<p>He hurried off as though his directions had been peremptory, and Ellen +opened the letter. It was written upon the notepaper of a local inn, and +if she was surprised to discover the writer, she was still more +astonished by the contents.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">My Dear Ellen</span>," it ran, "I should take it as a very great favor +indeed if you would come immediately on receiving this and meet me +at the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span>farther end of the wood below your garden. Follow the path, +and you will find me waiting for you. The matter is of such +importance that I make no apologies for suggesting this romantic +proceeding!—With love, yours affectionately,</p> + +<p><span class="right3"><span class="smcap">"J. Heriot Walkingshaw</span>.</span></p> + +<p>"P.S.—Don't say a word to one of your family. Secrecy is +absolutely essential." </p></div> + +<p>Ellen stood lost in perplexity. Rumors had reached her of Mr. +Walkingshaw's recent eccentricity. The request was entirely out of +keeping with all her previous acquaintance with him; that point of +exclamation after "romantic proceeding" struck her as uncomfortably +dissimilar to his usual methods of composition. Ought she not to consult +one of her parents, or at least a sister? And yet the postscript was too +explicit to be neglected.</p> + +<p>For a few minutes she hesitated. Then she made up her mind; her warm +heart could not bear to disappoint anybody; and besides, Mr. Heriot +Walkingshaw, however odd his conduct might have been lately was such a +pompously respectable—indeed venerable—old gentleman that a maiden +might surely trust herself with him alone, even in a grove of trees. And +so, in a furtive and backward-glancing <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span>manner, she stole into the wood. +It was an unusual way of approaching one's father's man of business and +one's financé's parent, but Ellen consoled herself by the reflection +that an experienced Writer to the Signet should best know how these +things were done.</p> + +<p>She hurried down a narrow, winding glade, lined by countless slender +columns supporting far overhead a roof of millions of dark green needles +swaying and murmuring in the breeze. Suddenly sunshine and green fields +filled the opening of the glade, and as suddenly a tall gentleman +stepped from behind a tree and politely raised a fashionable felt hat. +In all essential features he was the image of Mr. Heriot Walkingshaw, +only that he was so very much younger.</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear Ellen!" he exclaimed heartily.</p> + +<p>She stared at him, too amazed for speech.</p> + +<p>"Am I really so changed already?" he inquired with a smile. "That shows +the beneficial effect of seeing you."</p> + +<p>Even though his manner had altered as much as his appearance, she found +the change so agreeable that she overlooked its strangeness. She smiled +back at him.</p> + +<p>"I am glad to see you looking so well," she said. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span></p><p>He beamed upon her in what he sincerely meant for a paternal manner.</p> + +<p>"You, my dear child, look ripping! My hat, you are pretty! Ellen dear, +my only wish is to make you as happy as you are bonny."</p> + +<p>She looked at him searchingly, and her voice had a note of guarded +alarm.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>His air became sympathy itself.</p> + +<p>"My dear girl, I have been greatly distressed to hear that all has not +been going smoothly with you and Andrew."</p> + +<p>She gave him a quick glance and then looked away.</p> + +<p>"Indeed!" she answered a little coldly. "Who told you that?"</p> + +<p>"I can read it in my son's altered health."</p> + +<p>She looked at him in surprise, but without anxiety.</p> + +<p>"I didn't know there was anything the matter with him."</p> + +<p>"He had to hasten up to London for a change of air."</p> + +<p>"I hope it did him good," she said indifferently.</p> + +<p>"My dear girl, have you no wish to hurry to his bedside?" </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span></p><p>"I'm afraid I shouldn't be any good if I did."</p> + +<p>"And you wouldn't find him in bed, either," smiled Mr. Walkingshaw, with +a change of manner. "No, no, Ellen; you needn't pretend you're in love +with Andrew if that's all the concern you feel. And I may tell you at +once that he's as tough as ever, and as great a fool. The fellow is +totally unworthy of you, so don't you worry your head about him any +longer."</p> + +<p>He bent over her confidentially.</p> + +<p>"Supposing some one were to cut him out, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Some one—" she stammered. "Who?"</p> + +<p>"Guess!" he smiled.</p> + +<p>She did guess; and it was a shocking surmise.</p> + +<p>"I—I have no idea," she fibbed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, come now, hang it, look me in the eye and repeat that!"</p> + +<p>For an instant, she looked into that roguish eye, and her worst +suspicions were confirmed.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Walkingshaw," she answered, with trembling candor, "I feel very +much honored, but really I must ask you not to—not to say anything +more. Our ages—oh, everything—I couldn't! I had better go back now."</p> + +<p>The philanthropic father gasped.</p> + +<p>"Ellen! stop! My dear child, I don't mean <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span>myself! Good heavens, I am +far too old for a young girl like you!"</p> + +<p>Yet it was at that moment that he suddenly realized he wasn't.</p> + +<p>"Then—then what—" she began, and stopped, overwhelmed with confusion.</p> + +<p>Hurriedly he endeavored to put things once more upon a paternal footing.</p> + +<p>"My fault, my dear Ellen, my fault entirely. Naturally you +thought—er—yes, yes, it was quite natural. I—I put it badly. I didn't +think what I was saying. The fact is, I've been"—a brilliant +inspiration suddenly illumined the chaos of his mind—"I've been so +troubled about poor Frank!"</p> + +<p>Her expression altogether changed.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>His mind calmed down. Composing his countenance, he shook his head +sadly.</p> + +<p>"I don't think he'll get over it."</p> + +<p>She laid her hand upon his arm with a quick, involuntary gesture.</p> + +<p>"But what has happened? Tell me!"</p> + +<p>The wisdom of age and the shrewdness of youth twinkled together in Mr. +Walkingshaw's eye, but he managed to retain a decorously solemn air. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span></p><p>"You are really concerned this time?"</p> + +<p>"Of course! I—I mean, naturally."</p> + +<p>He drew her hand through his arm and led her along the fringe of the +pine woods.</p> + +<p>"Come and see," he said gently. "Poor boy he's had a bad fall."</p> + +<p>"What! Is he here—with you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—yes," he answered, with an absent and melancholy air.</p> + +<p>He led her a few paces into the trees, and there, seated on a fallen +trunk, they saw the victim of fate smoking a cigarette with a meditative +air. He sprang to his feet with a light in his eye that might have been +the result of some acute disaster, but scarcely looked like it.</p> + +<p>"Frank, my boy," said his father, "I have just been explaining to Ellen +that you have fallen"—he turned to the girl with a merry air—"in +love!" he chuckled, and the next moment they were listening to his +flying footsteps and looking at one another. </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER II</h3> + +<p>High overhead the pines murmured gently, and Mr. Walkingshaw, strolling +through the quiet colonnades below in solitude and shade, heard the +strangest messages whispered down by those riotous tree-tops. He was no +longer even middle-aged! Or at least his heart certainly was not. It +seemed to keep a decade or so younger than his body, and Heaven knew +that was growing younger fast enough! At this rate how much longer could +he play the beneficent parent? Good Lord, he had jolly nearly fallen +head over ears in love with sweet Ellen Berstoun in the course of five +minutes' conversation! She wasn't a day too old for Heriot W. That's to +say, he could do with a lassie of that age fine, and, by Gad, he +shouldn't wonder but Ellen mightn't have rather cottoned to him if her +heart had been free. She looked deuced coy when she thought he was +proposing. Yes, a girl like Ellen was the ticket for him. But in that +case, what about Madge?</p> + +<p>For several minutes Mr. Walkingshaw stood <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>very solemnly studying the +bark on an entirely ordinary pine, concluding his scrutiny by hitting it +a sharp smack with his walking-stick and turning away from the sight of +it with apparent distaste. However, a minute or two later he seemed to +find one he liked better, for he placed his back against it, removed his +hat, and gazed upwards at the softly murmuring branches. Once more their +whispers made him smile. Sufficient for the day were the difficulties +thereof! That was the way to look at it. Meanwhile, the spring was +young, and the little flowers in the wood were young, and the blue sky +that showed in peeps through the swinging tree-tops looked as young as +any of them, and certainly it was a young and lusty breeze that swayed +them. By Jingo, what excellent company they all were for him!</p> + +<p>And then he heard another murmuring sound, coming this time from behind +him. He held his breath and caught the words—</p> + +<p>"Ellen! I love you—I love you!"</p> + +<p>He peeped round the tree, and for an instant saw them. A most gratifying +tribute to his diplomacy—but devilish disturbing to a young fellow +without a girl! Hurriedly he snapped a twig; he snapped another; he +broke a branch; he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span>whistled, he coughed, he shouted. And then they +looked up, vaguely surprised to find there was another person in the +world.</p> + +<p>"Well, Frank," said his father, as they walked back together towards +their inn, "are you not feeling happy now, my boy, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Happy!" exclaimed Frank. "I'm stupefied with happiness!"</p> + +<p>As Heriot Walkingshaw strode between the spring breeze and the murmuring +pines, his son's arm through his, listening to his gratitude and Ellen's +praises, he too felt happier than ever before in his life. What a lot of +pleasure he had learned how to give. And the way to give it was so +simple once you found it out. Apparently you had merely to get in +sympathy with people, and then do the things which naturally, under +those circumstances, you would both like to be done. There was really +nothing in it at all; still, it was jolly well worth doing.</p> + +<p>Only as they neared the inn did a qualm begin to trouble Frank.</p> + +<p>"It's deuced rough luck on Andrew, losing that girl," he said suddenly. +"Hang it, it would kill <i>me</i>!"</p> + +<p>"It's only losing his money that'll ever hurt <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span>Andrew," replied his +father cheerfully. "Don't you worry about what he'll say."</p> + +<p>Unfortunately, Mr. Walkingshaw forgot that the provision for this happy +marriage was, in fact, coming indirectly from Andrew's pocket. Even the +youngest of us cannot foresee everything, or Heriot would not have been +humming "Gin a laddie kiss a lassie," quite so lightheartedly.</p> + +<p>"I must say I funk having it out with him," remarked Frank.</p> + +<p>"Just you leave it all to me. I'm a match for Andrew any day."</p> + +<p>It would have been well if Mr. Walkingshaw had "touched wood" as he made +this vaunt; but at that moment his confidence was so serene that he felt +master of any emergency conceivable by man.</p> + +<p>"Andrew's not the mate for Ellen," he said presently. "The young are for +each other, Frank; that's the law of nature."</p> + +<p>He smiled to himself.</p> + +<p>"I learnt that this afternoon. By Jove, what a pretty girl Ellen is!"</p> + +<p>And then again his young heart remembered the sympathetic widow, and he +stopped smiling. </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER III</h3> + +<p>The backbone of our country is that band of civic heroes who, when +turmoil rages and disaster threatens, are the last men to desert the +desk. In this glorious company Andrew Walkingshaw was numbered. His +father might tear up and down the country like a disreputable whirlwind, +his widowed relative fume and plot, his sister disgrace the family by an +unsuitable engagement, his betrothed leave his affectionate letters +unanswered, his own soul writhe in decorous anguish at these calamities, +but Casabianca himself was not more faithful to his post than he. It is +true, indeed, that he had once tried the alternative policy and chased +that cyclone, but he had taken to heart the lesson, and thenceforth +closed his ears to disquieting rumors, his eyes to distressing symptoms, +and went about his work, if possible, more conscientiously than ever. +That was the proper way to get through business—conscientiously. He was +sickened with the people (clients of some eminence, but evidently with a +screw loose) <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span>who kept deferring their more important concerns till the +senior partner returned with his infernal headlong methods. Let them +wait if they liked! Let them take their business elsewhere if they were +such fools! Deliberately and calmly <i>he</i> had washed his hands of his +senior partner. That was the end of him so far as he was concerned, said +Andrew to himself. But alas! you may wash your hands of a tornado, but +supposing it retorts by blowing down your house?</p> + +<p>It was about nine in the evening, and he sat by himself, severely +scrutinizing the pleadings drawn up by his clerk for a forthcoming case, +connected with so large a sum of money that it was a pleasure merely to +read the imposing figures. The ladies were upstairs in the drawing-room. +So long as Mrs. Dunbar was among them, he was not likely to show his +face <i>there</i>.</p> + +<p>The door opened, and he turned, frowning at the interruption, and then +sprang up with a troubled eye. It was his father certainly; but what a +remarkable change since he had seen him last! For the first time Andrew +realized the full enormity of his conduct in growing younger. His very +appearance had become a crying scandal. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p><p>"Sweating away at your old papers?" inquired Heriot pleasantly.</p> + +<p>Andrew stiffly resumed his seat.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am busy," he replied, and took up the pleadings again.</p> + +<p>But his father ignored the hint. Straddling comfortably before the fire, +he remarked—</p> + +<p>"Frank and I have been up to Perthshire."</p> + +<p>Andrew looked up quickly, but merely answered—</p> + +<p>"Oh, indeed?"</p> + +<p>"We've been seeing Ellen."</p> + +<p>"What about?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw threw himself into a chair.</p> + +<p>"My boy," said he, with the air of friendly commiseration which he felt +that the occasion undoubtedly demanded, "I find I was right about your +rival."</p> + +<p>Andrew remained calm, though not quite so calm as before.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean there's some one else after her?"</p> + +<p>"He's got her."</p> + +<p>The calm departed.</p> + +<p>"Got! What the deuce d'ye mean?" </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span></p><p>"She has chosen another, Andrew."</p> + +<p>"Chosen! But she's no choice left her. She's engaged to me."</p> + +<p>"She was engaged to you. She's now engaged to him."</p> + +<p>"To <i>him</i>? Who the dev—er—what are you driving at? Who's the man?"</p> + +<p>"Frank."</p> + +<p>"Frank!"</p> + +<p>Andrew stared at his father incredulously.</p> + +<p>"I don't believe a word of it."</p> + +<p>"Well, you may ask Frank if you like; but I assure you you can take my +word for it."</p> + +<p>It was characteristic of Andrew's robust mind that, instead of wasting +time in noisy vaporings and sentimental sorrow, it seized at once the +weak point in the case.</p> + +<p>"But he can't afford to marry."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'll see to that."</p> + +<p>"<i>You'll</i> see!" shouted Andrew. "Do you mean to say <i>you've</i> had a +finger in the pie?"</p> + +<p>"Four fingers and a thumb," smiled his parent.</p> + +<p>Once more Andrew, without waste of words in expostulation or commentary, +summarized the situation in a sentence—</p> + +<p>"This is fair damnable!" </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span></p><p>"Come, come, my dear fellow," said Mr. Walkingshaw soothingly. "I owe +you an explanation, of course, but when you've heard it, I know you'll +agree I've done the right thing."</p> + +<p>"An explanation!" exclaimed Andrew sardonically. "Go on, let's hear it."</p> + +<p>"I can give you the gist of it in a sentence: she loves Frank, and she +doesn't love you. Now, in that case, which of you ought she to marry?"</p> + +<p>"That's nothing to do with it—"</p> + +<p>"What! love's nothing to do with marriage?"</p> + +<p>"When a woman's once engaged, she's got to implement her promise."</p> + +<p>"Whether it makes her happy or miserable?"</p> + +<p>"Who was miserable, I'd like to know?"</p> + +<p>"Ellen."</p> + +<p>"It's the first I've heard of it."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to say you couldn't see it for yourself?"</p> + +<p>"No, I could not; and even if she was, there's not the shadow of an +excuse for your conduct. You're just making a mess of everything you +meddle with. Getting me jilted like this! What do you suppose people +will say? What'll they be thinking of me? Oh, good Lord!"</p> + +<p>The unhappy young man brooded somberly. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span>Mr. Walkingshaw lit a cigar, +and then settled himself down to remove by gentle argument the cloud +that temporarily obscured his son's serenity.</p> + +<p>"Just look at the thing for a moment in a quiet and reasonable light, +Andrew. Happiness, as you are well aware, is the chief aim of humanity. +Damn it, our religion teaches us that—or practically that. A kind of +warm and amiable gleefulness—that's the ideal. Now, how can a young +girl like Ellen be happy or gleeful married to a sober old codger like +you, eh? Man, the thing's clean impossible. She's no more suited to you +than a lace cover to a coal-scuttle. Well, then what's the obvious thing +to do? Hand her over to a brisk young fellow who can do her justice, of +course. Besides, just think of your own brother pining away in the—what +do they call it?—torrid zone, all for love of a girl who's pining away +for love of him. The thing's totally illogical. A society of hedgehogs +would have more sense than to allow an arrangement like that. You see my +point now, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"I've heard you say with your own lips," retorted Andrew, "that all a +girl required was a comfortable home and a husband who knew his own +mind." </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span></p><p>"But you must remember," explained his father, "I was an old fool then."</p> + +<p>Andrew sprang to his feet with a wry and bitter face.</p> + +<p>"You certainly haven't the qualities of age now. I never heard such +daft-like rubbish in my life. For Heaven's sake, just try to use any +common sense you've got left. Frank will never have enough money to keep +her properly."</p> + +<p>"Ah, but naturally I mean to alter my arrangements."</p> + +<p>Gradually the full possibilities of the situation were revealing +themselves to the well-regulated mind of the junior partner.</p> + +<p>"You mean to change your will?"</p> + +<p>"I do."</p> + +<p>Yet another horrid possibility showed its head.</p> + +<p>"And are you going to alter Jean's share too, so that this precious +Vernon fellow may have something to squander?"</p> + +<p>"Something respectable to live on," corrected his parent. "You mustn't +starve art, you know."</p> + +<p>Andrew stared at him in silence, and when he spoke, it was with the air +of a much-wronged worm which has deliberately resolved to turn at last.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span></p><p>"I'm not wanting any of your Ellen Berstouns. If she's played this trick +on me, that's enough of her. But I tell you plainly I'm not going to let +you rob me to keep a pack of worthless painters and people out of the +gutter, without taking some steps. I warn you of that."</p> + +<p>"My dear Andrew," said his father reproachfully, "that's hardly the +attitude of a professing Christian. Just think, now; is it? You'll +easily find a decent, quiet woman with a bit of money and no objection +to hearing every day for an hour or two how you've been worried by your +clients and swindled by your father, and I do honestly believe you'll +get as near happiness as you're capable of. That's common sense, now; +isn't it?"</p> + +<p>The slamming of the door answered him.</p> + +<p>"What a sulky fellow he is!" said Heriot to himself.</p> + +<p>Yet so conscious was he of the rectitude of his intentions, and so +confiding had his disposition grown, that it never crossed his mind to +beware of an infuriated lawyer. Besides, when Andrew had slept over it, +he would surely realize how unanswerable were his father's arguments.</p> + +<p>"We'll see the old stick-in-the-mud dancing at <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span>Frank's wedding!" +thought he. "There's no vice in Andrew; only a bit of obstinacy. It's +all bark and no bite with him."</p> + +<p>With these amiable reflections he speedily consoled himself for the +discomfort of any little temporary friction. And then the door opened +gently. </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER IV</h3> + +<p>"I heard you had come back again," said Mrs. Dunbar.</p> + +<p>She closed the door as gently as she had opened it. The action +pathetically expressed the quiet sorrow of a much-wronged woman's heart.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Heriot gallantly, "I'm back again to Scotland, home and +beauty. Ha, ha! Now that was quite pretty, wasn't it?"</p> + +<p>But her black eyes declined to sparkle, as she glided silently to a +chair. Out of the corner of his own eye her lover looked at her +critically.</p> + +<p>"I'm delighted to see you again, Madge," he went on; but his words had a +hollow ring, and his eye continued to express more doubt than passion.</p> + +<p>"Have you no apology to offer me?" she inquired, with the same ominous +calm.</p> + +<p>"For what, my dear lady?"</p> + +<p>She started a little and glanced at him apprehensively. "My dear lady" +hardly indicated love's divinest frenzy.</p> + +<p>"For treating me shamefully!" </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span></p><p>"This is strong language," he smiled indulgently. "Tell me now, I say, +just tell me what I've done."</p> + +<p>Thus invited, the lady described his conduct in leaving her alone and +unprotected in a London hotel, to the neglect of his affectionate +assurances and the shame and confusion of herself, in language which did +no more than justice to the theme.</p> + +<p>"But I left Jean to look after you," he protested.</p> + +<p>"When I want your daughter to look after me I shall ask you for her +assistance," she replied tartly. "You broke your word to me, and you +can't deny it."</p> + +<p>"I do deny it," he replied, with dignity. "I told you I should travel +north—"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she interrupted, with scathing contempt, "you were very +straightforward and gentlemanly, I know!"</p> + +<p>He looked at her ever more critically. A recollection of Ellen and the +pine-wood returned forcibly.</p> + +<p>"Put it as you will," he replied philosophically, and turned towards the +fire.</p> + +<p>She watched him jealously.</p> + +<p>"But why did you run away?" she persisted. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span>"Where have you been since? +Heriot, I insist upon knowing that—I insist!"</p> + +<p>She rose and came towards him. He took her hand and pressed it gently.</p> + +<p>"I shall tell you all," he said, as he led her back to her chair and +drew another towards it. When they were about three feet apart he sat +down himself and bent confidentially towards her. Yet he did not attempt +to bridge entirely the intervening space.</p> + +<p>"I have been up to Perthshire," he began, "assisting dear Ellen Berstoun +to break off her engagement with Andrew."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dunbar sat up with a much more alert expression.</p> + +<p>"I am glad to hear it," she said, with decision.</p> + +<p>"I discovered that Frank and she loved one another. I am very glad to +say he is now engaged to her instead."</p> + +<p>She smiled at last.</p> + +<p>"Do tell me what Andrew said!"</p> + +<p>He shook his head.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid he is somewhat unreasonably annoyed."</p> + +<p>She smiled more brightly still. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span></p><p>"How very good for him! Really, Heriot, you have done a very sensible +thing indeed."</p> + +<p>Heriot smiled back.</p> + +<p>"It seemed to me," said he, "that there was really too much disparity in +years. The young should marry the young, Madge."</p> + +<p>"I agree with you entirely."</p> + +<p>It was his smile that now seemed to indicate an increasing satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"You agree also that under those circumstances it is no longer the duty +of two people to marry, even if they have unfortunately become engaged?"</p> + +<p>"I think it would only lead to wretchedness if they did. Honestly, I +don't feel in the least sorry for Andrew. In fact, I thoroughly agree +that people ought to have their engagements broken off for them if they +haven't the sense to see they are unsuitable for themselves."</p> + +<p>Heriot received this assurance with evident pleasure. His manner grew +more confidential still.</p> + +<p>"Madge," he said, "I think it is time I made you a very serious +confession."</p> + +<p>Her smile departed.</p> + +<p>"You may have noticed," he continued, "a certain bloom, so to speak, +upon me, a sort of freshness, and so on. Madge, it is the bloom of +youth." </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span></p><p>She grew uneasy.</p> + +<p>"Oh, really?"</p> + +<p>"It is a literal, physical fact. I am rapidly approaching thirty."</p> + +<p>She moved into the farthest corner of her chair, but made no other +comment.</p> + +<p>"You will thus see that it is merely a question of time before there +will be an even greater disparity of years between you and me than +between Ellen and Andrew."</p> + +<p>Her expression changed entirely.</p> + +<p>"Heriot!" she exclaimed indignantly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Madge, I grieve deeply to resign the hopes of happiness I had +formed on a life spent in your society, but alas! I must. Your adult +charms cannot be thrown away upon an unappreciative youth; it would be a +tragedy."</p> + +<p>"You are many years older than I!"</p> + +<p>"I was a short time ago, but to-day we are roughly speaking, +twins—though with this difference, that as I am looking forward to a +strenuous youth, and you to a handsome old age, naturally I feel a +chicken compared with you. But then think of the next year or two, when +I shall perhaps be playing football, and you will find it no longer +possible to keep your gray hairs so <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span>artistically brushed beneath your +black tresses: think of that, Madge!"</p> + +<p>"Are you out of your mind?" she gasped.</p> + +<p>"On the contrary, I have never been clearer-headed in my life."</p> + +<p>"Then," she exclaimed wrathfully, "you are merely inventing a ridiculous +fable to excuse your shuffling out of your engagement!"</p> + +<p>"My dear lady," he replied pacifically, "shall I jump over this chair to +convince you?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Nothing</i> would convince me."</p> + +<p>"Ah," he said, with a friendly smile, "I see that you want to have me +whether I'm a suitable mate or not, whether my feelings have changed—"</p> + +<p>"I certainly do not!" she interrupted.</p> + +<p>"Then in that case shall we call it off?"</p> + +<p>He rose and picked up an evening paper.</p> + +<p>She tried the resource of tears. The spectacle of a handsome woman +weeping had brought him temporarily to his senses once before. But this +time, though his manner was as kind as any widow could desire, his words +brought the unfortunate lady no more consolation than his conduct.</p> + +<p>"My dear Madge, just look at the thing sensibly. Surely you are old +enough by this time to take a practical view of what after all is a very +simple <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span>situation. You laid down the law yourself not five minutes ago, +and laid it down very justly. If two people are unsuitably mated, the +engagement should be broken off. Very well; just try to realize for a +moment what it means to marry a man who is getting fuller and fuller of +beans all the time—at your age, mark you. The fact is, we are just like +two trains rushing in opposite directions. For a moment we may be side +by side, and then—whit!—we have passed each other and are getting a +couple of miles farther apart every minute."</p> + +<p>Even this graphic allegory failed to dry her tears.</p> + +<p>"You are deserting me—you are breaking my heart!" she wailed.</p> + +<p>"Hush, hush," he answered soothingly; "on the contrary, I am sparing +you—sparing you no end of anxiety."</p> + +<p>She looked at him like a tragedy queen.</p> + +<p>"Have you no thought of how my reputation will suffer, Heriot?"</p> + +<p>"How can it suffer? Nobody knows we've been engaged."</p> + +<p>"Do you suppose they haven't guessed?"</p> + +<p>"Not from anything I've said or done, I can assure you." </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p><p>She sprang up indignantly.</p> + +<p>"Have you no sense of honor?"</p> + +<p>"Look here," he answered, with his most ingratiating manner, "I'll be a +son to you, Madge—an affectionate, dutiful—"</p> + +<p>"You coward!" she cried.</p> + +<p>Heriot found himself alone in his library with his engagement +satisfactorily ended. </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER V</h3> + +<p>Andrew had retired to the dining-room. Once the day's eating was over, +this apartment, with its vast space of dignified gloom, its black marble +mantelpiece, and the cloth of indigo plushette which now covered the +table, made the most congenial refuge conceivable. His thoughts were in +exact harmony with everything there, from the Venetian blinds to the +portrait of his great-grandmother. The only discordant element was the +presence of a few errant bread-crumbs, and happily they were under the +table.</p> + +<p>It was to this lair that he was tracked by Madge Dunbar. She never +paused to ask if she disturbed him, or gave him any chance of protest, +but advancing straight up to him, exclaimed—</p> + +<p>"Your father is off his head!"</p> + +<p>The junior partner eyed her warily, divided between suspicion and a glow +of sympathy with her opinion.</p> + +<p>"What has he done now?" he inquired gloomily. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span></p><p>"He has treated me exactly as he has treated you!"</p> + +<p>The sympathy deepened; the suspicion began to ooze away; but all he +remarked was, "Oh?"</p> + +<p>He was indeed a magnificently cautious man.</p> + +<p>"What can we do?" she cried.</p> + +<p>Andrew scrutinized her carefully. She might be fibbing; she might be up +to some of her tricks again; this might even be a move arranged with his +father. One could not be too prudent.</p> + +<p>"What do you propose to do?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Bring him to his senses if it's possible: if not—Oh, Andrew, his +conduct is infamous! I don't care what we do to punish—I mean to +restrain him."</p> + +<p>At last, after many days' abstinence, the junior partner smiled. It was +not a very wide, nor in the least a merry smile; his cheeks bulged only +slightly under its gentle pressure, and the satisfaction which smiles +traditionally notify seemed savored with a squeeze or two of lemon. But +it marked the beginning of a new coalition, an ominous disturbance of +the balance of power.</p> + +<p>"That is exactly the point I have under consideration myself," he said. +"The difficulty is, how is it to be managed?" </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span></p><p>She seated herself within twelve feet of him, and yet he did not shrink +from her now with modest mistrust.</p> + +<p>"It seems to me perfectly obvious what we should do. Just offer him an +alternative."</p> + +<p>"What alternative?" asked Andrew.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>Meanwhile, Mr. Walkingshaw was spending one of the happiest evenings he +remembered. There was indeed some slight constraint in the drawing-room +so long as his sister remained there, but when, after a series of sighs +which punctuated some twenty minutes' pointed silence, she at last bade +them a depressed good-night, the three happy lovers gave rein to their +hearts. Heriot gave the loosest rein of all. It almost seemed as if a +lover set at liberty was even happier than a lover just engaged. He had +that air of animated relief noticeable in the escaped victims of a +conscientious dentist. As for his children, they adored him little less +than they adored two other people who were not there.</p> + +<p>Yet once or twice Jean fell thoughtful. At last she said—</p> + +<p>"I wonder whether we ought to go out to the Comyns' to-morrow after +all?" </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span></p><p>"My dear girl, why not? You'll have a very pleasant time there; and +anyhow, it's too late to write and tell them you aren't coming."</p> + +<p>"We could wire in the morning," she said. "Frank, do you think we ought +to go?"</p> + +<p>He looked a little surprised, but answered readily, "Not if you don't +want to."</p> + +<p>"But why not go?" their father repeated.</p> + +<p>She hesitated. "Are you quite sure Andrew and Madge won't—won't try to +be unpleasant?"</p> + +<p>"Let them try if they like!" laughed Heriot. "But I assure you, my dear +girl, I was so reasonable—so unanswerable, in fact—that they simply +can't feel annoyed for more than a few hours. Hang it, they are very +nice good people at heart. Just give 'em time to let the proper point of +view sink in, and they'll be chirpy as sparrows again. Besides, what +good could you do by staying at home? The Comyns have a nice place; +you'll have a capital time. I insist on your going."</p> + +<p>"Very well, then," said Jean.</p> + +<p>Yet she could hardly picture Andrew and her cousin quite as chirpy as +sparrows.</p> + +<p>And all this time, beneath the very floor of the room where they +laughed, the plans of the coalition ripened. </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER VI</h3> + +<p>In the course of breakfast upon the following morning, Heriot startled +his junior partner by announcing his intention of putting in a strenuous +day's work at the office. Andrew exchanged a curious glance with Mrs. +Dunbar, and then merely inquired—</p> + +<p>"When will you be back?"</p> + +<p>"Four o'clock," said Heriot cheerfully. "Quite long enough hours for a +man of my age" (he smiled humorously at his son). "Of course there's +sure to be a lot of things to put right, and so on" (Andrew raised a +startled eye), "but I'll polish 'em off by four."</p> + +<p>He ate a remarkably hearty breakfast and strode off blithely, this time +a few minutes ahead of his partner. It was an even more singular thing +that Andrew should linger to confer once more with the lady he had so +lately regarded as the impersonation of everything suspicious.</p> + +<p>Another curious incident happened later in the day. At lunch-time the +junior partner left the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span>office, and, without giving an explanation, +remained absent through the afternoon. Not that Heriot missed him. He +smoked and wrote and rallied Mr. Thomieson, and dictated letters which +left his confidential clerk divided between the extremes of admiration +for their shrewdness and horror at the terse and lively style in which +they were couched; in short, he got through a day's work that sent him +home at four o'clock in the best of spirits.</p> + +<p>Andrew met him in the hall.</p> + +<p>"Hullo," said Heriot, "where have you been all this time?"</p> + +<p>"I want to speak to you for a minute," his son replied, and then, as his +father turned naturally towards the library door, stayed him. "There's +some one in there. Just come into the dining-room for a moment."</p> + +<p>"Who's in there?"</p> + +<p>Andrew waited till he had got him behind the closed door, and then said +very gravely—</p> + +<p>"It's Mrs. Dunbar and a friend of hers."</p> + +<p>"What friend?—Not old Charlie Munro?"</p> + +<p>"A Mr. Brown. Possibly you've not heard of him before, but I understand +he's a connection of her late husband's family. She's asked him to come +and meet you." </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span></p><p>The exceeding solemnity of his manner obviously affected Heriot's high +spirits.</p> + +<p>"What's up?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"I should hardly think you would need to ask that, considering what has +passed between you. In fact, I gather that they want to be satisfied +there's some reasonable explanation of your conduct."</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw gently whistled.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's the game, is it? Well, I suppose I'll just have to tell him +the simple truth, in justice to myself."</p> + +<p>His son heartily agreed.</p> + +<p>"It's the only thing to be done," said he, "the only honest course left, +so far as I can see. Just make a clean breast of everything, and you may +trust me to confirm all you say."</p> + +<p>"My dear boy, you're devilish good. I'm afraid I really haven't been as +appreciative lately as I ought. You're talking like a sportsman now. +Come on, we'll go in and tackle 'em together."</p> + +<p>He took his son's arm and gave him a friendly smile as they crossed the +hall; but the seriousness of the situation seemed to prevent Andrew from +returning these evidences of comradeship.</p> + +<p>The injured lady met her betrayer with marked constraint. She seemed to +anticipate little pleasure <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span>from the interview, but had evidently made +up her mind to go through with it as a duty she owed her reputation and +her friend Mr. Brown. This gentleman was grave, elderly, and of an +unmistakably professional aspect. In a vague way Heriot fancied he had +seen his face before, though he could not recollect where.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Mr. Walkingshaw genially, "here we all are; and now what's +the business before the meeting?"</p> + +<p>"I understand," replied Mr. Brown, in a calm and gentle voice, "that you +have broken off your engagement with this lady. Now, as a—well, I may +say, as an interested friend of Mrs. Dunbar, I should very much like to +have your reasons."</p> + +<p>Heriot smiled.</p> + +<p>"Will you undertake to believe them?"</p> + +<p>"I undertake to give them my closest professional consideration, +whatever they are."</p> + +<p>"May I ask if you are a lawyer?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Brown coughed once or twice before replying.</p> + +<p>"He is," said Andrew decisively, and Mr. Brown seemed content to let +this reply pass as his own.</p> + +<p>"You can talk to me with the utmost frankness," he said; "in fact, I +infinitely prefer it." </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span></p><p>"Well," began Heriot, "the simple fact of the matter is that I am +growing rapidly younger."</p> + +<p>"Ah?" commented Mr. Brown.</p> + +<p>It was curious that he should exchange a quick glance, not with the lady +whose interests he was representing, but with her errant lover's +faithful son.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Mr. Walkingshaw, warming to his narrative, "I am literally +racing backwards. It is like a drive over a road one has passed along +before, only in the opposite direction and much faster. I simply whizz +past the old milestones. Now, a man who is behaving like that has no +business to marry an already mature lady, who is growing older at the +rate of, say one, while he is growing younger at the rate of, say ten; +has he, Mr. Brown?"</p> + +<p>"No," replied Mr. Brown emphatically, "I honestly don't think he has."</p> + +<p>Heriot was delighted with this confirmation of his judgment. He threw a +glance at the widow to see how she took it, but her eyes were cast down, +and she displayed no emotion whatever.</p> + +<p>"That's the long and the short of the matter, Mr. Brown. I make the +profoundest apologies to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span>my charming relative; but if you agree that I +acted for the best, I suppose we might as well adjourn and have a cup of +tea."</p> + +<p>"Just one moment," said Mr. Brown gently. "I should like to have a few +more particulars regarding this very interesting phenomenon, if you +don't mind."</p> + +<p>"Not a bit, my dear sir. It's a very natural curiosity."</p> + +<p>"You feel, of course, a considerable exhilaration of spirits in +consequence of this change?"</p> + +<p>"I'm simply bursting with them."</p> + +<p>"Naturally, naturally. And you propose, no doubt, to exercise your +activities in some beneficial way?"</p> + +<p>"In a dozen ways. I've already been the means of securing two happy +engagements for my youngest children."</p> + +<p>"And breaking off two," said Andrew.</p> + +<p>His father turned to him with a frown. This was hardly the support he +expected. To his great pleasure, the sympathetic Mr. Brown also +disapproved of the interruption.</p> + +<p>"One thing at a time, please," said he, and resumed his intelligent +inquiries. "These young <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span>persons to whom your children have become +engaged—they are hardly the matches you would have made at one time, +are they?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I was a bit of an ass at one time," Mr. Walkingshaw +confessed.</p> + +<p>"I see, I see. And now, as to the engagements you have broken off—you +felt yourself inspired, prompted from within, as it were, to bring them +to an end, I take it?"</p> + +<p>"You've put it deuced well," said Heriot.</p> + +<p>"Did you feel in any way inspired from without—any visions or voices, +so to speak, any manifestations or appearances—anything of that kind?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw looked a little puzzled.</p> + +<p>"The voices of romance and love, and that sort of thing, I certainly +heard."</p> + +<p>"Quite so, quite so, Mr. Walkingshaw. You heard them, did you? Well, +it's not every one who hears these things."</p> + +<p>He smiled pleasantly, and Mr. Walkingshaw became confirmed in his +opinion that this was quite one of the most agreeable men he had met for +a long time.</p> + +<p>"May I ask whether you propose to take any <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span>more steps to put this poor +world of ours to rights?" inquired Mr. Brown.</p> + +<p>"He is taking control of the business again," said Andrew.</p> + +<p>"Again?" retorted Heriot. "When did I ever lose control of the business, +I'd like to know? I've had my holiday, and now I'm going to make things +hum in the office."</p> + +<p>"You are going to make them hum?" asked Mr. Brown. "Do you mean you are +going to override your partner's decisions, and so on?"</p> + +<p>"My dear Mr. Brown, if I waited for his decisions, I'd be kicking up my +heels in the office half the day. Metaphorically speaking, my son is +somewhat like a man who fills his bath from a teacup instead of turning +on the tap. I don't override his decisions, I simply anticipate them."</p> + +<p>"That is his account of it," said Andrew darkly.</p> + +<p>"Well, well," smiled Mr. Brown, "I think I understand. And now, Mr. +Walkingshaw, may I ask if there is anything else you propose to do?"</p> + +<p>This time he glanced at Andrew, as if courting information.</p> + +<p>"He is altering his will," said the junior partner. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span></p><p>"Ah!" remarked his visitor again.</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw drew himself up.</p> + +<p>"That is my own affair," he said, with dignity.</p> + +<p>"Quite so—quite so," replied Mr. Brown in that peculiarly soothing +voice he had at his command. "We would wish to make no inquiries into +that. Only, there's just one thing I'd like to know—you don't mean to +let the grass grow under your feet, I take it?"</p> + +<p>"No fears," said Heriot. "What I mean to do, I'm going to do at once. By +Jingo, I'll be under age in a few years! I've got to do things +promptly."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," replied Mr. Brown suavely, "I think that is all I want to +know. We needn't detain you any longer, Mr. Walkingshaw."</p> + +<p>It struck Heriot that this was a funny way for the agreeable Mr. Brown +to treat him in his own house. He assumed the air of a host at once.</p> + +<p>"Then we'll go up and have some tea. Come along, Mr. Brown."</p> + +<p>"I think," said his visitor politely, "that possibly your son and I had +better have just a word or two with this lady first, if you'll permit +us."</p> + +<p>"Certainly, my dear sir; just come up when you're ready." </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span></p><p>As he went upstairs, it suddenly struck him as rather odd that her +connection by marriage and legal adviser should refer to Madge as "this +lady"; and also that she should have sat so silently through a +conversation which primarily concerned herself. But then such rum things +did happen in this amusing world that it was never worth while worrying.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER VII</h3> + +<p>Stroking the cat and sipping his tea, Mr. Walkingshaw conversed +pleasantly with his sister. Jean and Frank had gone into the country, +and the two sat alone together in the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>"Brown?" said Miss Walkingshaw. "I never knew the Dunbars had a relative +of that name. Who will he be?"</p> + +<p>"I seem to mind seeing his face somewhere," replied her brother, "but +more about him I can't tell you, except that he's a very pleasant +fellow. Hullo, Andrew, where's Brown?"</p> + +<p>The junior partner had entered alone.</p> + +<p>"He had to go," said he.</p> + +<p>"Dash it, he might have said good-by."</p> + +<p>Andrew made no answer. He was looking at his aunt in a way that he had +borrowed from his father's bygone manner. Though he had only quite +recently begun to practise it seriously, he was sufficiently expert to +convey unmistakably the fact that he desired her to withdraw. She rose +obediently. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span></p><p>"Hullo, where are you off to?" asked her brother.</p> + +<p>"I have things to do, Heriot," she answered nervously, "just a few +things to do."</p> + +<p>As she passed Andrew she paused, and her lips framed a question. There +was something in his manner that frightened her; strange things were +happening, she felt sure. But his glowering eye silenced her, and she +faded noiselessly out of the room. Then Andrew advanced upon his father.</p> + +<p>"Just run your eye through that," he said quietly.</p> + +<p>He handed his father a large double sheet of blue foolscap containing a +great deal of printed matter. The particular portion of it to which Mr. +Walkingshaw's attention was directed ran thus—</p> + +<p class="center">"<span class="smcap">Certificate of Emergency</span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"(This certificate authorizes the detention of a Patient in an Asylum +for a period not exceeding three days, without any order by the +Sheriff.)</p> + +<p>"I, the undersigned George William Downie, being M.D., Glasgow, hereby +certify on soul and conscience, that I have this day at 15, Roray Place, +in the County of Edinburgh, seen and personally examined James Heriot +Walkingshaw, and that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span>the said person is of unsound mind, and a proper +Patient to be placed in an Asylum, and is in a sufficiently good state +of bodily health at this date to be removed to the Asylum.</p> + +<p>"And I hereby certify that the case of the said Person is one of +emergency."</p></div> + +<p>It was then dated, and signed, "George W. Downie."</p> + +<p>"Asylum—Dr. Downie!" gasped Heriot. "But—what <i>is</i> this?"</p> + +<p>"It says on the paper. Just look—can't you read?"</p> + +<p>Heriot gave a convulsive start.</p> + +<p>"Was—was <i>that</i> Dr. Downie?"</p> + +<p>His son nodded.</p> + +<p>Again Heriot's startled eyes ran over the certificate, and then they +turned upon his son. It is regrettable that his next words were not more +worthy of his reputation.</p> + +<p>"You d——d young skunk!"</p> + +<p>"It's no use swearing," his son replied coldly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw fell back in his chair and seemed to meditate.</p> + +<p>"You wired to Glasgow for him?" he inquired in a moment.</p> + +<p>"I did." </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span></p><p>"So that I shouldn't recognize him, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Naturally."</p> + +<p>"What a sell if I'd spotted him and talked what the silly fool would +have thought sense!"</p> + +<p>"You didn't," said Andrew.</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Man, I'd never have given you credit for the brains to do the like of +this."</p> + +<p>Then he started.</p> + +<p>"I see it all now! It was Madge put you up to the idea! Eh? Oh, you +needn't trouble to deny it; I know you haven't the imagination +yourself."</p> + +<p>With a calmer air he studied the paper afresh.</p> + +<p>"It's only for three days," he observed in a cheerier tone.</p> + +<p>"Do you actually imagine you're likely to get out at the end of three +days?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw looked at his son steadily.</p> + +<p>"You know perfectly well that every word I said was true."</p> + +<p>Andrew remained coldly immovable.</p> + +<p>"I am no judge myself. I'd sooner depend on Dr. Downie's opinion."</p> + +<p>"Hypocrite to the last!" scoffed Heriot. "Can <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span>you look me in the face, +Andrew, and tell me that you honestly thought it was insanity to make +friends of my children and help them to marry the people they loved, and +divide my money fairly among you all? Can you?"</p> + +<p>"Permit me to remind you that it was not I who signed the certificate."</p> + +<p>There was a moment's very dead silence, and then Heriot asked—</p> + +<p>"Then do you actually mean to shut me up in a lunatic asylum for the +rest of my days?"</p> + +<p>Andrew had some of the finer points of the legal mind. He noted the +trace of emotion in his father's voice, and knew he was fairly on top at +last. To let this fact sink still further into Heriot's mind, he eyed +him in austere silence for a few moments before he answered—</p> + +<p>"If I have to, I shall."</p> + +<p>"If you <i>have</i> to? What d'ye mean?"</p> + +<p>"I mean that I am not going to have my business ruined—"</p> + +<p>"Ruined! Can you not stick to the truth on a single point? I am putting +new life into it!"</p> + +<p>"I don't care for your kind of life, thanks," said Andrew primly, "and I +repeat that I am not going to have my business—enlivened, if that's +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span>how you choose to put it, and my family disgraced, and my reputation +lost; and if I let you go on another day as you've been going, it'll be +too late to save any of them. But I don't want to be harder than I can +help." He paused for a moment, and his lip grew longer and straighter. +"So I'll offer you an alternative."</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"If you'll guarantee to clear out of the country and not come back +again, I'll take no further proceedings on the strength of this +certificate. I don't want to put you in an asylum any more than you want +to go, but I've got to protect myself."</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw mused.</p> + +<p>"When do you want me to start?"</p> + +<p>"At once."</p> + +<p>"At once!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, at once, before you see anybody else."</p> + +<p>"I'm not even to say good-by?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"You've got some game on," said Heriot.</p> + +<p>"I've got to protect myself and my family."</p> + +<p>His father looked at him searchingly; but his face remained a solemn +medallion of virtue. Then Mr. Walkingshaw again fell back in his chair +and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span>mused. Gradually the flicker of a smile appeared in his eye. It +spread to his lips, and he sprang up cheerfully.</p> + +<p>"It's not half a bad idea!" he exclaimed. "I'm just getting to the age +when a young man ought to go about a bit and see something of the world. +New Zealand now—that's a fine country—or Japan—or Texas. By Gad, you +know I've several times wanted to do a bit of roughing it and big game +shooting lately."</p> + +<p>His son looked at him suspiciously. This cheerfulness was unusual in +people he had worsted, and the unusual was always to be distrusted. But +to the less vigilant, ordinary mind Mr. Walkingshaw merely presented the +spectacle of a man of young middle-age with a heart some ten years +younger still.</p> + +<p>"Of course it will be a wrench," he added, with a sobered air. "I'll +miss 'em all: Frank—Ellen—Jean. By Gad, I shall miss Jean. However, it +need only be for a year or two. Meanwhile—by Jingo, there's no doubt +about it!—this is the chance of my life. Let's see now, what does one +need? A revolver with six thingamajigs—top-boots and riding breeches—a +good compass—" </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span></p><p>The chill voice of Andrew interrupted this catalogue.</p> + +<p>"Once you go away, you've got to stay away."</p> + +<p>"Stay away!"</p> + +<p>"Your allowance will depend on that."</p> + +<p>"My allowance!" gasped Heriot.</p> + +<p>"Your estate has got to be administered by me just as though you were" +(instinctively this pious young man's face grew solemn) "taken away from +us."</p> + +<p>"I wish I were not your father," sighed Heriot. "In happier +circumstances, the pleasure of kicking you would just be immense."</p> + +<p>Andrew disliked physical brutality. His cheeks grew flabbier at the very +idea of such an outrage—even in theory.</p> + +<p>"If you were to try anything of that kind, I warn you I'd withdraw my +alternative."</p> + +<p>His father laughed reassuringly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you needn't keep your back against the bookcase: I'll leave the job +for some luckier devil."</p> + +<p>A thought struck him.</p> + +<p>"By the way, I've promised to give Jean and Frank enough to keep them +going. You'll see to that?" </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span></p><p>"I'll carry out the provisions made when you were in your right mind."</p> + +<p>"What provisions?"</p> + +<p>"The terms of your will."</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw looked at his son steadily and in silence. After a full +minute under this stare Andrew began to grow uneasy.</p> + +<p>"There's to be no more nonsense, I warn you," he said.</p> + +<p>"You mean either to rob your brother and sister of their money, or +revenge yourself by stopping their marriages? By Heaven, Andrew—"</p> + +<p>He broke off and plunged into meditation. Then his eyes began to smile, +though his lips were now compressed.</p> + +<p>"Very well," he murmured.</p> + +<p>His son still felt a vague sense of apprehension.</p> + +<p>"Mind, you've got to stay abroad."</p> + +<p>"For ever?"</p> + +<p>"You must give me your word you won't come back for two years certain, +and after that you lose your allowance if you land in Great Britain or +Ireland."</p> + +<p>"Including the Channel Islands?"</p> + +<p>"Including them."</p> + +<p>"I see your game," smiled Heriot. "But I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span>give you my word. Poor Jean, +poor Frank—"</p> + +<p>"You're not even to write to them," interrupted Andrew.</p> + +<p>Mr. Walkingshaw stroked his chin meditatively.</p> + +<p>"I agree to that," he said. "Any more conditions?"</p> + +<p>The smile that prevailed in his discomfited parent's eye perturbed the +junior partner. He warily scanned all possible loopholes.</p> + +<p>"You're not to communicate with Madge Dunbar."</p> + +<p>"God forbid!" said Heriot fervently.</p> + +<p>"Nor my aunt."</p> + +<p>"Bless her, poor soul; no fears of that."</p> + +<p>"I think that's all," said Andrew reluctantly.</p> + +<p>So long as those eyes continued to look at him like that, he desired to +pile condition on condition. But the overwhelming advantages of being +encumbered with no imagination occasionally—very occasionally—have +compensating drawbacks. He could imagine nothing else to be guarded +against.</p> + +<p>"Then I'd better pack and be off."</p> + +<p>"You had," said Andrew.</p> + +<p>Just as he was leaving the room, Heriot turned and asked—</p> + +<p>"You've heard of changelings?" </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span></p><p>Andrew stared.</p> + +<p>"Do you not mind hearing of goblins that get put into cradles instead of +the real babies? That accounts for you. Thank the Lord, I need never +again claim the discredit of begetting you!" </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER VIII</h3> + +<p>A luggage-laden cab clattered over the granite cubes and passed out of +the ring of tall mansions and the shadow of the stately trees within the +garden. The career of Heriot Walkingshaw, W.S., was ended, and shocked +respectability could lower again her up-rolled eyes and see nothing more +outrageous than a prowling cat. May her troubles always end as happily! +Undoubtedly, had the full facts been there and then made public, a +statue of the junior partner (completely clad) would have adorned that +decorous garden.</p> + +<p>But his modest reticence was remarkable. He stood in the somber hall +listening intently to make sure that the cab really did ascend the steep +street towards the station, when his ally, after peering over the +banisters, ran downstairs to meet him. He was just heaving a deep sigh +of relief.</p> + +<p>"Did some one go away in a cab?" she asked.</p> + +<p>He looked at her sharply.</p> + +<p>"Quite possibly."</p> + +<p>In her eyes gleamed a sudden hint of suspicion. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span></p><p>"Was it Heriot?"</p> + +<p>He took his time before answering very deliberately—</p> + +<p>"It was."</p> + +<p>"Where is he going?"</p> + +<p>Again he paused. As every moment took his father farther from them, so +every moment was precious.</p> + +<p>"Can you not guess?"</p> + +<p>"What!" she cried. "You're actually putting him into an asylum?"</p> + +<p>"It's the best place for him."</p> + +<p>She seized his arm.</p> + +<p>"Did you give him the alternative?"</p> + +<p>With a chaste movement he withdrew the arm.</p> + +<p>"I gave him an alternative, certainly."</p> + +<p>Her black eyes seemed to pierce into his brain. He disliked being looked +at like that exceedingly.</p> + +<p>"<i>Our</i> alternative?"</p> + +<p>"Our?" he questioned.</p> + +<p>"The alternative we discussed last night?"</p> + +<p>"We discussed a good many things."</p> + +<p>She kept following him up till his back was nearly against the front +door.</p> + +<p>"Did you offer him the alternative of keeping his promise to me?" </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span></p><p>"Look out," he muttered. "Some of the servants may be coming."</p> + +<p>"Did you?"</p> + +<p>"Would you marry a man that's off his head?"</p> + +<p>"He isn't; he was only pretending!"</p> + +<p>"That's not what Dr. Downie thought."</p> + +<p>"Dr. Downie! What did he know!"</p> + +<p>"He certified him."</p> + +<p>He was backed against the front door now.</p> + +<p>"Did you offer Heriot that alternative?"</p> + +<p>He paused for a moment. Heriot must be at the station by now, and he had +not many spare minutes before the train started.</p> + +<p>"No, I did not," he answered.</p> + +<p>The sympathetic widow's hand shot out; there was a smack and then a +thud. The smack was caused by a momentary encounter between the hand and +his spherical cheek, the thud by a meeting of his head and the door.</p> + +<p>"You miserable creature!" she hissed.</p> + +<p>With a look such as only the righteous can ever hope to wear, and that +in the moment of martyrdom, he watched her rush upstairs sobbing.</p> + +<p>And thus the coalition, having served its beneficent purpose, came +abruptly to an end. A great deal might be written in this connection, +adducing <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span>this instance to illustrate the wider fields of statecraft, +but unfortunately the present narrative is a simple record of facts, and +not a philosophical treatise. The immediate consequence of the episode +was that on the following morning Mrs. Dunbar set out for the west of +Ross-shire to pay a long-promised visit to a third cousin who possessed +several thousand acres of moorland in that vicinity. </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER IX</h3> + +<p>It was on the following morning that Jean and Frank returned, their +faces glowing with country sunshine and spring wind, their hearts +quickened with anticipation. In the train coming home they had exchanged +many confidences. Could he possibly manage to get married before he went +out to India? Frank wondered. Would Lucas have to wait till he had sold +a few more pictures? wondered Jean. He ran whistling up the steps and +rang the bell. She burst radiantly into the somber hall. And then, at +twelve o'clock in the morning of an ordinary working week-day, they +found the junior partner at home to receive them. Such a portent had +never before been seen.</p> + +<p>"Where's father?" asked Jean.</p> + +<p>Andrew's cheeks twitched nervously; yet on the whole he maintained a +compassionate expression highly honorable to his fraternal instincts. In +a hushed voice he addressed his sister.</p> + +<p>"I want to have a word with you," said he.</p> + +<p>He took her apart from her brother and shut <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span>the library door securely. +Frank was such a hot-tempered young fellow; and he had suffered one +physical outrage already. In a voice as appropriate as his face he +gently broke the news—</p> + +<p>"Our father has been removed to an asylum."</p> + +<p>"Removed—to an asylum!" gasped Jean.</p> + +<p>She did not strike him, but on the whole he was even more glad when that +interview came to an end than when he saw the widow's muscular back at +last turn from the front door.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>A few days afterwards a tall man in a sportsmanlike ulster walked up the +gangway of a steamship bound for a port in South America. He was +followed on board by a friend with very blue eyes and a cavalier +mustache. They talked for a few minutes and then shook hands +affectionately.</p> + +<p>"Well, Lucas, good-by, old fellow," said the passenger. "And remember +now what you're to tell them. They're not to drop a hint—not a whisper +of what they know. Just keep your tails up all of you, as best you can. +Handy thing, this revolver we chose. I must practise shooting from the +hip pocket. I say, take special care of Jean. Tell her I know how plucky +she is—she'll be staunch—she'll wait. Tell her I'll often be +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span>thinking—Hullo, last bell; you'd better get on shore."</p> + +<p>A little later the steamer was in the middle of the gray Thames, bearing +Heriot, his fortunes, and his six-shooter far, far from the office of +Walkingshaw & Gilliflower. The protagonist of virtuous respectability +sat there triumphantly enshrined. He had done everything a good man +could reasonably be expected to do; only he had not imagined Lucas +Vernon waving a farewell to his late partner. </p> + +<hr class="biggest" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 300-302]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="PART_V" id="PART_V"></a>PART V </h2> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER I</h3> + +<p>Even in the heyday of Mr. Walkingshaw's career, when he was most +conspicuously an example to his fellow-citizens, revered by the young +and applauded by the old, there were to be found certain austere critics +who held that, for themselves, the character of Andrew presented the +more chaste ideal. Exemplary though his father's life had been (up to +that fatal illness), there was always a latent vein of geniality in his +character, a reminiscence of good living in his ruddy countenance, a +brightness in his eye, that suggested possibilities; and even a +possibility might conceivably, under certain circumstances, given this +and that—well, it might be safer away. Whereas Andrew's pale round +cheeks and solemn aspect were as reassuring as a plate of porridge.</p> + +<p>These pioneers of criticism were thought extremists six months ago; now, +they had all respectable society at their back. Of course it was never a +point in a man's favor that his father (or indeed any relative) could +run amuck as Andrew's had <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span>done. On the other hand, he had so promptly +and fearlessly plucked out the parent who offended him, and behaved, +moreover, through all this tribulation with such becoming solemnity, +that he very soon began rather to gain than to lose by his martyrdom. +Each step he took was discretion itself. His father, people learnt, had +been quietly removed to a retreat for the mentally infirm, situated, +some said in Devonshire, and others in North Wales. The very ambiguity +on this point was highly approved. It argued the perfection of prudence. +As for the ungrateful girl who had jilted him, he had talked at +considerable length to his friends on that subject, and they reported +that, though naturally grieved, and even offended, by her conduct, he +was nevertheless able to express in a calm voice many Christian +sentiments; frequently, for instance, assuring his audience that he +forgave her, and that if she preferred to stew in her own juice he was +too much of a gentleman to interfere with her pleasure. At this rate, it +was recognized that very soon nothing the Goddess of Mediocrity could +offer would be beyond his reach. She had many worshipers, but +unquestionably Andrew Walkingshaw looked like her favorite.</p> + +<p>He himself was modestly disposed to agree with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span>this opinion. Really, +the success of his prompt procedure had been remarkable. From his two +sensible married sisters he had never anticipated trouble, and they had +loyally fulfilled his expectations. With both he held private +consultations, and each accepted his version of the facts without a +single unnecessary or disquieting question. They knew they could trust +Andrew. But what did surprise him was the calmness into which the +impotent indignation of Frank and Jean subsided. Within three days they +were converted from volcanoes to icebergs. It was a condition too frigid +to give him unalloyed delight, yet all things considered he could not +but think it exceedingly encouraging.</p> + +<p>"I presume you don't intend to give either of us a marrying allowance?" +said Frank, interrupting with this practical inquiry the guarded +narrative of his elder brother.</p> + +<p>"If I could feel it in any way to be my duty—"</p> + +<p>Frank interrupted him again.</p> + +<p>"But you don't; what?"</p> + +<p>"No, Frank, I may tell you candidly—"</p> + +<p>For the third time the soldier cut in—</p> + +<p>"And I may tell <i>you</i> candidly that of all contemptible hounds I've ever +had the misfortune to meet, you're the most despicable." </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span></p><p>That concluded the conference; and judging from Jean's pointed neglect +of any opportunities for consultation with which Andrew provided her, he +gathered that Frank had sufficiently expressed her opinion also. It was, +no doubt, painful to see oneself thus misjudged, but at the same time he +could not feel too thankful for their abstinence from any further +inquiry regarding their father's fate. At first this lack of curiosity +struck him as almost suspicious, but he was reassured by his conviction +of their depravity. While their father was favoring them, they made a +fuss about him: now that he could favor them no more, their feigned +affection for him disappeared, and all they thought of was reviling the +one member of the family who knew what was best for them. Each time he +recalled those monstrous epithets of Frank's, this conviction deepened, +till he became positively ashamed of them for their indifference. They +might at least have gone through the form of asking for some news of +their father now and then, even if they had not the hearts to sympathize +with his malady. But they had no sense of decency, those two.</p> + +<p>Fortunately, he was soon relieved of Frank's society. Some weeks before +his furlough was up he returned to India, and the house was well rid of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span>him. A meandering and indignant letter from Archibald Berstoun of that +ilk, informing Mr. Andrew Walkingshaw (in the third person) that he +would be obliged if he would kindly keep his brother from trespassing in +his garden, indicated that the despairing lover had paid a farewell, and +surreptitious, visit to his mistress; but that was the last +inconvenience he inflicted.</p> + +<p>To add to Andrew's relief, Jean came to him a few days after Frank's +departure and announced her intention of repairing to London and +adopting the profession of nursing. In retailing this incident to his +friends, her brother laid particular emphasis on the generosity he had +displayed and the scanty thanks she had tendered him. The financial +assistance he offered her was ample—perfectly ample for all that a girl +wanted; while in the matter of good advice he had been positively +extravagant.</p> + +<p>"You'll think well over this, Jean," said he.</p> + +<p>"I have thought," she answered briefly.</p> + +<p>"It's an arduous profession you're embarking on, and a responsible +profession, and an honorable profession. It requires—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know what it requires," she interrupted. "It will be much better +if you simply tell your <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span>friends what you intended to tell me. They may +be impressed: I am not."</p> + +<p>And, like the obliging brother he was, Andrew obeyed her wishes +literally. He had his reward, for such of his friends as were able to +wait till he had finished his narrative told him candidly that they +thought he had left nothing unsaid, and that certainly his sister ought +to consider herself fortunate. In fact, he only relinquished his grasp +of their buttonholes when they had acquiesced in these conclusions.</p> + +<p>The spectacle was now presented to the world of poor Andrew Walkingshaw, +bereft of his father and deserted by his sister, living in that great +house in company only with his sense of duty and his aunt. People were +very sorry for him indeed; they said he should marry; in fact, such as +enjoyed the privilege of his acquaintance even began to select suitable +young women for his approval. Andrew inspected these candidates gravely, +but at the same time let it be clearly understood that he was in no +hurry; he might decide to marry, or he might not—anyhow, if he did, the +lady would be conferring no favor. It was left to your common sense to +decide by whom, in that case, the favor would be conferred. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span></p><p>All this sympathy was very consoling, but in a world partially +compounded of people less sensible than Andrew Walkingshaw, a few +disappointments are inevitable. He found his in the annoying attitude of +two or three valuable but wrong-headed clients, who would persist in +making frequent inquiries as to the probable duration of the senior +partner's indisposition. There was an unpleasant sense of comparison +implied in these questions, a hint of preference for the slap-dash, +hang-technicalities method with which, in his latter days, Heriot had +scandalized aggrieved spinsters in quest of consolation and hesitating +suitors desirous of having their minds made up. The trouble was that +these latter classes, though delightful company to one of Andrew's +sympathetic disposition, were considerably less remunerative than the +irritating inquirers; and so long as there seemed any possibility of his +father's return to sanity and his office, he felt that he could never +regard his position as wholly satisfactory; on the other hand, though a +sick lion may possibly be compared with a live dog, a defunct lion is +proverbially out of the running.</p> + +<p>Andrew thought over this aspect of the case long and conscientiously. He +was exceedingly <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span>truthful, he disliked superfluous butchery, but what +choice had he?</p> + +<p>It is said by the more inspired species of social reformer that what +good men deem theoretically advisable is sure to happen sooner or later. +In some cases, if the man be talented as well as good, it happens +quickly. Within a few months of Jean's desertion came the last touch +that was needed to complete the pathos of her brother's position and +disarm the most hostile critic. Among the deaths in the <i>Scotsman</i> +appeared the name of James Heriot Walkingshaw. Nothing was said as to +how or where he had died; and, in fact, the point was never +satisfactorily settled whether the sad event took place in North Wales +or Devonshire; but, of course, the cause was only too evident. Well, +poor man, it was a mercy the end had come as swiftly as it had. His +friends were sorry, of course, but not surprised and quite resigned. +They were very pleased with the way his son took it. He departed quietly +for the funeral in a hatband six inches wide, and returned with a +thoughtful and chastened air to resume his daily work. The interment +took place, it was understood, in a churchyard adjacent to the retreat; +and under the sad circumstances people thought Andrew had done well to +attend it <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span>unaccompanied by other mourners. In short, every circumstance +connected with the tragedy served to increase the respect in which he +was held. Even Jean's unfortunate omission to use black-edged paper when +writing a few brief and curiously stiff acknowledgments of the letters +of condolence she received, reacted indirectly in Andrew's favor. People +pitied the brother of this unfeeling girl. How wounded he must feel by +her callousness!</p> + +<p>But the most satisfactory consequence of all was the cessation of +inquiries for any other Walkingshaw than Andrew. He considered himself +justified in holding that this tacitly implied an admission that nobody +could desire a better lawyer than he. And as there were none to +contradict this assumption (since he had always made a point of avoiding +the candid critic like the Devil, the impecunious school friend, and +Sunday golf), he derived from it the full gratification to which he was +entitled.</p> + +<p>Never, surely, was there a more signal triumph for the meek. His brother +had abused him, and he was now broiling in India, torn for ever from his +betrothed; his sister had snubbed him, and there she was homeless in +London slaving in a hospital; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span>Mrs. Dunbar had smacked his face, and she +was an exile in the moors of Ross-shire; and now here was his father, +who had plagued and despised him, numbered in the list of the deceased. +Alas for Heriot Walkingshaw! He had despised the wrong man when he +despised Andrew. "The Example is dead; long live the Example!" might +well have been inscribed upon his tombstone, had their friends been able +to learn precisely where that monument was situated. </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER II</h3> + +<p>It is pleasant to be able to turn (still adhering closely to the facts +as they occurred) from tombstones to orange blossom. His friends +unanimously felt that Andrew, having suffered so much and so heroically, +should now obtain the consolation he deserved. Among his many virtues +none was more remarkable than his instinct for doing exactly what was +expected of him, and at precisely the right moment. Forthwith he +announced his engagement to Miss Catherine Henderson, whose father's +residence had been used as the test by which Heriot first realized his +disastrous return to youth. Mr. Henderson was now defunct, but his +possessions served a better purpose than being stared at by a reprobate +neighbor. They passed, in fact, into Andrew's keeping.</p> + +<p>The lady who accompanied them was, of course, an only child, and the +income of two thousand pounds a year she enjoyed was derived from such +extraordinarily safe investments that even the cautious Andrew, when he +went into her affairs with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span>a fellow-solicitor (on the week before he +proposed), remarked at once that he saw an increase of three hundred and +fifty pounds to be got without risking a halfpenny. As she was only four +years older than he, there was no disparity of years on this occasion; +while her appearance effectually guaranteed her lover against the +discomforts of rivalry. In short, she was generally admitted to be an +ideal mate for Andrew Walkingshaw.</p> + +<p>It was just eight months after Heriot's disappearance from public life +that his son led Miss Henderson to the altar of St. Giles' Cathedral, +and after a brief honeymoon in Switzerland established her in the +stately mansion overlooking the circular garden. The fortunate couple +had the further advantage of overlooking (when the leaves were off the +trees) a substantial addition to their income in the shape of the +bride's late residence, now let on very advantageous terms to a wealthy +relative of Mr. Ramornie of Pettigrew. It seemed impossible for any step +Andrew took to avoid being profitable. When he lost an umbrella at the +club, it was always to find a better one in its place. And the most +satisfactory thing of all was the consciousness that his prosperity was +entirely the result of following the proper kind of principles. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span></p><p>One would fain avert one's eyes from the spectacle presented by the +luckless Ellen Berstoun, were it not that her unhappy condition makes +the contrast between lax and proper principles the more poignant. No +mate with two thousand pounds a year for her! Instead, merely a hopeless +passion for an impecunious subaltern sweltering in far-off India. That +was poor company throughout the long series of monotonous months that +were now her portion. The brown buds on the tall beeches broke into +leaf, and the dark pines were tipped with vivid green; the leaves +withered and fell, and the dead needles littered the moss. Those were +the most exciting changes that happened. Her father (a victim of gout) +cursed her and Frank and Andrew and Heriot impartially. Her mother +sighed and let her into secrets of their housekeeping and finances which +clearly showed how selfish she had been. Her sisters were kind upon the +whole, but dreadfully disposed to talk things over in a practical kind +of way.</p> + +<p>And then at intervals arrived those letters, very long and very loving, +and very full of riding and marching under strange skies, and adventures +of which strange dark peoples and stranger beasts were the sinister +ingredients. They <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span>brightened her eyes for a little while, and then left +her sadder than before.</p> + +<p>In the course of the second year of her bereavement, the disappointment +of her parents with her failure was converted into satisfaction at the +success of her sister Mary. An astonishingly wealthy shooting tenant in +the neighborhood danced seven times with her at the County Ball, and +proposed next morning by letter. He would have been accepted by telegram +had Archibald of that ilk had his way, but fortunately the gentleman's +ardor had not cooled by the time the next post reached him. A week later +his prospective best man wriggled out of his duties by coming to an +arrangement with Mary's younger sister that the wedding should be a +double-barreled affair, with two brides and two grooms. As this second +suitor was very nearly as rich as the first, Ellen found her fate +alleviated by the entire and permanent removal of her parents' +displeasure. She became now a mere object of pity, mingled at times with +contempt for her folly in dooming herself to a sterile spinsterhood; for +it was clear that Frank and she could never hope to marry, however much +writing-paper they might waste.</p> + +<p>Just as the world never plumbed the depths of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span>dignity and purpose in +Woman till it saw her chained to a railing, clasping the hated constable +like a lover, a hoarse example to her sluggish sisters, so it can never +realize her capacity for foolishness till it has seen her waiting +through weary years, hoping against reason, the victim of illogical +constancy to a mere young man. Sweet and gracious Ellen Berstoun, so +slender and pretty and charming, wasting her fragrance in the old garden +and the dark pine-woods for the sake of certain passionate memories and +the most impractical of day-dreams, was a sight to make a philosopher +despair.</p> + +<p>Undoubtedly Andrew's were the proper principles. </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER III</h3> + +<p>With the drawing in of dusk a thin mist stole up from the river and +stealthily crept through the streets and lanes of Chelsea. It was not +yet five o'clock, but on an afternoon in the depth of winter the little +touch of fog converted dusk to darkness. The mist was not thick, but +very cold and clammy, and in the zigzag lane the lamps were blurred and +the shadows deep. Two people left a bus in the King's Road and turned +down it. He was broad-shouldered, and swung along with a fine decided +stride: she was trim and erect, and very quietly clad; her face was +fresh and bright, a smile haunted her eyes, and her straight little nose +seemed to breathe independence.</p> + +<p>"The air is beastly damp," said he. "I wish you'd let me bring you in a +cab."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, Lucas," she answered stoutly; "we neither of us can afford +it. You must learn to be sensible."</p> + +<p>"But, my dear girl, I tell you I'm beginning to make money now." </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span></p><p>"Well, don't begin to spend it; and then perhaps you may have a little +in the bank in a year or two."</p> + +<p>"A year or two!" he exclaimed; "I'll have enough in six months to—"</p> + +<p>She interrupted him briskly.</p> + +<p>"Lucas! Don't you remember we agreed that whichever of us said 'marry' +first should be fined?"</p> + +<p>"I never agreed."</p> + +<p>"Then I shall break off the engagement."</p> + +<p>Yet she continued walking quickly by his side till they came to the +studio. He took out his key, but she stopped short on the pavement with +a fine air of decision.</p> + +<p>"I won't come in unless you promise to be more or less rational," she +said.</p> + +<p>And then with the same air of decision she entered.</p> + +<p>After a few minutes' apparently unnecessary delay he lit the gas and she +settled herself in the deck-chair while he filled the teapot.</p> + +<p>"Nursing is too heavy work for you," he said suddenly.</p> + +<p>"Don't be absurd," she smiled.</p> + +<p>He put down the teapot, took her by the shoulders, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span>and looked into her +eyes, at once critic and adorer.</p> + +<p>"Jean! You can't deceive me. It's my business to know how people sit +when they are tired, and what signs in their faces show they are +overworked. You are nearly dead beat."</p> + +<p>"Only—only a very little, Lucas," she said less stoutly.</p> + +<p>Her spirit was brave, but her feet were weary, and how her back ached!</p> + +<p>"I'm going to take you away from that infernal hospital," he announced.</p> + +<p>Her back stiffened again.</p> + +<p>"Lucas! you promised to be sensible."</p> + +<p>He smiled down at her.</p> + +<p>"I have the sense to marry you—and do it at once, too!"</p> + +<p>She jumped up.</p> + +<p>"Lucas!"</p> + +<p>"Jean!"</p> + +<p>He held her fast.</p> + +<p>"You may be strong enough to hold me," she panted, "but you aren't +strong enough to marry me against my will!"</p> + +<p>"But why shouldn't we? Why the mischief, why the dickens, why the devil +not?" </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span></p><p>"Because you'd be bankrupt in a month. You've <i>no</i> sense, dear. Do get +that into your head. By your own admission you have only just begun to +sell your pictures. Wait and see whether it lasts—wait for a couple of +years—"</p> + +<p>"A couple of—! I won't, and that's flat!"</p> + +<p>"One year, then."</p> + +<p>"Twelve months? I can't, Jean."</p> + +<p>"You must!"</p> + +<p>"Daren't you risk it now?"</p> + +<p>She drew herself back a little.</p> + +<p>"Lucas, that isn't fair. I dare do <i>anything</i>—except come to you +without a penny, and probably ruin you. If I had even twenty pounds a +year to bring you, I'd risk it; but you know quite well that if I marry +against Andrew's wishes any time within seven years I forfeit +everything."</p> + +<p>"If I killed Andrew," asked the painter grimly, "who would his money go +to?"</p> + +<p>"Wait!" she said, her spirit smiling through her eyes. "Don't you trust +father to help us somehow—some time or other?"</p> + +<p>He twisted his mustache desperately upwards.</p> + +<p>"I want to help myself."</p> + +<p>She smiled openly now.</p> + +<p>"You can't be trusted yet; you're so greedy!" </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span></p><p>He laughed, but a little wryly.</p> + +<p>"It's because I'm starving."</p> + +<p>"Then work, work!" said Jean.</p> + +<p>"I can't work harder," he answered more philosophically. "I can only +sell faster."</p> + +<p>"And you're doing that too," she said encouragingly.</p> + +<p>They needed all the encouragement they could snatch, these two perverse +and desperate lovers. People who lack the sense to provide themselves +with an income after falling in love generally do.</p> + +<p>At the end of an hour, one of those galloping hours that fly swifter +than ten ordinary minutes, they passed out into the lane again. The mist +was now so thick that even when the way grew straight they could see no +more than two lamps ahead, and it was very chill and damp.</p> + +<p>"I'll hail a cab as soon as I see one."</p> + +<p>"I won't drive in it, I warn you."</p> + +<p>He implored, but she shook her fair head resolutely.</p> + +<p>"One of us must be practical," she persisted.</p> + +<p>"And the other in love?"</p> + +<p>She pressed his hand, but remained the charming incarnation of +obstinacy. He laughed at last, though a little anxiously as he saw a +fringe of tiny <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span>drops gather on her hair; and he let her have her way. +Together they entered a bus and slowly rumbled eastwards. The bus was +full, and for a long time they sat in silence.</p> + +<p>"It's quite fine here!" she exclaimed at last; "we've come out of the +mist—look at the stars!"</p> + +<p>They both cheered up amazingly. It actually seemed as if they were +preposterous enough to take this ordinary meteorological incident as an +omen. </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER IV</h3> + +<p>"We'll have to ask the Rivingtons," said Andrew.</p> + +<p>"And not the Donaldsons?" inquired his wife.</p> + +<p>Andrew reflected. This was to be a very special dinner party; quite the +smartest function they had given yet. His sister would want to be there, +especially when she heard the Ramornies were coming over for it. On the +other hand, they knew a great many more distinguished people than Hector +and his wife had yet become, and of these they could only invite a small +selection to the dinner party. It was a case in which principle clashed +with principle.</p> + +<p>"We'll have Gertrude and Hector too," he announced.</p> + +<p>He had just remembered that Walkingshaw & Gilliflower were briefing +Hector in a forthcoming case, and that there had been some discussion in +the office as to the precisely proper fee to which, at that moment in +his upward career, he was entitled. He would set this dinner against the +odd <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span>two guineas in dispute. That, anyhow was an equitable principle, if +ever there was one.</p> + +<p>"And of course Lord and Lady Kilconquar?"</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Andrew.</p> + +<p>"And Sir William Sinclair?"</p> + +<p>Andrew nodded.</p> + +<p>"Must we ask the Mackintoshes?"</p> + +<p>Andrew frowned.</p> + +<p>"They'll do for our next dinner."</p> + +<p>That was not going to be quite so smart a function.</p> + +<p>"That's twenty-two," said Mrs. Walkingshaw.</p> + +<p>"Just the right number," replied her husband. "It was what the +Kilconquars had when we dined there."</p> + +<p>Everything that Andrew had done was right, and his circumstances +reflected his rectitude. No dodging about devious lanes in the fog for +him and Mrs. Walkingshaw; no slow progress in crowded omnibuses; no +Bohemian teas in paint-smelling studios. The streets through which they +passed were wide and stately, even if a trifle windy; a motor car +whirled them to their destination (which was always the right place to +be seen at); their meals were consumed in sedate Georgian apartments, +and in every detail would have satisfied <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span>a peer. They moved through +life on oiled and noiseless wheels, wrapped in comfort and attended by +respect. Let no carping critic say that the good things in this life are +not distributed according to the most laudable principle. The +guinea-fowl lays where she sees a nest-egg, and the larger it is the +more does she deposit. And the prosperous nest-owner is he who stays +always beside his treasure, gently coaxing the fowl, and vigilantly +guarding against the least suspicion of disturbance, theft, or injury. +Let anything happen that may in the world outside; here is his post of +duty, and he sticks to it.</p> + +<p>It is true that for a short while an uncomfortable shadow seemed to +cloud the serenity of Andrew's soul. This happened about the second +anniversary of his late father's removal from his native city to that +retreat where he ended his days, and was believed by his aunt to result +from the painful memories evoked by his recollection of the date. It is +certain that his serenity returned with each succeeding week, till by +this time, when several months had passed, he had thrown off his anxiety +altogether. He remained perhaps a little more constantly vigilant than +before—even, for instance, when coming home from church; but it <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span>seemed +now he had rather the alertness of the coastguardsman than the tension +of the sailor when the decks are cleared for action.</p> + +<p>It is impossible to imagine a more ideal scene of domestic felicity than +that presented by Andrew and his spouse this evening. The room had been +redecorated and partially refurnished by its new mistress. As she never +expressed any opinion without quoting a competent authority, her husband +at once took into respectful consideration her suggestion that +fashionable people no longer dangled a cut-glass chandelier from their +ceiling, and always had colored tiles in their hearths. When she further +suggested that it should be her privilege to effect these and other +improvements out of the dowry she was bringing him, he passed from +consideration to consent. So that the fortunate couple were now mounted +in a setting worthy of their price.</p> + +<p>Sitting at a Sheraton table in a semi-evening toilet that had cost her +forty guineas, writing the names of some twenty of their most eminent +fellow citizens in the spaces on the invitation cards, Catherine +impressed her husband favorably—entirely favorably. A very satisfactory +mate indeed he considered her. One could not imagine her pale <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span>eyes +winking, or a saucy smile on her thin lips, or anything but the plainest +common sense coming out of them. Yes, she was very satisfactory. It is +true that he had once, in a burst of confidence, confided to one of his +friends that she was "Awful skinny," but it is wonderful how far forty +guineas will go towards modifying that defect. In short, she was—well, +satisfactory. When one has secured the right adjective, why change it?</p> + +<p>Andrew's complacency was completed by the presence of his aunt. He still +kept her with him as a kind of perpetual testimonial to his solid worth. +Her mere presence proved he was a kind and hospitable nephew; and on the +least provocation she would enlarge upon his virtues in a way that was +most pleasant for a visitor to hear. At other times she kept discreetly +in the background, just as she had all her life. There was also this +further advantage: that her legacy was much more satisfactorily employed +in defraying (at her own desire, of course) some portion of her nephew's +increasing expenses, than going into the pocket of a worthless landlord +or hydropathic company.</p> + +<p>Andrew was glancing through an evening paper, and his aunt +conscientiously studying that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span>morning's <i>Scotsman</i>. Suddenly she +exclaimed:</p> + +<p>"The Cromarty Highlanders have come to Glasgow!"</p> + +<p>Andrew stared at her.</p> + +<p>"Not the second battalion?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Frank's regiment."</p> + +<p>"But they weren't to leave India for three years yet."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Andrew looked over her shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I saw they'd been ordered home some time ago."</p> + +<p>"You didn't mention it to me," said Andrew.</p> + +<p>She looked a little surprised, for she knew that Frank's was not a name +mentioned in that house.</p> + +<p>"I didn't think you'd be interested."</p> + +<p>"I am not in the least," replied her husband.</p> + +<p>His eye reproved her coldly. She exchanged with his aunt one of those +sympathetic glances that pass between indulgent but comprehending women. +"He is a noble creature, but at moments a little inconsistent," they +mutually confided. And then she wrote the names of Lord and Lady +Kilconquar on their card.</p> + +<p>And that is how Jean might have been spending her evenings too, had she +had proper principles. </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER V</h3> + +<p>The gentlemen entered the drawing-room, bringing a faint aroma of +Andrew's excellent cigars. The ladies' conversation died away to the +whispered ends of one or two stories too interesting to be left +unfinished, and then with a deeper note and on manlier topics the flood +of talk poured on again.</p> + +<p>It had been a most successful dinner—soup excellent, fish first-rate, +everything good. Of course the wines were unexceptionable, while the +company recognized itself as a homogeneous specimen of all that was best +in the city—with the Ramornies of Pettigrew thrown in. Here they were +now, the whole twenty-two of them from old Lord Kilconquar, most eminent +of judges, down to that rising young Hector Donaldson, bearing implicit +testimony to the status of Andrew Walkingshaw. He stood there beside +Lady Kilconquar's chair gravely discoursing on a well-chosen topic of +local interest and bending solemnly at intervals to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span>hear her comments. +You could see at once from the attitude of all who addressed him that he +was recognized as far from the least distinguished member of the +company. He had touched the very apex of his career.</p> + +<p>"Hush, Andrew," murmured his wife. "Mrs. Rivington is going to sing."</p> + +<p>Hector opened the piano, and Mrs. Rivington sat down and touched the +keyboard. Then she looked around for silence, and it fell completely. +All the eye-witnesses present are agreed that it was in the moment of +this pause that the drawing-room door opened, and they heard the butler +announce the name of Mr. Walkingshaw.</p> + +<p>The company turned with one accord and beheld a tall youth, attired in +tweeds, march confidently into the room. In fact, he seemed so much at +home, that, though naturally surprised (especially at his unorthodox +costume), they never dreamt of any but the most obvious and simple +explanation. They scrutinized him as he advanced, merely wondering what +cousin—or could it be brother?—he was.</p> + +<p>"Surely that's not Frank?" murmured Lord Kilconquar.</p> + +<p>It certainly was not Frank; and yet it was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span>some one who looked +strangely familiar to one or two of the older people present. He made +straight for Andrew, his hand outstretched.</p> + +<p>"Don't you know me?" he asked; and the voice recalled strange memories +too.</p> + +<p>Andrew was not altogether unprepared for some such apparition appearing +some day, though scarcely on such a horribly ill-timed occasion. +Somehow, he had always imagined the dread possibility as happening in +his office. But he remembered exactly how he had decided to confront it. +He pulled his lip hard down, his eyes contracted dangerously, and then +he merely shook his head.</p> + +<p>"What!" cried the young man, with a touching note of rebuffed affection. +"Don't you recognize your own son?"</p> + +<p>Andrew's brain reeled. His mouth fell open, and his stare lost all +traces of formidableness.</p> + +<p>"Father!" said the stranger in a moving voice.</p> + +<p>Incoherently Andrew burst out.</p> + +<p>"You—you—you're not my son!"</p> + +<p>His disclaimer seemed so evidently sincere that the sense of the company +was already in sympathy with the victim of this outrageous intrusion, +when—alas for him!—his aunt chose that fatal moment, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span>of all others, +to rush out of her chronic background.</p> + +<p>"Andrew!" she cried, her cheeks suddenly very pink, her eyes strangely +excited, her voice trembling with the fervor of her appeal. "He must +be—oh, he must be! Look—look at the likeness to your father! Oh, +Andrew, what if it is irregular; surely you wouldn't deny the living +image of poor Heriot!"</p> + +<p>"By Gad! So he is," exclaimed Lord Kilconquar.</p> + +<p>A general murmur instinctively confirmed this verdict. They wished to be +charitable—but what a family resemblance!</p> + +<p>"I—I—I tell you it's a put-up job!" stammered their host.</p> + +<p>"Who put it up, father?" asked the strange youth plaintively.</p> + +<p>Lord Kilconquar shook his head, and again the startled company followed +his lead.</p> + +<p>"Look, Andrew!" cried his aunt, pointing to a tinted photograph of James +Heriot Walkingshaw at the age of twenty, which hung above the +mantelpiece. "Oh, just look at the resemblance!"</p> + +<p>The young man regarded this work of art with evident emotion. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span></p><p>"My sainted grandfather!" he murmured, though quite loud enough for the +company to hear.</p> + +<p>The poor lady stretched her thin clasped hands beseechingly under +Andrew's very nose.</p> + +<p>"He says it himself—he says it himself!" she pleaded. "For Heriot's +sake, don't disown him!"</p> + +<p>There was a rustle of silk, decisive and ominous. It was caused by the +skirt of the chaste lady of Pettigrew.</p> + +<p>"Good-night," she said.</p> + +<p>She only touched her brother's hand with the tips of her fingers, and +her stony glance gave him his first clear vision of the appalling chasm +that yawned beneath his feet.</p> + +<p>"Maggie!" he besought her, "you don't believe it?"</p> + +<p>"Can you not disgrace yourself <i>quietly</i>?" she hissed, and a moment +later was gone.</p> + +<p>Andrew realized that he was already in the chasm, hurtling downwards +with fearful velocity. One after another, his guests followed the +example of his scandalized sister; and their host was too unmanned to +hold up his head and carry off the partings with the air of injured +innocence that alone might have given his reputation another (though a +feeble) chance. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span></p><p>As they left the hang-dog figure that so lately was a respected Writer +to the Signet, they said to one another that all was over socially with +Andrew Walkingshaw. And it had been so public, so dramatic, that they +feared—of course they hoped against hope, but still they feared that +the fine old business could not but suffer too. In London one might +disgrace oneself and yet retain one's clients; but could one here? Well, +anyhow, that and many other interesting aspects of the case would be +debated by all Edinburgh to-morrow morning.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, the unhappy victim of fate was left alone with his wife, his +aunt, and his long-lost offspring. A desperate gesture dismissed Miss +Walkingshaw; yet, though she trembled beneath his wrathful eye, she +could not refrain from beseeching him again—</p> + +<p>"He must be, Andrew—he must be! Just compare him with the picture."</p> + +<p>And then she shrank out of the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>"Leave us," he commanded his wife.</p> + +<p>Her pale eyes gazed on him defiantly.</p> + +<p>"I certainly shall not. I demand a full explanation, Andrew!"</p> + +<p>"Go away, will you!" </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span></p><p>For answer she sat down firmly upon the sofa.</p> + +<p>"Papa, papa, don't be rough with her," expostulated the youth.</p> + +<p>Andrew confronted him indignantly.</p> + +<p>"That's enough of this nonsense!" he thundered. "What d'ye mean? Who are +you?"</p> + +<p>"Doesn't the voice of nature tell you?" the youth inquired sadly.</p> + +<p>"The voice of nature be damned!"</p> + +<p>The young man turned to the cold lady on the sofa.</p> + +<p>"Stepmother," he asked, "will you protect me?"</p> + +<p>She looked at him at first stonily, and then suddenly more kindly. He +was remarkably good-looking, with such nice bright eyes, and a manner +difficult to resist.</p> + +<p>"I shall certainly see that justice is done you," she replied.</p> + +<p>The young man seated himself beside her and took her hand.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," he murmured affectionately.</p> + +<p>Andrew swore aloud and vigorously, but the pale eyes never flinched.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean deliberately to tell me you don't know who this young man +is?" she demanded. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span></p><p>Put in that form, the question made him hesitate for an instant. The +hesitation did honor to his sense of veracity, but it finally cost him +the remains of his character.</p> + +<p>"You needn't trouble to answer!" she cried. "You <i>do</i> know who he is. +Come, you had better tell me all about it at once. I presume you have +not been <i>married</i> previously?"</p> + +<p>The youth spoke quickly.</p> + +<p>"You don't think father was so scandalous as not to marry her?"</p> + +<p>"Did you?" she demanded.</p> + +<p>The luckless Writer fell into the trap. It seemed to him a gleam of +hope—a chance of saving his precious reputation.</p> + +<p>"Er—ye—es," he stammered.</p> + +<p>"You were married?" she cried.</p> + +<p>There was a dreadful pause, and then abruptly she demanded, "What became +of her?"</p> + +<p>A dark frown answered this pertinent inquiry. She turned to the young +man.</p> + +<p>"Do you know?"</p> + +<p>He seemed to have some difficulty in controlling his voice as he +answered—</p> + +<p>"She lives in London."</p> + +<p>"Lives!" shrieked the lady. "Andrew—you <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span>are a bigamist! And I—I am +not lawfully—"</p> + +<p>She leapt up and gave him one terrible look; and before he could speak +she had swept wrathfully from the room.</p> + +<p>And then the most surprising thing occurred. Instead of continuing his +filial overtures, the young man sank into the corner of the sofa and +burst into peal upon peal of boyish laughter.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my dear Andrew!" he gasped. "Oh, I can't help it—you a bigamist! +Poor respectable old blighter! I say, what a joke! Oh, Andrew, Andrew, +my bonny, bonny boy!"</p> + +<p>In silence through it all, Andrew gazed darkly down at the late Heriot +Walkingshaw. </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER VI</h3> + +<p>"When you have finished," said Andrew grimly.</p> + +<p>He looked a nasty customer to tackle now, but the laugher on the sofa +merely subsided into a friendly smile.</p> + +<p>"Shake hands, Andrew," he cried, jumping up.</p> + +<p>Andrew placed his hands behind his back, and his glowering eyes answered +this overture.</p> + +<p>"What!" said Heriot, "won't you even shake hands?"</p> + +<p>Andrew still stared darkly.</p> + +<p>"You'd rather have it war than peace?"</p> + +<p>"I had rather conclude this conversation as soon as possible."</p> + +<p>Heriot looked at him for a moment, and then shook his head with a smile +compounded of sorrow and humor.</p> + +<p>"You're a hopeless case," said he. "Well, your blood be on your own +head!"</p> + +<p>Andrew's lip grew longer and longer.</p> + +<p>"I admit you've made a fool of me," he said, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span>"if that's any +satisfaction. But you'll make nothing out of me; not a shilling, not a +halfpenny. Do you hear?"</p> + +<p>"Is that all?"</p> + +<p>"Practically; but I may just as well point out, to let you see where you +stand, that as you have now done your worst, there's no use trying on +blackmail or anything of that kind. You have been so very clever, you've +thrown away any hold you might fancy you had. Do you quite understand +that?"</p> + +<p>Heriot began to smile again, and Andrew's face grew grimmer.</p> + +<p>"You can prove <i>nothing</i>. You may say you're my father if you like—"</p> + +<p>"God forbid!" Heriot interrupted devoutly. "I've had enough of fathering +a bogle. Claim any sire you like from Lucifer downwards, but don't put +the blame on me. I won't be disgraced with you again; not at any price."</p> + +<p>For a few moments Andrew seemed to be in travail of a fitting repartee. +When it appeared it possessed all the practical characteristics of its +parent.</p> + +<p>"In that case," he retorted, "you had better clear out of my house as +quick as you can." </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span></p><p>Heriot regarded him with extreme composure.</p> + +<p>"Do you actually imagine you are going to get off as easy as this?" he +inquired, "Man Andrew, I haven't been senior partner in Walkingshaw & +Gilliflower for nothing. You're just a rat in a trap. That's precisely +your position at this moment."</p> + +<p>"I'd be glad to hear you explain how you make that out," said Andrew.</p> + +<p>Heriot smiled humorously as he produced a bulky pocket-book. Out of this +he selected one of many letters it contained.</p> + +<p>"Do you know the writing?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Andrew turned a thought more solemn, but his only answer was a wary +sidelong glance.</p> + +<p>"Don't be afraid to say. A hundred people can swear to it. There's no +secret to be kept."</p> + +<p>"It is my late father's hand," said Andrew gravely.</p> + +<p>His guest burst into a shout of laughter, and then with an effort pulled +himself together again.</p> + +<p>"Read it," he said, "and by the way, I may just as well tell you I've +plenty more like it, so there's no point in putting it in the fire."</p> + +<p>Andrew took it with gingerly suspicion, which changed into a different +emotion as he read: </p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Harris</span>,—I write to let you know that I have reached this +city in safety and am slowly recovering from the mental anguish I +have undergone. As regards my wretched and ungrateful son Andrew, I +still disagree with you. No, Harris, I cannot bring myself to +expose the infamy of my eldest boy to a thunder-struck world; I +simply cannot do it. His immorality and dishonesty temporarily +unhinged my mind. I am exiled through his perfidy, but I forgive +him, Harris; I forgive him. Hoping to see you again someday,—</p> + +<p class="right2">"Your unhappy friend,</p> + +<p><span class="right3">"<span class="smcap">J. Heriot Walkingshaw.</span>"</span> +</p></div> + +<p>The address was an hotel in Monte Video, and the date about two years +before.</p> + +<p>"What—what's all this rigmarole?" gasped Andrew. "It's sheer nonsense +from beginning to end."</p> + +<p>His unwelcome guest was again shaken with boyish laughter.</p> + +<p>"Prove it!" he cried. "Prove it's nonsense! Eh? How'll you manage that?"</p> + +<p>Andrew's face grew darker and darker.</p> + +<p>"Who does 'Harris' profess to be, I'd like to know?"</p> + +<p>"Grandson of Mrs. Harris!" laughed Heriot. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span></p><p>"What Mrs. Harris?"</p> + +<p>"Sarah Gamp's pal."</p> + +<p>"You are drunk," said Andrew.</p> + +<p>Heriot regarded him with portentous solemnity.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Harris was the kind gentleman who befriended my grandfather on his +voyage to South America. He received afterwards many letters from your +papa, Andrew; and very, very thoughtfully handed them to me. They prove, +my boy, that you treated your parent outrageously. They prove that you +must have been a shocking bad hat yourself. Some of them prove that your +kind and forgiving parent is still alive at this moment; others prove +that he expired under heart-rending circumstances six months ago; and I +propose to use whichever alternative seems best—that's to say, +whichever will flatten you out most effectively. And that's who Harris +is."</p> + +<p>For some minutes Andrew studied the letter in silence. He felt like a +heavy-weight boxer in the grip of a professor of Ju-Jitsu. What use was +a lifelong apprenticeship to common sense, respectability, and the law +of Scotland, when it came to wrestling with a juggler of this kind? he +asked himself bitterly. One ought to have led a life of crime! The +longer he looked at the preposterous <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span>epistle, the more diabolical did +it appear. At last he spoke—</p> + +<p>"This is an impudent forgery."</p> + +<p>"There are some hundreds of specimens of your father's hand to compare +it with," said Heriot calmly; "I am perfectly willing to let any expert +judge whether it's genuine or not."</p> + +<p>The heavy-weight tried another wriggle.</p> + +<p>"This is the letter of a lunatic. I have a certificate to prove it. I +can call Dr. Downie to prove it."</p> + +<p>"You needn't go to so much trouble. You'll find that plot against my +grandfather's liberty fully described in some of the letters. The point +that will be put to you by the cross-examining Counsel is, if you +thought him off his chump, why did you only pretend to put him in an +asylum?"</p> + +<p>"I did put him," snapped Andrew.</p> + +<p>Heriot rose and rang the bell.</p> + +<p>"What's that for?" asked Andrew; but he was only answered by a smile.</p> + +<p>"Show up the other two gentlemen," said Heriot.</p> + +<p>The discreet butler glanced at his master, but he was too dumbfounded to +give any indication of his pleasure one way or the other. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span></p><p>A minute later, Frank and Lucas entered. They nodded coolly, but Andrew +only stared.</p> + +<p>"Now, Lucas, dear boy," said Heriot genially, "tell this old cockalorum +who you saw off on a steamer for South America."</p> + +<p>Lucas smiled grimly at his brother-in-law to be.</p> + +<p>"Heriot Walkingshaw," he replied.</p> + +<p>"Swear to it?" smiled Heriot.</p> + +<p>Lucas nodded, his blue eyes glittering on Andrew all the time; and there +followed a pause in the conversation.</p> + +<p>"What do you propose to do?" asked Andrew.</p> + +<p>"Make you disgorge, old cock," said Heriot.</p> + +<p>"Disgorge what?"</p> + +<p>"Every single penny you inherited!"</p> + +<p>Andrew made a last convulsive struggle.</p> + +<p>"I'll not do it!"</p> + +<p>"In that case, the following interesting facts will immediately be made +public: that you lied when you said your father was in an asylum, and +lied again when you said he was dead; that he suffered indescribable +agonies in consequence of your ill-treatment; that he is either alive at +this moment or died a death that will bring tears to the eyes of all +Edinburgh; and that, in any case, you helped yourself to his fortune +with precisely as much justification <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span>as a burglar who opens a safe. The +matter will then be placed in the hands of Thompson, Gilray, & Young."</p> + +<p>This choice of a vindictive rival firm struck Andrew as the most +diabolical artifice of all. His eyes blinked and his cheeks twitched; +and when he spoke his voice reminded them painfully of the professional +mendicant of the pavement.</p> + +<p>"Would you ruin me?"</p> + +<p>"Ruin be hanged! Your wife has two thousand pounds a year, and you've +got the lion's share of the business. But you've got to shell out every +brass farthing you bagged from your poor dear father, and settle it in +equal shares on Frank and Jean."</p> + +<p>Frank made a quick movement of gratitude and protest.</p> + +<p>"Shut up," said Heriot jovially. "You mind your own business, Frank. +This is my shout."</p> + +<p>"My dear Frank—" his brother began solemnly.</p> + +<p>"Andrew!" thundered Heriot, "if you make any miserable whining appeal to +your brother, I'll tell Lucas to kick you. Are you ready, Lucas?"</p> + +<p>"Quite," said the artist.</p> + +<p>A few minutes later the present head of Walkingshaw <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span>& Gilliflower had +appended his signature to the following document (the unaided +composition of the late senior partner in the aforesaid firm):</p> + +<div class="blockquot">"I, Andrew Walkingshaw, having the fear of this world and the next +before my eyes, do hereby promise and swear that upon the morning +following the above date of the month and year, at the hour of 10 a.m., +I shall formally, legally, and irrevocably settle in equal shares upon +my brother and sister, Frank and Jean Walkingshaw, the whole estate, +real and personal, of my revered father, except such portion of it +inherited and enjoyed by my sisters Margaret Walkingshaw or Ramornie and +Gertrude Walkingshaw or Donaldson, and my aunt Mary Walkingshaw. This I +do for the following consideration: that through their kindness and +charity my despicable, unsportsmanlike, and criminal conduct may never +be revealed. I humbly and sorrowfully confess that I had my estimable +father aforesaid certified as insane when I knew his brain to be +considerably sounder than my own; that I did this in order to diddle him +and my younger brother and sister out of their money; that instead of +putting him under restraint, I exiled him furth of Great Britain and +Ireland, so that he thereby <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span>suffered discomforts and torments for whose +virulence I take his word; that I announced his death knowing him to be +alive; and that I then in a criminal and shameful manner appropriated +his estate to my own use. May all wicked and foolish men be laid by the +heels as I have been, and may their relatives be as forgiving as mine! +This paper I sign cheerfully and penitently."</div> + +<p>It was a pale and flabby-cheeked Writer to the Signet who laid down his +pen after reading and signing this lucid document. He stalked solemnly +to the door, and then with a chastened air addressed them—</p> + +<p>"May Heaven forgive you."</p> + +<p>Thus in a blaze of appropriate piety the star of Andrew Walkingshaw set. +There is small probability of his ever becoming an Example again. At +present it is his arduous task to live down, by the austerity of his +demeanor and the judicious expenditure of his wife's income, the +suspicions connected with the apparition at his dinner party, and his +subsequent act of inexplicable magnanimity in divesting himself of his +fortune and handing it to his brother and sister. It is with the +greatest regret that the editor of these few simple facts finds himself +unable to cap with a suitable <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span>reward the career of well-principled +respectability so unfortunately interrupted; but his obligations to the +illogical truth are peremptory.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>"My dear old boys and jolly good sportsmen, and all the rest of it," +said Heriot jovially, "don't mention it—don't mention it. What can you +do to show your dashed gratitude? There's only one thing; one blooming +favor I ask of you: send me to a good public school!" </p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER VII</h3> + +<p>The devious lane was filled with sunshine; the studio being lighted only +from the north was filled instead with happiness. The same two sat +there; but to-day she was no longer so demurely clad and all the aches +and weariness were gone, and he no longer fumed.</p> + +<p>"Is this better than scrubbing the floor of a ward?" he smiled.</p> + +<p>"Buying a trousseau is harder work than you realize, Lucas," she +answered, with that touch of reproof by which all good women remind man +gently but daily that it is her part to suffer, his to misunderstand.</p> + +<p>There followed a space of happy silence, and then she said—</p> + +<p>"Didn't I tell you that everything would come right if we waited?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he admitted, "that was one of your good guesses."</p> + +<p>She raised her delicate brows. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span></p><p>"Aren't you happy <i>now</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Good heavens! I should think so."</p> + +<p>"Then be more grateful, dear," she smiled.</p> + +<p>Rapturously he confessed he had erred, and was even sufficiently in love +to think he perceived how.</p> + +<p>"I positively must go now," she said in a little, and, despite his +protestations, rose.</p> + +<p>"Shall we walk?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Haven't you a cab call?"</p> + +<p>"But you haven't been out of a hansom all day, and it's only ten +minutes—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, bother the expense!" she cried. "I believe in being sensibly +economical, but not in being <i>close</i>."</p> + +<p>Again he cheerfully accepted the gentle rebuke as the reproof his +inconsistency deserved.</p> + +<p>And so off they whirled in a hansom.</p> + +<p>At that very same hour, far, far to the northward, the winter sun was +struggling in gleams through the pine-tops and falling in patches on the +moss. For an instant one patch lit the hat of straw and gentle face of +Ellen Berstoun; and though it was but a small patch, it also lit a large +tweed cap a few inches higher up. Beneath the cap a voice murmured—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span></p><p>"Ellen!"</p> + +<p>No more letters came to her now from India; and no longer she walked +alone.</p> + +<p>These incidents occurred nearly three years ago. Since then Mr. and Mrs. +Frank Walkingshaw and Mr. and Mrs. Lucas Vernon have grown into +comparatively old married couples.</p> + +<p>As for the genial and sagacious author of their happiness, the latest +report to hand informs the present editor that the name of James Heriot +Walkingshaw stands first in the batting averages of a select preparatory +school.</p> + +<h3>THE END</h3> + +<hr class="biggest" /> + +<h3>Transcriber's Note's:</h3> + +<p>1. Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; otherwise, +every effort has been made to remain true to the author's intent.</p> + +<p>2. A Table of Contents has been added to this etext version for the reader's convenience.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Prodigal Father, by J. 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