BRAVADO.
It was, indeed, with a very similar sense of satisfaction to that
enjoyed by a man who, when playing cut-throat euchre, finds the joker
in his hand, that Melville contemplated the advent of Mrs. Sinclair
into his life. In many respects she was a charming woman; vigorous
and resourceful in consequence of her somewhat adventurous career,
but womanly and free from affectation. Moreover, if she could not
claim entire exoneration from the charge of being an adventuress, she
was entitled to several important limitations in the term; she
gambled, it is true, and led an extravagant life, but she did both
out of her own resources, and did not prey upon society as do most of
the evening-gowned frequenters of the Casino. What other skeletons
might be hidden in the secret cupboard of her life, Melville did not
yet trouble to surmise; he assumed that among them was the grisly
relic of her marriage with his uncle. The marriage had been a
failure; the couple had separated and agreed to let the story be
forgotten; "Sinclair" was merely a _nom-de-guerre_, and everything
was capable of a perfectly satisfactory explanation, with the
exception of her financial independence. Melville could not
understand the feeling which prompted her to refuse assistance from
her husband, more especially in such a case as this, where she might
dictate her own terms for consenting to suppress the fact of her
existence. What her motive was in so doing was one of the first
things Melville intended to ascertain; there might be money in the
knowledge. But the first thing he intended to do was to tell Sir
Geoffrey that he knew this amazing secret of the marriage, for he
felt convinced that he could make money by holding his tongue on that
subject to the world at large.
Such were the thoughts that passed through Melville's mind as he
walked from the station to The Grange at Fairbridge, where the
Austens lived. With him to decide was to act, and the previous night
he had resolved to adopt a bold policy and face Sir Geoffrey and
Ralph at once; they had had time to compare notes about the hundred
pounds, and a stormy interview with them both was inevitable, but it
possessed no terrors for Melville now. He guessed correctly that for
the credit of the family neither of them would detail the facts to
the Austens, with whom he was particularly anxious to stand well.
Too selfish a man to be capable of real love for any woman, he yet
liked Gwendolen better than any other woman he had ever seen, and he
was quite willing to "range himself" if she would be his wife. That
she was engaged to his brother troubled him very little. Engagements
had been broken off before now, and the idea of cutting Ralph out had
a certain piquancy that rendered the attempt worth making.
Looking delightfully cool and well-bred in his grey flannel suit and
straw hat, with a turn-down collar that seemed to suggest an innocent
simplicity of character, Melville walked slowly down the hill from
the station and presented himself at the Austens' door. The ladies
were in the garden, the servant informed him, and there Melville
sought them, confident of a friendly greeting from them both.
Mrs. Austen was unaffectedly glad to see him. She had a tolerant
feeling for nearly all young men, and Melville's marvellous gift as a
musician had an especial charm for her. To Gwendolen he was Ralph's
brother, and hitherto Ralph had championed Melville's cause, with the
result that the girl was disposed to regard him as a somewhat
maligned young man. So to-day they made much of him, and, under the
influence of their warm welcome and gentle refinement, Melville was
at his best.
"I've been sowing wild oats at Monte Carlo," he said gently, "and I
found it vanity. So I've come home. No, I had no adventures and met
nobody I knew. I lost all my money, and I'm very sorry for myself."
He congratulated Gwendolen on her engagement to Ralph, and there was
a touch of pathos in his voice that proved him to be a consummate
actor. Altogether, he enjoyed himself hugely, and awaited the
critical moment of meeting his brother with actual pleasure. Ralph
was expected early in the afternoon, and Melville lunched at the
Grange and occupied the centre of its little stage with much
complacency.
After luncheon Gwendolen remained indoors to watch for Ralph, and
Melville sat in the verandah with Mrs. Austen and waxed confidential.
She liked to be regarded as the recipient of the confidences of young
men, and Melville played upon her amiable weakness, being careful to
invent such peccadilloes only as would not strain her charity unduly.
"Heaven divides its gifts very unequally," he remarked presently.
"Why that platitude?" asked Mrs. Austen.
"I was thinking of Ralph and myself," he said. "Of course, Sir
Geoffrey has been equally generous to us both, but I notice that
Ralph gets all the affection. He was always Uncle Geoffrey's
favourite, and now he is engaged to Gwen." He sighed pathetically,
and Mrs. Austen considered.
"I think your uncle is just as fond of you as he is of Ralph," she
said, "but you're not a home bird and your brother is. Really, I
don't think Sir Geoffrey could have been kinder to you if you had
been his own son."
"Not kinder," Melville said, "but fonder, more affectionate. You
have known him a long time, Mrs. Austen. Why do you suppose he never
married?"
"I have often wondered," Mrs. Austen said, "but I never met him until
he came into the title and estates, and he was not a young man then.
He may never have wanted to marry, or he may have had some
disappointment. At all events, it's an excellent thing for you boys
that he never did."
"Excellent," Melville assented heartily. Mrs. Austen evidently had
no suspicion of the facts; that meant that Sir Geoffrey did not want
her to know them, and that, too, was excellent. "Ah! here comes
Ralph, dancing on air."
Judging by the expression on Ralph's face, dancing on air was a
disagreeable mode of progression. He was, indeed, furious at finding
Melville thus established in the heart of the citadel; he was
conscious, too, of a disadvantage in being thus taken by surprise.
Confident in the justice of his indignation, he could have invaded
Melville's chambers and demanded explanations and apologies for the
fraud; here all the force of his attack would be wasted in the
interval before he could deliver it.
He made no offer to shake hands, and, flushed with anger, he compared
unfavourably with Melville, sitting so imperturbable, and prepared
for all contingencies.
Melville employed every little artifice of which he was capable to
heighten the contrast between his brother and himself, of which he
saw Mrs. Austen was conscious. He made room for Ralph upon the
verandah, and chatted gaily of a hundred trifles, but to all his
flippancies Ralph returned only monosyllabic answers, appearing
awkward and ill-mannered even in Gwendolen's biassed judgment.
At last Melville rose to go, and with alacrity Ralph rose too.
Melville protested politely.
"Don't let me take you away, old man," he said.
"But I want to have a talk with you," Ralph answered.
"Thought you weren't particularly pleased to see me," Melville
returned placidly, "but I'm glad I was wrong. Good-bye, Mrs. Austen,
and thanks awfully for a jolly time. May I come again soon?"
"Do," she answered, "there's always cold luncheon and a warm welcome
here for you." She made the remark pointedly, for she was a little
vexed with Ralph. She even went so far as to restrain Gwendolen from
accompanying the brothers to the gate, and as they disappeared at the
end of the drive Ralph was conscious of almost being in disgrace with
his future mother-in-law.
Outside, however, on the main road his embarrassment vanished.
"What the deuce do you mean by coming here like this?" he said
angrily.
"My dear Ralph," said Melville coolly, "The Grange doesn't belong to
you, nor does the Manor House--yet. I've been to The Grange because
I wanted to see the Austens, and now I'm going to the Manor House
because I want to see Sir Geoffrey."
Ralph was unfeignedly astonished.
"You want to see Sir Geoffrey?" he gasped.
"I do," said Melville. "Why not?"
"I wonder you have the audacity to look him in the face again," said
Ralph hotly. "You are a liar and a thief."
"Go slow, Ralph," said Melville, "go slow. It seems to me you're off
your chump. If your engagement hasn't turned your brain, tell me
what all this pother is about, and leave mud-slinging till
afterwards. What do you mean?"
Ralph was almost deceived by his brother's calmness; at any rate, it
had the effect of making him struggle to regain command of his own
temper.
"I wrote to you when you were at Monte Carlo," he said more quietly,
"and asked you to lend me a hundred pounds."
"That's so," said Melville. "Sorry I couldn't oblige you, but I
didn't even read your letter till I was on my way home, and then I
was broke myself."
"But you got a hundred pounds out of Sir Geoffrey," spluttered Ralph.
"I did," said Melville. "I hope you did the same."
"Good heavens, man!" cried Ralph, as angrily as before; "don't try
your vile swindles on me too. You told Sir Geoffrey you lent me that
hundred pounds and got him to hand you over an open cheque for the
amount in repayment of what you said was my debt, leaving him to get
explanations from me afterwards."
"I hope the old man wasn't very crusty," said Melville sweetly.
"But your whole story was an infernal lie," roared Ralph, "and you
got that money by a vulgar, low-down swindle. You are a liar,
Melville, and a thief. I wish to heaven Sir Geoffrey had kicked you
out of the house before he parted with the cheque."
"I daresay you do," Melville replied, unmoved; "but really, Ralph,
you've had your whack out of the old buck, and now you're going to
marry the Austen money you needn't grudge me a bit, need you? It's
not exactly brotherly."
The sneering affront goaded Ralph almost to madness.
"You can thank me that you've not been arrested already for getting
that money under false pretences," he said, livid with passion. "If
Sir Geoffrey had had his own way you would have been, and 'pon my
word, I'm beginning to be sorry I begged you off."
"Perhaps it isn't too late even yet," said Melville, no less calmly
than before, "but I fancy you are exaggerating. Sir Geoffrey is
always intemperate in his language, but I can't believe he would
adopt such extremely unpleasant measures as the prosecution of his
own nephew. However, I'll talk to him about it. I came down with
the intention of doing so after I left The Grange."
Ralph was nonplussed. Such unlimited assurance as that displayed by
Melville was outside his experience, and it even began to have some
effect upon him.
"I think it was a mean and dirty trick," he said, "to make out that I
owed you anything when I didn't, but that part of the business you
can settle with your own conscience. What are you going to do now
about the money?"
"How do you mean?" Melville enquired innocently.
"Well," said Ralph, "I persuaded Sir Geoffrey to drop the idea of
legal proceedings by saying that as you had used my name the matter
ought to be left in my hands. I've been to town to get the money,
and I repaid him this morning."
"That's really awfully good of you," Melville said effusively. "I am
infinitely obliged to you, but I'm afraid I shall have to owe it to
you for a little while."
"It's simple waste of time to talk to you," said Ralph with scorn,
"but there's one more remark I have to make, and you may as well
remember it, for I mean what I say. I can't undo the fact that you
are my brother, but I can do a good deal to prevent it from being
forced on my attention, and one way is to avoid seeing you. Now, in
future I'll trouble you to keep away from The Grange."
Melville coloured. This was a contingency he had not foreseen, and
for a moment he lost his judgment.
"Jealous, eh?" he enquired, with ill-affected sarcasm. He was no
coward physically, but he almost quailed before the blaze in his
brother's eyes. Ralph did not trouble to fling back the taunt. With
suppressed passion he spoke rapidly and distinctly, and each word
flicked Melville on the raw.
"You are a contemptible swindler, and if you only have rope enough
you'll hang yourself in the end. I'm quits with Sir Geoffrey over
your last fraud, and it's worth every penny of the money to have
learnt to know you as you are; but now I do know you I'll take jolly
good care that you don't hang about my friends. Sir Geoffrey has
ordered you out of the Manor House, and I order you out of The
Grange. Go there again, and I'll tell Mrs. Austen all about this
business and twist your neck into the bargain."
Melville forced a laugh.
"It will be time enough for you to order me out of houses when you
possess any. When you are master of The Grange I shall keep clear of
the place, you may be sure. Until then I shall call upon Mrs. Austen
whenever I choose."
"If you go to The Grange I shall tell Mrs. Austen what has happened,"
Ralph repeated, "and she will order you out then herself."
"I dare you to do it," said Melville. In reality the idea filled him
with uneasiness, but he was too shrewd to show it. Instead, he
remarked reflectively, as if considering Ralph's interests only,
"Mrs. Austen might begin to think she was allowing her daughter to
marry into a queer family, supposing for the moment that she took
everything you said for gospel."
Ralph drove his hands deep into his pockets. Honesty such as his
often seems very stupid when confronted with the cleverness of a
knave, and he felt unequal to a discussion with his brother. But he
wished he had been less loyal to him in the past, less sturdy an
advocate for his defence when Sir Geoffrey arraigned him. It was
humiliating to think how completely Melville had taken him in. They
walked in silence to the Manor House, and Ralph paused by the gate.
"I'm not going to argue with you, and I have nothing to add to what I
said about The Grange. Go there and you'll see. Here is the Manor
House. If you take my advice you will leave me here and get back to
town by the next train."
"When I ask your advice I'll consider about taking it," Melville
answered gently; he saw how his own coolness angered and flurried
Ralph. "As for The Grange, Mrs. Austen has kindly invited me to dine
there and bring my violin, and I need scarcely say I have accepted.
And as for Sir Geoffrey, I have come down to see him, and if he's at
home I will see him now; if he is out I shall wait."
"You are beyond me," Ralph said hopelessly. "Well, I don't want to
keep you away from Sir Geoffrey if you are anxious to see him, but if
I were in your shoes, which, thank heaven, I am not, I would blow out
my brains rather than face him. I don't believe you have any shame
left."
He opened the gate and, with Melville, walked up the drive. As they
came in sight of the house, however, his mind shrank from the
prospect of having to be present at so painful an interview between
his uncle and brother as he felt sure this one must be. He stopped
abruptly.
"You will probably find Sir Geoffrey in the library," he said. "I am
going down to the houseboat."
"All right," said Melville unconcernedly. "I dare say I shall see
you again later. If Sir Geoffrey asks me to stay, I will. By-bye,"
and noting with amusement the incredulous surprise written on Ralph's
countenance he nodded cheerfully to him and walked in through the
open doorway of the Manor House.