UNCLE ROBERT HAS AN INSPIRATION.
The pretty comedy to which Brian had referred had been running with
something of regularity for over six months; the staging of it had
been a more costly matter than Comethup had believed possible. His own
expenses were small enough--indeed, he cut them down to the lowest
figure; but Brian had seen in him an inexhaustible mine, from which he
could demand whatever he wanted at any moment, light-heartedly enough.
To do Brian justice, he had no knowledge of what the actual sum was on
which his cousin had to depend, nor, indeed, did he care. He held the
younger man strictly to his bargain--even threatened desertion, at the
slightest remonstrance on Comethup's part against reckless expenditure.
'Linda had no suspicion of the true state of affairs; she knew that
there was always plenty of money, that they went out a great deal,
that many well-known and clever people came to their house, that their
doings when they went into the country or abroad were chronicled for
all the world to read. Brian, _her_ Brian, of whom she was so fond and
so proud, had produced another book of verses, and the people she met
talked to her about them, even quoted lines of them; they sometimes
coupled her husband's name with the names of certain wondrous young
poets of bygone days. It was a never-failing source of delight that he
had, on an impulse, dedicated this last book "To the Woman who stands
always most near to Me." She knew what that meant; she kissed the dear
lines on the printed page again and again because she was so proud to
think that all the world knew what it meant, and knew to whom the poet
referred.
If, sometimes, at her own house or in the houses of others she met a
tall, grave-faced man who said little to any one and who generally
lounged in doorways or in out-of-the-way corners; if sometimes--indeed,
very often--she glanced at him to find his eyes looking wistfully at
her; if, in the dead of night, when she could not sleep sometimes,
she had a sudden remembrance of him and of his loneliness, and of the
old garden far away, where they had whispered together, it was all so
fleeting--just a little breath of pain, as it were, across the perfect
happiness of her days--that she forgot it at once and was glad to
think that he must have left his sorrow behind him long ago, and have
ceased to trouble about what could never be. In those months she was so
supremely happy and her life was so crowded that she could not bear to
think that any one else was unhappy through any mistake of hers, and so
dismissed the matter at last, feeling sure that he too had dismissed it
long since.
Of late, finding that he had but to ask to receive at once, Brian had
carried the game on even more recklessly than before. He had long
since demanded--almost immediately after the return from Paris--that
an account should be opened in his name at a bank into which he could
pay the sums received from Comethup; he felt, he said, that it looked
so much better to write cheques for what was wanted. But a thousand
pounds per annum will not stretch sufficiently to cover everything, and
the moment arrived when Comethup was informed that his own account was
considerably overdrawn. And there were still two months to wait before
Miss Charlotte Carlaw would pay in anything more.
For himself it did not matter, although even he would be put to it
for small personal expenses. But he sat in trembling fear that Brian
might make a demand upon him any day, a demand which for the first
time he would be unable to meet. While he was puzzling helplessly over
the matter the demand arrived, borne by Mr. Robert Carlaw, who wore
a troubled countenance. He had of late been the go-between of the
cousins; he still lived in his son's house, and was chiefly useful in
entertaining dull visitors and performing petty offices for which Brian
had no time nor inclination.
His method when seeking Comethup was a simple one: he did not care to
go near the house, but caught the first small boy on whom he could lay
hands and gave him a few coppers to take a note to the house, addressed
to Comethup. The note was invariably couched in the same pitiful
strain, imploring his dear nephew to grant him an interview in the
street, where he was humbly waiting with despair tugging heavily at his
heart.
"My dear, dear boy," he exclaimed fervently on this occasion, "how
can I thank you? If, like Brian, I were a poet I could compare you
to the sun at midday, to the blessed rain from heaven upon a parched
earth. Not being a poet, although I once had some pretensions in that
direction, I am compelled to say 'Bless you, my dear boy, bless you!'"
"Well," said Comethup, as they paced slowly down a side street, "what's
the matter?"
"My dear boy, we are on the verge of ruin," exclaimed Mr. Robert
Carlaw. "Why should I disguise the fact from you? Why should I hide
from you, who know the whole deplorable circumstances, the miserable
truth? This morning a letter has arrived, threatening a distraint
upon our goods unless a large sum of money be paid by to-morrow.
Think of it, a distraint upon our goods! The horror, the disgrace of
it!" he exclaimed, smiting his forehead with one hand and waving the
other despairingly. "That is our cursed temperament--my son's and
mine--that we can go on through the world like happy children, laughing
in the sunshine, picking the brilliant flowers of life, heedless of
everything; when a storm comes and the wind howls--you follow my
metaphor?--we are lost, absolutely lost. Others were born to face the
world and its trials, to make a stubborn fight of it if necessary; we
are exotics, my son and I, under an open sky, and we perish miserably.
In point of fact, we are on the eve of perishing miserably at this
moment."
"I am sorry," replied Comethup slowly, "but on this occasion I can't
help you."
Mr. Robert Carlaw stopped and touched his arm, and peered anxiously
into his face, "Can't help us?" he cried, "What do you mean?"
"I mean that I have no money; that it's all gone, and that I sha'n't
have any more for perhaps another two months. I've already drawn more
than was due to me at the bank."
"But, my dear boy," whimpered his uncle, "what is to become of us,
what is to become of _me_? Think of the position: you have taught
me to be dependent upon you, to look to you for the supply of those
little comforts--not to say luxuries--which are necessary to a man of
my position. I have felt so--so safe! Fortune has not been good to me;
Fortune has stripped me of everything; and then, at the last moment,
melting a little toward me, has pointed to you and has said in effect:
'Go to Comethup; our dear Comethup will assist you.' And I have come to
you accordingly. My dear nephew, what is to become of us?"
Comethup faced about and looked at him contemptuously. "Yes, I know,
you've come to me for everything; have relied upon me for everything.
I've had a thousand a year from my aunt, and, as God's my witness, I
haven't spent fifty of it. It's all gone to feed you, and your son,
and"--he paused, and a gentler expression came over his face--"yes, and
'Linda. Well, I suppose it's all right; you'd got to be fed and kept
going somehow, and it was easier for me to do it than it would have
been for any one else. But now, here's an end of it. I'd help you if I
could--you know that but I simply can't. It's impossible for me to go
to my aunt, even if I could bring myself to do it; she'd want to know
where the money had gone, would want to know a thousand things I can't
tell her. I tell you things have come to a deadlock; you've drained
me--you and Brian--and you can drain me no further."
Mr. Robert Carlaw walked slowly up and down the street with his head
sunk upon his breast in profound thought; Comethup paced slowly at his
side. After a time the elder man raised his head and thumped his chest,
and spoke in a tone of renewed hopefulness.
"In a crisis of this kind, my dear nephew, despair is useless; we see
before us a certain situation, and that situation has to be faced. In
this world we are beings of one of two orders--we are either men or
mice. If we are mice we submit to be crushed"--he stamped his heel
vigorously on the pavement--"while if we are men we face the situation
boldly and rise superior to it. In this case we are men; we refuse to
be crushed. For myself I would not care; ever the sport of fortune as
I have been, I yet may cut a figure in the world, even though it be a
ragged one; 'The Vagabond' has always been my favourite song. But my
heart is torn at the thought of others. I dare not return and see them
hold out empty hands to me and cry for bread and tell them I have but a
stone. My dear boy, it is not to be done; vagabond I may be, but I am
still, I trust, a gentleman, and my heart beats true to those of my own
flesh and blood. Think, my boy, think of Brian and of his young wife,
and then tell me, if you will, that I am to go back to them and bow my
head before them and say, 'Behold me; I have failed!'"
"But, my dear uncle," exclaimed Comethup in despair, "what am I to do?
Show me any way, and I'll adopt it gladly."
"My dear nephew," said Mr. Robert Carlaw, with his chin resting
meditatively in his hand, "there _is_ a way, and an easy one, for a man
in your position. Come, let us face facts: you are your aunt's heir; if
she died to-morrow--may Heaven spare her for many years!--you would
have every penny she possesses. Such is your good fortune. Now, my dear
nephew, it has been my most sorry fate to have to deal on occasion with
the shady side of life; I have had, I may say, to get through it as
best I could, and in the easiest possible fashion. Your path has been
different; you have gone along in the sunshine, with some one else to
clear the way for you; hence, you know nothing of these matters. But
let me tell you this, my dear boy"--he tapped a persuasive forefinger
on Comethup's arm--"that there are men in this city to-day, personally
known to me, who would be willing at a moment's notice to advance any
sum you might name within reason to a man with your prospects. Don't
mistake me," he added hurriedly. "I am not urging that you should do
anything dishonourable. Frankly, the thing amounts to this: you go
to A. upon my introduction; A. says in effect: 'What! is this Mr.
Willis, the favourite nephew of Miss Charlotte Carlaw? And he is in
want of money, just to tide him over until such time as he may, in the
indefinite future, come into his fortune? Nothing easier,' says A. 'How
much does Mr. Willis want?' And there, my boy, the thing's done. Do you
follow me?"
"Yes, I follow you," said Comethup slowly. "And so you want me to use
her name, the name of a woman who's been the best friend ever a man
had; you want me to look out so eagerly for dead men's shoes--or a dead
woman's, it doesn't matter which--that I am to sell them before she's
finished wearing them? No, you've made a mistake, Uncle Bob; I don't
intend to do it. You and Brian have been living at my expense at the
rate of over a thousand a year; to put it plainly, you've had every
penny, or nearly every penny, that I've ever possessed since I was a
boy. I don't mind that, but the thing has got to stop. Beyond what I
have I won't go; you've been welcome to all that, and I don't mind. But
I'll go no further."
Mr. Robert Carlaw sighed and began to ponder the matter again; he was
not quite certain of his cards, at least of those he could safely
play; but he had a vague feeling that there was one trump card in his
possession which might well be risked. The matter was desperate, and he
resolved to play desperately.
"Well, you know best," he said. "Frankly, I honour you--honour you
for the noble position you take up at such a moment. When I consider
your simplicity, your clear and beautiful nature, I feel like a modern
Mephistopheles whispering temptation into your ear. But in this, as in
all other matters, a man must look at a thing from his own standpoint,
or from the standpoint of those who most nearly concern him. Doubtless
you are right; let us say no more about it. The crash has come, and
we must meet it. I have met worse blows than this, and Brian, being
the son of his most unfortunate father, must learn to meet them too;
doubtless it will be a salutary lesson to him. Men have strong hands
and, I trust, stout hearts; if it rested with Brian and myself alone I
would not mind; but there is some one else to consider, some one weak
and helpless who knows nothing of any tragedy which may be impending
over her." He sighed again and shook his head with an air of deep
dejection.
"You mean 'Linda?" said Comethup, without looking at him.
"I refer to that sweet girl. I am a man of quick and strong
imagination; a moment ago I seemed to have a sudden mental picture of
that child when she first learned the position in which we stand, when
she----"
"But she mustn't learn it," cried Comethup hurriedly.
Mr. Robert Carlaw shook his head again. "My dear young friend,
a wife's place is by her husband; when the crash falls she will
unhesitatingly--oh, I know the nobility of her character--she will,
I say, unhesitatingly place her hand in that of her husband and will
say, 'Together we have been prosperous, together we will bow our heads
before the storm.' Poor child, poor child, that it should come to this!"
"I--I'm afraid I had lost sight of her," said Comethup. "Of course
she doesn't understand, doesn't know any of the circumstances; I'd
forgotten that. She's gone on, day by day, believing that all this
money came from him; proud of him; glad that the world, as she thought,
should shower its gold upon her clever husband, upon the man she loves.
Yes, I'd forgotten all that." He spoke as if to himself, without
noticing his companion. He saw in a moment that this thing he had built
up for her sake was in danger of being swept away; that she might be
left stripped and trembling in a desert, with all that had made her
life perfect torn away from her. He thought of her proud and happy face
when he had seen her but a little time since with her husband; saw
again, far away from the street in which he walked, a little lonely
child in a garden; heard himself, as a boy, tell the old captain that
he meant to look after her. Comethup Willis was of the stuff of which
the fabled knights might have been made--one who simply and earnestly
and splendidly set before him a task to be done and did it without
wavering or turning aside. His own pain, his own longing counted for
nothing; the child of the old days seemed to be stretching out her
hands to him and crying to him, as she had done years before when they
had first met; the cry was not to be resisted.
He looked up with a start and found the eyes of Mr. Robert Carlaw fixed
upon him. "You say that it is possible--honourably--to get an advance
from some one?" he asked.
"The easiest thing in the world. Of course, there will be interest to
be paid, and--and I've no doubt that the interest will be somewhat
high; but that is a mere matter for arrangement. As I have said, the
fact of your aunt's wealth is well known; the further fact that she
has refused to have anything to do with any of her relatives but
your fortunate self is equally well known. My dear nephew, in this
world of ours if a man has anything substantial behind him it is
the easiest thing in the world for him to get what he wants. I can
take you to a man this very hour, if necessary, who will conduct the
business for you. And, let me tell you another thing: for the future
it is my fixed intention to insist upon it that there shall be no
further extravagance. We must not run the risk of another crisis of
this character. In a little time we shall be able to pull ourselves
straight, to repay this money, and so--if I may suggest so much--put
your conscience at rest. Whatever money is advanced can be paid back,
and my good sister will know nothing of the transaction."
"You are sure there is no other way?" asked Comethup.
Mr. Robert Carlaw spread out his hands with an air of charming
frankness. "Suggest one, my dear nephew, and I will instantly give you
my opinion concerning it. Candidly, I can see no way so simple or so
easy."
"Very well," said Comethup in a low voice. "Let's go at once and get it
over."
They drove to an office in a quiet court in the city, and there
Comethup was left in an outer room, where a solitary clerk was busily
writing, while Mr. Robert Carlaw had a private interview with the
accommodating gentleman who was so willing to lift other people's
troubles away from them. "It will be best for me just to--to pave the
way, as it were," he had said when they reached the place.
That necessary formality over, Comethup was shown in, and found a bland
and smiling gentleman, of a somewhat pronounced type of features,
anxious to shake him at once with much fervour by the hand. His uncle
had, it appeared, with that consideration which characterized him,
put the whole matter so fairly and clearly before this gentleman that
the money was at Comethup's instant disposal; indeed, it seemed such
an ordinary and simple piece of business that Comethup's mind was
considerably lightened. There were papers to be signed, and it appeared
that Mr. Robert Carlaw had suggested, in order to avoid troubling his
dear nephew again, that the loan should be for a thousand pounds. The
rate of interest, as he had said, was extremely high, but then the
circumstances were peculiar; and in order that there might be no
misunderstanding the interest for one year was deducted from the amount
of the cheque, so that the cheque itself was very, very far short of
the sum which had been named.
However, the thing was rapidly concluded, and uncle and nephew were
ushered out of the office. When once the money had been placed in Mr.
Robert Carlaw's hands Comethup laid a detaining hand on his shoulder.
"Look here, you know," he said, with some sternness, "let us have no
nonsense about this matter. I am sorry to refer to it, but on a former
occasion--in Rome, you remember--when I put money into your hands it
never reached its destination."
"My dear sir," said Mr. Carlaw, bridling, "do you imagine----"
"I imagine nothing," replied Comethup quietly; "I am merely speaking of
what occurred. This is a different matter, and I think--yes, I'm quite
sure--that I'd better go home with you."
Mr. Robert Carlaw shrugged his shoulders, but submitted to being thrust
into a hansom with Comethup close at his elbow. At the corner of the
street in which Brian lived the cab was dismissed, and they walked down
the street together. Some fifty yards from the house Comethup stopped
and nodded to his uncle to go on alone. That gentleman shook hands with
him effusively, and went on and ran up the steps leading to the door,
with a brisk air; waved a hand to his nephew, and disappeared. Comethup
waited about for some time and finally went home.
Now, the mind of Mr. Robert Carlaw was divided between two sets of
emotions during the next day or so. In the first place, he was honestly
glad to have got so neatly out of an impending trouble; while, on the
other hand, he fretted and chafed when he thought of the hand which had
lifted the trouble from him. He had never ceased to think bitterly of
the boy who had, as he considered, stepped into his son's place; had
never ceased to occupy his mind with schemes, however wild and futile,
which might turn the tables. And thus it happened that an idea came to
him, so wild and daring that at first he rejected it; but it grew and
grew, and shaped itself, until at last it seemed in all points and from
every aspect so extremely beautiful that he wondered, almost in an awed
fashion, what special providence could have guided him to it.
The theatrical nature of the man, glorying in big effects and surprises
and flourishes, compelled him to carry out the business secretly; and
then, when he had brought it to a successful issue, to declare the fact
triumphantly. Accordingly he said nothing to Brian about the matter,
but went out early and returned home late in the pursuit of his object.
And that object was to gain a private interview with his sister, Miss
Charlotte Carlaw.
The opportunity came at last. He had watched the house for some days in
the hope of seeing Comethup leave it; had haunted corners and doorways,
waiting for his chance. At last, one evening he saw the young man come
out in evening dress and enter the waiting carriage and drive away
alone. Mr. Carlaw readily conjectured that he was going to a dinner
party, and after waiting for a few minutes longer he walked up to the
house and rang the bell.
"Will you inform Miss Carlaw," he said in his sweetest manner to
the servant, "that a gentleman wishes to see her on urgent private
business? I will not give my name; Miss Carlaw knows me quite well. Oh,
and say that I regret to trouble her at such an hour."
The man carried the message and presently returned to say that Miss
Carlaw would see him. He was ushered into a room where she sat in
solitary state at dinner. She turned her head inquiringly toward the
door as he softly entered. There was no need for him to speak, for she
knew him instantly. The frown on her face was not encouraging.
"Well, brother Bob, what do _you_ want?" she asked sharply. "And what's
the mystery, that you can't send up your name like an honest creature?
Afraid I shouldn't see you, eh?"
"My dear Charlotte," replied Mr. Carlaw, "you always appear to do me
an injustice in your thoughts. It is, perhaps, late in the day now to
attempt to change your opinion of me; yet I venture to suggest that you
will be surprised to learn that my errand to-night is undertaken--may
I say it?--in pure unselfishness, and with the desire to do a
fellow-creature a service."
"Yes, I should certainly be very much surprised to hear _that_, Bob,"
replied his sister with a shrewd smile. "You're not generally taken in
that way; but it's never too late to mend, you know. You can sit down.
I'm all alone, as you see; my boy has gone out."
Mr. Robert Carlaw sighed heavily and seated himself. "I am very glad,"
he began, "to find you alone; what I have to say is of a private and
confidential character, and--forgive me, I beg--somewhat painful. In
fact, it would have been impossible for me to speak before my nephew."
"I don't understand you," replied the old woman. She was frowning
again, but seemed to be listening very intently. "I have no secrets
from my boy."
"Ah, my poor sister; the gods have not been good to you. Blinded by
nature, you have, I fear, also been blinded by something stronger than
nature--love. You say you have no secrets from the boy; that does not
necessarily imply that he has none from you. Do you follow me?"
"No, I don't. If you've anything to say about Comethup, why, in the
devil's name, can't you say it before his face? You never did do things
in a straightforward, honest fashion; there was always something
crooked about you. If you've heard anything about my boy, or against
him, I'll tell you to begin with that it's a pack of lies, and whatever
it is I won't hear it! I'm keen enough and I know enough of the world
to know what the boy's worth; he's not of your stamp, and never will
be, please God!"
"There, you observe," said Mr. Carlaw, addressing the furniture, "the
absolute accuracy and beauty of my reasoning. I told you that you were
blinded by love. What I have heard comes from no third party; I love
and esteem my nephew so well that had any one dared to breathe a word
against him, that person would have felt the weight of my displeasure.
I am, I trust, my dear sister, still a gentleman, whatever my worldly
position may be, and I do not carry idle tales. I came to you to-night
because it is my earnest wish, as I just now hinted, to help that young
man----"
"I have no doubt he'd be immensely obliged to you if he heard you say
so," broke in Miss Carlaw, "but I think he can do without your help."
"I fear not," replied her brother sadly. "I risk your displeasure--your
anger--I know, in saying what I am about to say, but my duty is clear,
and I _must_ speak. Will you pardon me for saying that into whatever
pitfalls our dear nephew has plunged the fault is not, perhaps,
entirely his own?"
Miss Charlotte Carlaw got up from her chair and came round the table
with the aid of her stick and stopped exactly opposite her brother.
"Pitfalls? What are you talking about? You've come here to say
something; why the devil can't you say it? I suppose I'm bound to
listen to you; a fellow of your sort must tell his lies in some ear
or other if he can't gain the attention of the one he first seeks.
Now"--she rapped her stick furiously on the floor--"out with it! What
have you to say about my boy?"
"My dear Charlotte, you are, I observe, as impatient as ever. My sole
desire was to break the matter gently to you, in order, if possible, to
save you any unnecessary pain."
"Pain? What should pain me?" Yet her voice and her face were a little
troubled as she spoke.
"My dear Charlotte, I know your generous nature, and I know--or I can
guess--how lavishly you have dealt with this boy. It has been my good
fortune to meet him once or twice, or perhaps I should say to see him
in the distance; for we move, as you are aware, in different spheres.
I have seen the richness of his dress; I have observed that he never
appears to be in want of money."
"I don't do things by halves," said Miss Carlaw with a little touch of
pride. "I said I would look after the boy, and I've done it. But what
has all this to do with you--or with what you have to say?"
"Everything, my dear sister, everything. I suppose--forgive the
question, but it is necessary--I imagine he has a large personal
income?"
"He has," replied the old woman shortly. "A thousand a year."
Mr. Robert Carlaw lifted his hands in amazement. "A thousand a year!
Incredible! And even that does not satisfy him."
"Not satisfy him! What do you mean?"
"To put the matter plainly, my dear Charlotte, circumstances which I
need not detail took me recently into a certain quarter of the city.
I may state--not without a blush, for I'm still a gentleman--that my
condition of life is such that I am compelled sometimes to resort to
various shifts by which to raise money. You have not had to do that;
fortune has been kinder to you than to others. In this case I had gone
to visit a money-lender. Do I pain you?"
"Go on," said Miss Carlaw quietly. She had backed away from him a
little and was standing beside the fireplace, with one hand reaching up
and resting on the high mantelshelf.
"Imagine my surprise, my distress, when I met in such a place your
nephew, Comethup Willis!"
"Comethup at a money-lender's! Either you're mad or you think I am,
brother Bob. Or have you suddenly gone blind, like your sister?"
"Alas! my dear Charlotte, I was never more wide-awake in my life, and
never did I speak in more sober earnestness. I said nothing to the
young man at the time, but the money-lender being a friend, I carefully
and cautiously questioned him. And then I discovered the whole
disgraceful business." Mr. Robert Carlaw rose to his feet and began to
pace excitedly about the room.
"Keep still, man, keep still!" cried Miss Carlaw furiously, "and get on
with your story."
"The man, who, like the rest of his kind, makes the most of his
opportunities, informed me that he had advanced a large sum of money
to young Mr. Willis. On my inquiring, naturally enough, what security
he had asked, he told me that Mr. Willis had informed him that he was
heir to the whole of Miss Charlotte Carlaw's large fortune, and that he
supposed that fact was security enough. The man evidently thought so,
for he had advanced your misguided nephew the sum of a thousand pounds
at a ruinous rate of interest."
Miss Carlaw stood perfectly still for a long time; all expression
seemed to have died out of her face. When at last she spoke her voice
appeared to have changed, to have aged in some strange fashion.
"Brother Bob," she said, "we are of the same blood, you and I, and
whatever our later quarrels may have been we've played together as boy
and girl. I pray you, Bob, in mercy to me, tell me that this is some
hideous jest. I'll forgive you; I swear I'll even laugh at you, if only
you'll tell me that you've come here, knowing my love for this boy, to
play a cruel joke on me, and then to go away and laugh at it. Brother
Bob, tell me you're making fun of me." The appeal was piteous enough to
have melted any heart, but brother Bob merely shook his head and sighed
again more heavily than before.
"Alas! my dear Charlotte, it is no jest. To say that I was
thunderstruck would be to put the matter mildly; and I can well imagine
what your feelings must be. What he does with this money is more
than I can say; I can give a shrewd guess, but I may be doing him an
injustice, so I won't say what that guess is. But it is certainly true
that he has raised this money in the fashion I have explained to you.
If you still believe that I am guilty of such atrocious bad feeling as
to jest with you on a subject of such a nature, I beg that you will
yourself ask him."
"Yes, I shall certainly ask him," replied Miss Carlaw.
"That is wise, that is just," replied her brother. "Perhaps I might
suggest that it would be better not to mention my name in the matter.
After all, I am not concerned in it in any way, and being a man of
peace I do not desire to have this young man's enmity. He will probably
believe that you have heard it through some business channel of which
he knows nothing."
"Oh, you needn't fear that I shall mention your name. If he admits it,
the fact that I know it is sufficient. Have you anything more to say?"
"Nothing, beyond the hope that you will not deal hardly with him. He is
young, thoughtless, headstrong; he has been brought up extravagantly,
and----"
"With plenty to be extravagant upon," said Miss Carlaw, with something
of a return of her old manner. "Well, brother Bob, I suppose you'll
go home to-night in triumph; you'll go home and laugh because an old
fool has been blind in a double sense; because she's been fooled as
thousands of women have been fooled before, eh? Oh, you need have no
mercy; go and tell all your friends, every one who knows you, tell all
the world that I have warmed something in my bosom until at last it has
stung me. Tell 'em all."
"Indeed, my dear sister," said Mr. Carlaw, "you do me a grave
injustice. You spoke just now, not without emotion, of our childish
years; my heart goes out to you to-night more than it has ever done. I
may say that, having seen much of men and women in this queer world of
ours, I feared something of this from the beginning; I felt that the
boy had not that strength of character, if I may so term it, necessary
to take his place with any dignity in an exalted sphere. Humbly he
might have done well; the best of us are likely to have our heads
turned."
"There, that will do; I'm quite capable of abusing him myself, if
necessary, without your help. I suppose I ought to thank you for what
you've told me to-night, but I'm afraid I can't quite do that. I wish,
in my heart of hearts, I might have died five minutes before you came
in, for then his kiss was warm upon my old cheek, and I--God help
me!--I believed in him. There, don't speak to me. Go away, please; I
want to be alone."
Mr. Robert Carlaw quietly took his way out of the room and out of the
house. As he walked home he looked up at the night sky and smiled
softly to himself, and felt that the world was good and that Providence
had been specially kind to him.
"Women are strange creatures," he muttered to himself, "and when
they've been upset or have had something rudely torn away from them
they do remarkable things. Years ago, my dear Charlotte, you rejected
my offspring and put Master Comethup Willis in his place. I may be
wrong, but I think now, with the swing of the pendulum, it is ten
thousand chances to one that you will restore Brian to your favour; and
then our begging days are over, and all our fortunes will be made. And
I shall have made them."