by Ian Hay
CHAPTER XV
DEPUTATIONS--WITH A DIFFERENCE
Hughie let himself into his chambers in Jermyn Street, and rang the bellof his sitting-room. It was a comfortable bachelor apartment, withsporting trophies on the walls, cavernous arm-chairs round thefireplace, and plenty of pipes dotted about the mantelpiece.
It was eleven o'clock on a fine morning in March, and Hughie had been toPutney to stroke a scratch eight against the Cambridge crew, who hadrowed a full trial on the early flood and required a little pacingbetween bridges.
Presently the sitting-room door opened, and John Alexander Goblepresented himself upon the threshold. Since his unregenerate days onboard the Orinoco a new and awful respectability had descended upon him,and in his sober menial attire he looked more like a Calvinistic divinethan ever. He regarded his employer with some displeasure.
"Your breakfast has been sitting in the fender these twa hours," heobserved bitterly.
"Sorry, John. Afraid I forgot to countermand it. I had some at Putney."
"At what hour?" inquired the inexorable Mr. Goble.
"Half-past seven, about, with the crew."
"It's eleven the noo. You'll be able for some mair, I doot. Forbye it'sa pity to waste good food. Bide you, while I'll get it."
Hughie, who was as wax in the hands of his retainer, presently foundhimself partaking of a lukewarm collation and opening his letters.
He glanced through the first.
"John!" he called.
Mr. Goble appeared from the bedroom.
"Were you cryin' on me?" he inquired.
"Yes. Did two gentlemen call here at ten?"
"Aye."
"Who were they?"
"Yon felly Gaymer, and anither."
"Who was he?"
"I couldna say."
"What was he like?"
Mr. Goble cast about him for a suitable comparison.
"He was just a long drink o' watter," he announced at last, with an airof finality.
"Did he look--like an actor?" inquired Hughie, with a flash ofintuition.
"Worse than that," replied Goble.
"Um--I think I know him. Thank you, that will do. By the way, I'mexpecting some friends to lunch. Captain and Mrs. Leroy--and Mr. D'Arcy.You know him, don't you?"
"D'Arcy? Aye, I mind him fine. A fat yin, wi' a lum hat tied up wi'string. A popish-lookin' body," commented Mr. Goble sorrowfully.
He retired downstairs, to ponder upon the dubiety of the company intowhich his employer appeared to be drifting, and Hughie returned to hisletters.
The sight of the next caused him to glow suddenly, for on the back ofthe envelope he observed the address of Joan's flat. But he cooled whenhe turned it round and read the superscription. It was in thehandwriting of the lady with whom Joan shared the flat.
"DEAR MR. MARRABLE [it said],--
"Joan and I are coming to call on you to-morrow about twelve--"
"They'd better stay to lunch." Hughie touched the bell and continued,--
"Dear Joan is very young in some ways, and she has no idea of the value of money; but since talking the matter over with _me_ recently, she would like to have a few words with you about her financial position.
"How delightful to see the leaves coming out again!--Believe me, yours sincerely,
"URSULA HARBORD."
"'Dear Joan would like'--_would_ she?" commented Hughie. "I'm afraidit's Ursula Harbord I'm going to have the few words with, though.Hades!"
He rose and crossed the room to the fireplace, where he kicked the coalswith unnecessary violence. Then he sighed heavily, and picked up aphotograph which stood upon the mantelpiece.
Joan had spoken nothing but the truth when she told Hughie that he woulddiscover his true feelings as soon as he found himself away from her.For six or eight months he had gone about his day's work with thethoroughness and determination of his nature. He had administered thelittle estate of Manors, was beginning to dabble in politics, had takenup rowing again, and was trying to interest himself generally in thecourse of life to which he had looked forward so eagerly on his travels.He had even tried conclusions with a few _debutantes_ who had beenintroduced to his notice by business-like Mammas. But whatever hiscourse of life, his thoughts and desires persisted in centring round asingle object,--a very disturbing and elusive object,--and try as hewould, he failed to derive either pleasure or profit from his presentexistence.
In other words, he had made a mess of a love-affair.
Most men--and most women too, for that matter--undergo this experienceat least once in their lives, and no two ever endure it in the same way.One rants, another mopes, a third forgets, a fourth bides his time, afifth seeks consolation elsewhere, a sixth buries himself in work ordissipation. Hughie, who cherished a theory that everything ultimatelycomes right in this world provided you hold on long enough, and thatwhen in doubt a man should "stand by the Day's Work and awaitinstructions," like Kipling's Bridge-Builders, had gone steadily on,because it was his nature so to do. It was uphill work at present,--amechanical perfunctory business, with no reward or alleviation insight,--but he was determined to go on doing his duty by Joan to thebest of his ability, and combine so far as he was able the incompatible_roles_ of stern guardian, undesired suitor, and--to him mostparadoxical of all--familiar friend.
For there was no doubt that Joan liked him. She trusted him, consultedhim,--yea, obeyed him, even when he contradicted her most preposterousutterances and put down a heavy foot on her most cherished enterprises.For this he did without flinching. The fact that he was a failure as alover seemed to be no reason why he should fail as a guardian.
Not that Joan submitted readily to his _regime_. To Hughie's essentiallymasculine mind her changes of attitude were a complete mystery. Theyseemed to have no logical sequence or connection. She would avoid him orseek him out with equal unexpectedness. She might be hopelesslyobstinate or disarmingly docile. One day she would behave like a spoiltchild; on another she would be a very grandmother to him. Sometimes shewould blaze up and rail against her much-enduring guardian for a tyrantand a monster; at others she would take him under a most maternal wing,and steer him through a garden-party or a reception in a manner whichmade him feel like a lost child in the hands of a benevolent policeman.On one occasion, which he particularly remembered, she had rounded onhim and scolded him for a full half-hour for his stolid immobility andlack of _finesse_; the self-same afternoon he had overheard her hotlydefending him against a charge of dulness brought by two frivolousdamsels over the tea-table.
All this was very perplexing to a man who hated subtlety and liked hisfriends and foes marked in plain figures. It unsettled his own opinions,too. Joey's variegated behaviour prevented him from deciding in his ownmind whether he really liked her or not. At present all he was certainof was that he loved her.
Meanwhile she was coming to see him--about her financial position. Thatdid not promise romance. And Ursula Harbord was coming too. Help!Certainly life was a rotten business at present. And it had been so fulland glorious before he had forsaken the wide world and taken to thissort of thing. It might have been so different too, if only--
Poor Hughie replaced Joan's photograph, sighed again--and coughedconfusedly. A funereal image appeared over his shoulder in thechimney-glass.
"Were you ringin'?" inquired a sepulchral voice.
"Yes, John. Miss Gaymer and a friend of hers are coming to see me thismorning. They'll probably stay to lunch. You can clear away that foodover there."
He returned to his letters. Only one remained unopened, and proved to befrom a man with whom he had arranged to shoot in the autumn.
"This seems to promise a little relief from the present cheery state ofaffairs," he mused. "Four men on a nice bleak moor, with no women about!Thank God! A hundred pounds a share. Well, Lord knows, trusteeing is anunprofitable business, but I think I can
just do it. I'll accept atonce."
He began to write a telegram. Bachelors have a habit of conducting theircorrespondence in this manner.
"Here's they twa whigmalearies," announced Mr. Goble dispassionately.
He ushered in Lance Gaymer and the histrionic Mr. Haliburton.
"After compliments," as they say in official circles, Lance came to thepoint.
"Marrable," he said, after an almost imperceptible exchange of glanceswith Haliburton, "aren't you keeping my sister rather short of money?"
Hughie turned and stared at him in blank astonishment.
Mr. Haliburton, exuding gentlemanly tact at every pore, rose instantly.
"You two fellows would like to be alone, no doubt," he said. "I must notintrude into family matters. I'll call for you in half an hour, Lance."
Hughie had risen too.
"You need not trouble, Mr. Haliburton," he said. "Lance is coming withyou."
Mr. Gaymer was obviously unprepared for such prompt measures as these.
"But look here--I say--what the devil do you mean?" he spluttered.
"I mean," replied Hughie deliberately,--he had realised, almostexultantly, that here once more was a situation which need not behandled with kid gloves,--"that I am your sister's sole trustee andguardian, and that you have nothing whatever to do with the dispositionof her property, and--"
"I think you forget," said Lance truculently, "that I am her brother."
"I do not forget it," said Hughie. "Neither did Jimmy Marrable. It wasno oversight on his part which left Joan's inheritance and yours lockedup in separate compartments, so to speak. He gave you an independentincome long ago, Lance, because he was particularly anxious to give youno opportunity of interfering with Joan's affairs when the time came.For some reason he had chosen me for the job, and he preferred that Ishould have a free hand. Therefore I am not going to allow you to cutinto my department. I am sorry to have to put it so brutally, but,really, you have been infernally officious of late. This is the fourthreference which you have made to the subject during the past six weeks.I don't know whether your enterprise is inspired by brotherly love orthe desire to make a bit, but whichever it is I don't think you'll getmuch change out of me. I also object to your latest move--bringing inMr. Haliburton, presumably as an accomplice, or a witness, or whateveryou like to call him."
"Really, Mr. Marrable!" Mr. Haliburton's voice quivered with gentlemanlyindignation.
Hughie rang the bell.
"Look here, Marrable," burst out Lance furiously, "you are gettingyourself in a hole, I can tell you! We--I happen to know that JimmyMarrable left thirty or forty thousand pounds at least for Joey'simmediate use; and I am pretty certain he left something for mine too.Now--"
"I'm sorry I can't ask you to stay to lunch," said Hughie, "but I havesome friends coming. Show these gentlemen out, John."
The deputation was ruthlessly shepherded downstairs by the impassive Mr.Goble, and Hughie was left to his own reflections. He filled a pipemeditatively.
"I wonder," he said, lighting a spill and puffing, "where young Lancegot his figures from. I also wonder what the game is. He was obviously abit worked up, and I should say he had been fortifying himself for theinterview before he arrived. I knew, of course, that he had neverforgiven me for being put in charge of Joey's affairs: he has alwaysmade things as difficult for me as possible. Perhaps he wants a triflefor himself: his closing remarks rather pointed that way. But what onearth is friend Haliburton doing in that galley? I fancy he has been atthe back of things all along. What interest has _he_ in the amount ofJoey's fortune? I don't know much about him, but I wouldn't trust him ayard. Perhaps Lance owes him money. Have they gone, John?"
"Aye," replied Mr. Goble. "They went quite quietly," he addedregretfully.
He began to lay the table for luncheon.
"I say, John," began Hughie awkwardly.
"Aye?"
"There's a thing I want to speak to you about. I have been losing moneylately, and I have to give up some luxuries I can't afford. I--I amafraid you are one of them. I have always regarded a man-servant as anextravagance," he went on with a rush, "and I must ask you to look aboutfor another place. Take your time, of course, and don't leave me tillyou are suited. I shall be glad to give you a character, and all that.You understand?"
There was a silence, while Mr. Goble folded a napkin. Then he replied:"Fine!" Then he added, after a pause, "So you've been lossin' yourmoney? Aye! Aha! Mphm!"
"Yes. I'm desperately sorry," said Hughie penitently. "I don't want tolose you. Perhaps it will only be tempor--"
"You'll no be daen' that yet a while," remarked Mr. Goble morosely. "I'man ill body tae move."
"But, John, you don't understand. I can't afford to keep you for morethan--"
"There a cab!" observed Mr. Goble.
Hughie looked down out of the window.
"So it is," he said hastily. "I'll show them up, John. You go on withyour work."
He was across and out of the room in three strides, and could be hearddescending the stairs kangaroo fashion.
Mr. John Goble breathed heavily into a spoon and rubbed it with thepoint of his elbow.
"I wunner wha his visitors is," he mused caustically. "Of course healways opens the door himsel' tae all his visitors! Of course I dinnaken wha she is! Oh, no!"
He wagged his head in a broken-hearted manner, and gave vent to adepressing sound which a brother Scot would have recognised as a chuckleof intense amusement.
To him entered Miss Ursula Harbord. She wore _pince-nez_ and asage-green costume of some art fabric--one of the numerous crimescommitted in the name of Liberty. She was Joan Gaymer's latest fad; andunder her persuasive tutelage Joan was beginning to learn that the menwho all her life had served her slightest whim were at once monsters ofduplicity and brainless idiots; and that, given a few more fervid andungrammatical articles in "The New Woman," women would shortly come totheir own and march in the van of civilisation, and that people likeUrsula Harbord would march in the van of the women.
Pending this glorious destiny, Miss Harbord acted asunsettler-in-general of Joan's domestic instincts, and worried Hughieconsiderably.
She was followed into the room by Joan; very much the Joan of lastsummer, if we make allowances for the distressing appearance presentedby a young woman of considerable personal attractions who is compelledby Fashion's decree, for this season at any rate, to obscure herfeatures under a hat which looks like an unsuccessful compromise betweena waste-paper basket and a dish-cover.
"Well, John," she inquired in her friendly fashion, "have you quitesettled down in London?"
"Aye, mem."
"Not missing Scotland?" continued Joan, peeling off her white gloves andsitting down in an arm-chair.
"Naething to speak of," said John.
"I thought," continued Miss Gaymer, surveying Mr. Goble's Cimmerianfeatures, "that you had perhaps left your heart there."
"Ma hairt? What for would I dae a thing like that?" enquired the literalMr. Goble. "A hairt is no a thing a body can dae wi'oot," he explained."It's no like a rib. Ye jist get the ane, so ye canna afford tae getleavin' it ony place."
Miss Gaymer smilingly abandoned the topic, and in all probability theghost of Sydney Smith chuckled.
"When are you going to pay us another visit at Manors?" was Joan's nextquestion.
"I'm no sure," said Mr. Goble. "Mr. Marrable has jist given me notice."
"Oh, John!" said Joan, "what have you been doing? Breaking his china?"
"Drinking his wine?" suggested Miss Harbord, turning from a scornfulinspection of Hughie's stock of current literature.
"I doot I'm no givin' satisfaction," said John.
"But, John, I am _sure_ you are!" said Joan. "Was that the reason hegave?"
"He said he was givin' up keepin' a man-servant."
Miss Harbord, who had been craning her neck to see something in thestreet, turned round sharply.
"Why? Has he been losing money?"
"I couldna say, mem," said Mr. Goble woodenly. He shared his master'santipathy to Miss Harbord.
That lady shook her head resignedly.
"I thought so!" she said. "Joan, dear--"
At this moment Hughie entered, and Miss Harbord's fire was diverted.
"Mr. Marrable, have you got rid of that cabman?" she enquired withtruculence.
"Rather!" said Hughie. "He went like a lamb."
"He was intoxicated," remarked Miss Harbord freezingly.
"I didn't notice it," said Hughie. "He was quite tractable. Apparentlyyou engaged him at Hyde Park Terrace and stopped at two shops on theway."
"That is correct."
"And you gave him one and threepence for a drive of over two miles and astop of about ten minutes."
"His legal fare. We employed him for exactly half an hour."
"But did you tell him that you were engaging him by the hour?"
"Of course not! They simply _crawl_ if you do. You might have knownthat, Mr. Marrable."
"Well, it's all right now," interposed Joan cheerfully.
"Mr. Marrable," persisted Miss Harbord, "I fear you were weak with him.How much did you give him?"
"Nothing out of the way," said Hughie uneasily. "You'll stay to lunch,won't you? I am expecting the Leroys and D'Arcy. We can all go on to a_matinee_ afterwards."
Miss Harbord assumed the expression of one who is not to be won over byfair words, and endeavoured to catch Miss Gaymer's eye--an enterprisewhich failed signally, as the latter lady rose from her seat andstrolled to the window.
"Mr. Marrable," began Miss Harbord, taking up her parable single-handed,"Joan wishes to have a chat with you about money-matters."
"No I don't, Hughie," said Miss Gaymer promptly, over her shoulder.
"Well then, dear," said Miss Harbord calmly, "you ought to. Women leavethese things to men far too much as it is. Joan has an old-fashionednotion," she added to Hughie, "that it is not quite nice for girls toknow anything about money-matters: hence her reluctance. However, I willconduct her case for her."
Miss Harbord crossed her legs, threw herself back in her chair in amanner which demonstrated most conclusively her contempt for appearancesand feminine ideas of decorum, and began:
"Tell me, Mr. Marrable, what interest does Joan get on her money?"
Hughie gaped feebly. Half an hour ago he had put Mr. Lance Gaymer to thedoor for an almost precisely similar question. But Lance Gaymer was aman, and Miss Harbord, conceal the fact as she might, was a woman; andHughie's old helplessness paralysed him once more.
"The usual rate of interest," he said lamely, "is about four per cent."
Ursula Harbord nodded her head, as who should say, "I expected that!"and produced a crumpled newspaper from her muff.
"That," she said almost indulgently, "reveals your ignorance of theworld, Mr. Marrable. If you mixed a little more in affairs, and followedsome regular occupation, you would have more opportunities ofdiscovering things for yourself, and so be spared the indignity--Isuppose you consider it an indignity?--of having to be advised by awoman."
The afflicted Hughie murmured something about it being a pleasure.
"Now here," continued Miss Harbord, slapping the newspaper as anEast-End butcher slaps the last beef-steak at his Saturday nightauction, "I have the report of the half-yearly meeting of theInternational Trading Company, Limited, where a dividend of seven percent was declared, making a dividend on the whole year of fourteen percent. _Now_ do you see what I--what Joan wants?"
"Hughie," said Joan, who was making a tour of inspection of the room,"where did you get this lovely leopard-skin? Have I seen it before?"
"Shot it, Joey. I beg your pardon, Miss Harbord?"
"Do you see what Joan wants you to do?" repeated that financial Amazon.
"Afraid I don't, quite. I'll get on to it in a minute, though," repliedthe docile Hughie.
"Surely, the whole thing is quite clear! You must take Joan's capitalout of whatever it is in and buy shares in The International TradingCompany with it. And be sure you order _preference_ shares, Mr.Marrable. They are the best sort to get. That is all; but I ought not tohave to point these things out to you."
Hughie surveyed his preceptress in an undecided fashion. Was it worthwhile endeavouring to explain to her a few of the first principles offinance, or would it be simpler to grin and bear it? He decided on thelatter alternative.
"The shares," continued Miss Harbord, having evidently decided to followup her whips with a few selected scorpions, "should be bought as cheapas possible. They go up and down, you know, like--a--"
"Monkey on a stick?" suggested Hughie, with the air of one anxious tohelp.
Miss Harbord smiled indulgently.
"No, no! Like a--a barometer, let us say; and you have to watch youropportunity. There is a thing called 'par' which they go to,--anybodywill tell you what it is,--and that is a very good time to buy them."
Hughie, fighting for breath, rose and joined Joan in the window recess,while Miss Harbord, with much ostentatious crackling, folded up thenewspaper and put it away.
"Hughie," said Joan, under cover of the noise, "you are angry."
"Not at all," replied Hughie, wiping his eyes furtively. "A bitflummoxed--that's all. No idea your friend was so up in these things."
"She _is_ clever, isn't she?" said Joan, with unaffected sincerity."But, Hughie dear, don't bother about it if it worries you. My affairsmust be a fearful nuisance to you, but Ursula was so keen that I shouldcome--"
"I'm glad you did, Joey. It was worth it," said Hughie simply.
"Of course," continued the unlearned Miss Gaymer, "to people like Ursulathese things are as easy as falling off a log, but for you and me, whoknow nothing about business, they're pretty stiff to tackle, aren'tthey?"
"Quite so," agreed Hughie meekly. "But look here, Joey," he continued,"are you really in want of money?"
"Of course she is!" said Miss Harbord, overhearing and resuming theoffensive.
"I _could_ do with a few more frocks, Hughie," said Miss Gaymerwistfully, "if it wouldn't be a bother to change those investments abouta bit, as Ursula advises. Still, if it can't be done, we'll say no moreabout it."
"Will another hundred a-year be any use to you?" said Hughie suddenly.
"Oh, Hughie, I should _think_ so! Can it be managed without a fearfulupset?" cried Miss Gaymer, her eyes already brightening over a vista ofblouse-lengths and double-widths.
"Yes," said Hughie shortly. "I'll--I'll make the necessary changes andsee that the cash is paid into your banking account."
"You dear!" said Miss Gaymer, with sincerity.
"A hundred pounds? It might be more!" observed the daughter of thehorse-leech on the sofa. Fourteen per cent still rankled in herNapoleonic brain.
Hughie crossed to the writing-table and tore up a telegraph-form.
"Capt'n Leroy!" announced Mr. Goble's voice in the doorway.
That easy-going paladin entered the room, and intimated that his wifehad sent him along to say that she would arrive in ten minutes.
"That means twenty," said Joan. "Ursula, we have just time to run roundand see that hat we thought we'd better not decide about until we hadheard from Hughie about the thing we came to see him about. Now I cantry it on with a clear conscience. Back directly, Hughie!"
She flitted out, the prospective hundred pounds obviously burning a holein her pocket (or wherever woman in the present era of fashion keeps hermoney), followed by Miss Harbord.
Hughie turned to Leroy.
"Take a cigarette, old man," he said, "and sit down with a glass ofsherry while I do myself up for lunch. Been down at Putney."
Leroy obeyed. When Hughie returned from his bedroom a quarter of an hourlater, he found that Mrs. Leroy had arrived. She and her husband wereengaged in a low-toned conversation, which they broke off ratherabruptly on their host's entrance.
Hughie shook hands, and sweeping some newspapers off the sofa, offeredhis latest-arrived
guest a seat.
"No, thanks, Hughie," said Mrs. Leroy; "I prefer to look out of thewindow."
She walked across the room and began to gaze down into the street withher back to Hughie. Her husband, evidently struck with the suitabilityof this attitude, rose and joined her.
"The fact is, Hughie," began Mrs. Leroy, staring resolutely at the houseopposite, "Jack and I want to talk to you like a father and mother, andI can do it more easily if I look the other way."
"Same here," corroborated Leroy gruffly.
Hughie started, and surveyed the guilty-looking pair of backs before himwith an uneasy suspicion. Surely he was not going to be treated to athird variation on the same theme!
"Go on, Jack!" was Mrs. Leroy's next remark.
"Can't be done, m'dear," replied the gentleman, after an obvious effort.
"Well, Hughie," continued Mrs. Leroy briskly, "as this coward has failedme, I must say it myself. I want to tell you that people are talking."
"Ursula Harbord, for instance," said Hughie drily.
"Yes. How did you know?"
"She delivered a lecture to me this morning. Gave me to understand thatshe darkly suspects me of being a knave, and made no attempt to concealher conviction that I am a fool."
"Well, of course that's all nonsense," said Mrs. Leroy to a fly on thewindow-pane; "but really, Hughie, with all the money that her UncleJimmy left her, you ought to be able to give Joey more than you do,_shouldn't_ you? The child has to live in quite a small way--not reallypoor, you know, but hardly as an heiress ought to live. You give hersurprisingly small interest on her money, Jack says--didn't you, Jack?"
Captain Leroy made no reply, but the deep shade of carmine on the backof his neck said "Sneak!" as plainly as possible.
"And you know he would be the last to say anything against you--wouldn'tyou, Jack?"
"Rather!" said Leroy, in a voice of thunder.
"Hughie," said Mrs. Leroy, turning impulsively, "won't you confide inme?"
Hughie kicked a coal in the grate in his usual fashion, and sighed.
"I can't, _really_," he said.
"Fact is, old man," broke in Leroy, in response to his wife's appealingglances, "we didn't want to say anything at all, but the missis thoughtit best--considerin' the way people are talkin', and all that. Can _I_be of any use? Been speculatin', or anything?"
"No, Jack, I haven't," said Hughie shortly.
Mrs. Leroy gave a helpless look at her husband, and said desperately:
"But, Hughie, we can't leave things like this! You simply don't _know_what stories are going about. It is ruining your chances with Joey, too.She thinks you are a noodle."
"I know it," said Hughie.
"Well, look here," said Leroy, "can't you give us some sort ofexplanation--some yarn we could put about the place to account for thisstate of things--"
"What state of things?" said Hughie doggedly. He was in an unpleasanttemper.
"Well, Hughie," said Mrs. Leroy, keeping hers, "here is Joan, known tohave been left a lot of money for her immediate use,--she admits itherself,--living quite humbly and cheaply, and obviously not well off.People are asking why. There are two explanations given. One, the morepopular, is that you have embezzled or speculated the money all away.The other, which prevails among the _elite_--"
"The people who are really in the know, you know," explained Leroy.
"Yes: _they_ say," continued his wife, "that Joan won't marry you, soyou have retaliated by--by--"
"By cutting off supplies," suggested Hughie.
"Yes, until--"
"Until she is starved into submission--eh?"
"That's about the size of it, old son," said Leroy.
There was a long pause. Finally Hughie said:--
"Well, it's a pretty story; but, honestly, I'm not in a position tocontradict it at present."
Mrs. Leroy desisted from plaiting the window-cord, swung round, walkeddeliberately to the fireplace, and laid a hand on Hughie's arm.
"Hughie," she said, in tones which her husband subsequently affirmedwould have drawn ducks off a pond, "what have you done? Tell _us_!"
Leroy followed his wife across the room. "Get it off your chest, oldman," he said, with the air of a father confessor.
Hughie smiled gratefully. He took Mrs. Leroy's two hands into one of hisown, and laid the other on Jack Leroy's shoulder.
"Jack and Milly," he said earnestly, "my two pals!--I would rather tellyou than anybody else; but--I simply _can't_! It's not my secret! You'llprobably find out all about it some day. At present I must ask you toaccept my assurance that I'm not so black as I'm painted."
"Hughie," said Mrs. Leroy, "you are simply stupid! We have not come toyou out of idle curiosity--"
"I know that," said Hughie heartily.
"And I think you might give us some sort of an inkling--a sort offavourable bulletin--that I could pass on to Joey, at any rate--"
"Joey!" said Hughie involuntarily; "Lord forbid!"
Mrs. Leroy, startled by the vehemence of his tone, paused; and herhusband added dejectedly,--
"All right, old man! Let's drop it! Sorry you couldn't see your way toconfide in us. Wouldn't have gone any further. Rather sick about thewhole business--eh? No wonder! Money is the devil, anyway."
Somehow Leroy's words hit Hughie harder than anything that had been saidyet. He wavered. After all,--
"We've bought the hat, and I'm perfectly _ravenous_," announced Joan,appearing in the doorway. "And we've brought Mr. D'Arcy. Hughie, arethose plover's eggs? Ooh!"
This was no atmosphere for the breathing of confidential secrets. Theparty resumed its usual demeanour of off-hand British _insouciance_, andbegan to gather round the luncheon-table. Only Mr. D'Arcy's righteyebrow asked a question of Mrs. Leroy, which was answered by a slightbut regretful shrug of the shoulders.
Hughie's apartment was L-shaped, and the feast was spread in the smallerarm, out of the way of draughts and doorways. Consequently any oneentering the room would fail to see the luncheon table unless he turnedto his left and walked round a corner.
Hughie was helping the plover's eggs,--it is to be feared that MissGaymer received a Benjamin's portion of the same,--when Mr. Goblesuddenly appeared at his elbow and whispered in his ear,--
"Him again!"
Muttering an apology, Hughie left the table and walked round the cornerto the other arm of the room. Lance Gaymer had just entered. His facewas flushed and his eyes glittered, and Hughie's half-uttered invitationto him to come in and have some lunch died away upon his lips.
"Hallo, Lance!" he said lamely.
Mr. Gaymer replied, in the deliberate and portentously solemn tones of aman who is three parts drunk,--
"I understand you have got a party on here."
"Yes," said Hughie, endeavouring to edge his visitor through thedoorway.
"What I want to say," continued Mr. Gaymer in rising tones, "is that Iaccuse you of embezzling my sister's property, and I'm going to makethings damned hot for you. Yes--_you_! Go and tell that to yourluncheon-party round the corner!" he concluded with a snort."And--glug--glug-glug!"
By this time he had been judiciously backed into the passage, almost outof ear-shot of those in the room. Simultaneously Mr. Goble's large handclosed upon his mouth from behind, and having thus acquired a goodpurchase, turned its owner deftly round and conducted him downstairs.
Death-like silence reigned at the luncheon-table. Hughie wondered howmuch they had heard. Not that it mattered greatly, for Master Lance'saccusations, making allowances for alcoholic directness, partook verylargely of the nature of those already levelled at Hughie by moreconventional deputations.
Before returning to his seat, Hughie crossed to the window and lookeddown into the street.
Mr. Lance Gaymer was being assisted into a waiting hansom by the kindlyhands of Mr. Guy Haliburton.
Hughie, having seen all he expected to see, returned with falteringsteps to his duties as a host.
It was a delicat
e moment, calling for the exercise of much tact. EvenMildred Leroy hesitated. Joan had flushed red, whether with shame, oranger, or sympathy, it was hard to say. Mr. D'Arcy regarded hercuriously.
But heavy-footed husbands sometimes rush in, with success, where themost wary and diplomatic wives fear to tread. Jack Leroy cleared histhroat.
"Now, Hughie, my son," he observed, "when you've _quite_ doneinterviewin' all your pals on the door-mat, perhaps you'll give yourguests a chance. With so many old friends collected round your tablelike this, we want to drink your health, young-fellow-my-lad! Fill upyour glass, Miss Harbord! No heel-taps, Milly!"
There was an irrelevant _bonhomie_ about this whole speech which struckexactly the right note. Mrs. Leroy glanced gratefully at her husband,and lifted her glass. The others did the same. But it was Joan who spokefirst.
"Hughie!" she cried, with glowing eyes.
"Hughie!" cried every one. "Good health!"
In the times of our prosperity our friends are always critical,frequently unjust, generally a nuisance, and sometimes utterlydetestable. But there is no blinking the fact that they are a verypresent help in trouble.
Hughie suddenly felt himself unable to speak. He bowed his head dumbly,and made a furious onslaught upon a plover's egg.
