I
Horace was in his private office, not at all busy, when his brother came
in. He might, if he had been a child of nature, have jumped up and cried
out that the light of his life had returned, but instead he made a
decent effort to conceal his delight.
“Well!” he said, questioningly.
“Well!” said Lionel, with just his old smile.
Horace melted.
“So you’ve thought better of it, eh? Find you haven’t many friends
who’ll do for you what----”
“The usual thing,” said Lionel, with a luxurious feeling of sinking down
on a feather bed, of completely throwing himself upon someone else. “I’m
in a mess, and I want your help.”
This pleased Horace beyond measure.
“Debts?” he asked, trying to frown.
“No--not entirely.... Fact is, old boy, I’m married!”
“By Jove! And that independent young lady’s willing to come round now,
is she? Wouldn’t let you take anything from me, I remember. What is it
now? Baby?”
“Presently. But, I say, Horace, it’s not _that_ one.”
“Good God!” cried Horace, in amazement. “Another one!”
“Her sister.... I--er--it’s hard to explain....”
“She was a pretty girl,” said Horace, “I thought she’d suit you very
well.”
Lionel’s face had become very red. It was undoubtedly difficult to
explain, and yet he wanted terribly to tell it all to someone, to hear
another person’s comment, to be told definitely whether he was a natural
man or a cad. Honestly he didn’t know. There were some incidents that
absolutely couldn’t be mentioned. And yet, if they were omitted, the
story would be unintelligible.
“I’ll have to--you’ll have to assure me--give me your word you’ll never
mention this---- Especially to Julie. I’m only telling you because I
want you to--understand the whole thing....”
He was very anxious, above all, to remove any impression that he was
fickle, unstable.
“You see,” he began, “I--Frances and I were separated. More or less by
her sister. That is, her sister thought it wasn’t a good match for
Frankie, so she prevented it. She explained it all to me, perfectly
frankly. She knows Frankie so well, you see. Knew she couldn’t be happy
with me. So she ... explained it all. Of course, I had to see her
several times, to talk it over, and so forth. And--I--really, this is
hard to tell, you know, without seeming---- She--the sister--took a sort
of fancy to me. I didn’t--hadn’t any idea of such a thing.... I asked
her to lend me some money so that I could go out to see
Frankie--and--she brought it over to me, in my room....”
“Why?” enquired Horace, “What made her come to your room?”
“Well--more or less, to talk about Frankie.... And--in fact, she ...
gave herself away, you know.... I really can’t explain very well, old
boy, but--I rather lost my head ... and--she stayed.”
“Phew!” said Horace.
“So,” said Lionel, and grew very red again, “Well, in fact--what else
could I do? We took a furnished flat--and we weren’t going to say
anything about it for a bit--and then this baby---- So we were married
yesterday.”
Horace was looking unusually grave. There were things about this affair
he didn’t like.
“You’re sure it wasn’t a trap? It looks mighty queer, my boy.”
Lionel laughed.
“I wish you knew Minnie,” he said. “Then you’d never think such a thing.
She’s the most naïve, simple little soul----”
“But she should not have stopped there with you. She must have known she
was forcing you into a marriage. My boy.... It’s a bad business. How old
is she?”
“Twenty-four.”
“Old enough to understand all that. My boy, I know you fairly well. I’d
take an oath,” he said solemnly, “that you wouldn’t ‘lose your head,’ as
you put it, and take advantage of a respectable young woman unless you
were given encouragement--an extraordinary amount of encouragement. Am I
right?”
Lionel was not able to be properly indignant.
“I’ll admit,” he said, still very red, “that she’s--too fond of me. Too
much faith in me.... But, Horace, old man, you mustn’t misunderstand
her. She’s the best little woman on earth. Absolutely. An angel. Never
complains. Never finds fault. There she is, all day long, shut up in
that beastly little flat, while I’m hunting a job. No clothes, no
amusements. Especially hard on her now.”
He was rather surprised at the look he saw on his brother’s face, a
compassion so deep, so comprehending.
For Horace was quite certain that Lionel had been trapped, had been the
dupe of a woman, whether loving or scheming, it mattered little. Perhaps
she could be bought off--a divorce arranged, or something of that sort.
“Well, old chap!” he said, “What can I do for you? How can I help you?”
“That’s what I came to see you about. Fact is, Minnie’s longing to be in
the country. Doctor says it would do her no end of good. I thought
perhaps you’d finance a little house, lend me a bit, you know, or take a
mortgage, or whatever it is they do.”
Horace agreed at once. Lionel proceeded to the next point.
“And I wish you’d come home with me and _see_ Minnie,” he said, “I’d
like you to talk it over with her. She has very practical ideas. Can you
manage it?”
Horace looked at his watch and said he could. There was nothing he
wanted more at that moment than to see Minnie. He believed that after
even the briefest interview, he would know how she was to be got rid of,
and Lionel saved. He had gained an impression of her as a dangerous and
unscrupulous woman, who could do Lionel nothing but harm.
An impression never effaced, although she was quite a different sort of
person from the adventuress he had pictured. He sat talking to her for
an hour or more, asking friendly questions. Minnie herself fancied that
her domesticity, her womanliness were pleasing him, that he was
reflecting upon the good Lionel would derive from this match. Whereas!
He was, after all, the same Horace who had chosen for his wife a
flamboyant and radiant beauty, the Horace who had for years been more
than tolerant of his wastrel brother’s follies and caprices. He was a
man with a fanatic love for charm and distinction and beauty, there
could have been no one to whom Minnie’s sober dowdiness would have made
less appeal. His pity for Lionel increased every minute, and he felt
for Minnie something as near hatred as his kindly nature allowed.
He said he was going to walk home, and Lionel offered to accompany him
part of the way.
“What do you think of her now?” he asked, anxiously, as they came out
into the dusky street.
“A very nice little woman,” Horace answered. He could not force himself
to say more. Pain and disappointment seized him by the throat. Lionel in
that dingy flat, with that sallow, complacent woman who talked about
growing vegetables in the suburbs. The sort of woman inevitably to grow
fat. Shifty, too. Horace had had his experiences with women, there was a
quality in this one not at all unknown to him.
Lionel too fell silent. He was wondering just what _he_ thought himself.
He went back to the beginning; he was able to remember everything, every
detail, and still it wasn’t clear--