Charles. A new mood appeared to have come over him; after re-reading
the will more attentively, he rubbed his hands, chuckled, beamed on
all three of us, and seemed to have had a great weight lifted off his
mind. “My hearty congratulations, sir!” he went on, with an almost
reverential inclination of his head across the table. “A very, very
handsome property you have come into by this, Mr. Parslewe! One of the
most beautiful old houses in England, a charming, if small estate,
and--yes, I should say, as a good estimate, some five or six thousand a
year! Delightful!”
But Parslewe, leaning back in his chair, with his hands thrust in his
breeches pockets, had set those thin lips of his. He looked over the
table at Sir Charles as if he were never going to speak. But he spoke.
“Aye!” he said, in his driest, hardest tones. “Just so! Maybe! But you
see, I don’t want it. And I won’t have it!”
A dead silence fell on us. Madrasia turned wonderingly towards her
guardian. I was already watching him. As for Sir Charles Sperrigoe, he
flushed crimson--as if somebody had struck him an insulting blow. He
leaned forward.
“You--my dear sir, I am, I fear, inclining to deafness,” he said. “Did
I understand you to say----”
“I said I don’t want it, and I won’t have it!” repeated Parslewe,
loudly. “I should have told old Matthew that if he’d ever asked me
about it. I’m a man of fixed and immutable principle. When I went
out to India as a young man, I made a vow that I’d never own or take
anything in this life that I didn’t earn by my own effort, and I’ll
stick to it! I don’t want the Palkeney estate, nor the Palkeney house,
nor the Palkeney money--I’ve plenty of money of my own, more than I
know what to do with, and a house that suits me better than this does.
If you want to know me, look again at that motto! What I please, that
I’ll do! And I won’t have this--that’s flat!”
Sir Charles’s astonished face regained its normal colour, and he
suddenly laughed with genuine amusement.
“Dear, dear!” he said. “There is no doubt, my dear sir, of your
Palkeney blood--the Palkeneys were always eccentric. But--you’re
forgetting something; a very pertinent something. This place is yours!
Yours! Everything’s yours! I think I should put my--rather rash and
hasty--vow in my pocket, my dear sir!”
Parslewe’s lips became tight again. But they presently relaxed, and he
bent forward to the table again, and began to smile.
“If this place and the whole thing is mine, absolutely and entirely,”
he said in honeyed accent, “I reckon I can do just what I like with it,
what?”
“There’s no man can say you nay!” answered Sir Charles. “It’s--yours!”
“Then I’ll tell you what,” said Parslewe, with one of his beautiful
smiles and a wave of his hand. “I’ll give it to these two young people!
They’re just suited to each other, and it’ll fit their tastes like a
glove. They can get married at once, and settle down here, and I’ll
come and see them sometimes, and they can come and see me sometimes at
Kelpieshaw. That’s the best way I can see out of the difficulty. We’ll
settle it on them and their children----”
But by this time Madrasia’s cheeks were aflame, and she turned on
Parslewe with blazing eyes.
“Jimmie!” she exclaimed. “How--how dare you? When will you give up that
wicked habit of settling other people’s affairs as if--as if they were
so many puppets? Why--why--Mr. Craye has never even asked me to marry
him!”
Parslewe turned the full force of his grimmest smile on us.
“Well, my dear!” he retorted leisurely. “It’s his own fault if he
hasn’t! I’m sure he’s had plenty of opportunity. But----”
Sir Charles rose to the occasion. He rose literally from his chair,
bending towards Parslewe; he even allowed himself to indulge in a
slight wink at Parslewe.
“My dear sir!” he cooed. “I think--er--if we left our young friends
together, my dear sir! A little--er--informal conversation between
them--eh?--while you and I--shall we try a glass of the famous
Palkeney dry sherry in another apartment, my dear sir? Just so--just
so----”
In another moment he had coaxed Parslewe out of the room; the door
closed on them. Madrasia and I, seated at opposite sides of the table,
stared at each other. It seemed a long time before I found my tongue.
“Madrasia!” I managed to say at last. “Madrasia!”
“Well?” she answered.
“Madrasia!” I continued. “This is absolutely awful! You know what your
guardian is!--a dreadful man. Nothing will prevent him from having his
own way about--about anything! Whether we like it or not, he’ll go and
do what--what he said he would do just now.”
Madrasia looked down at the table, and began to study the pattern of
the cloth.
“Well?” she said.
“I don’t think it’s at all well,” said I. “Supposing--just supposing,
you know--supposing we fell in with his wishes and--and got married.
I’m just supposing, of course!”
“Well?” she said, again.
“Don’t you see what a dreadful thing that would be?” I said.
She gave me a quick flash of her eye--there, and gone in a second.
“Why?” she demanded.
“People would say I married you for your money,” I declared boldly.
“That would be awful for both of us!”
She remained silent a moment, tracing the pattern of the cloth with the
tip of her finger. Then she spoke--emphatically.
“Rot!” she said.
“No!” said I, with equal emphasis. “Because they would! I know ’em! And
it’s beastly hard on me; it upsets my plans. Parslewe’s upset all my
plans. If I’d only known----”
“Only known what?” she asked.
“Only known that he was going to spring this on us!” I answered,
bitterly. “If I’d only known that, I’d--I’d have----”
“You’d have what?” she asked, as I paused and hesitated.
“Well--I’d have proposed to you this morning when we were in the
hotel garden, or in that carriage, or in the wood, when Parslewe was
ahead,” I answered. “Or yesterday, or the day before, or the day before
that--any time since I first met you. But now--wouldn’t it look as if I
were proposing to the Palkeney estate?”
She suddenly looked up, gave me a queer glance, and rising from her
chair walked over to one of the embrasured windows. I followed her--and
after a moment’s silence, slipped my arm round her waist.
“What on earth’s to be done?” I asked her. “Tell me!”
I got her to look round at last.
“You’re an awful old ass!” she said in a whisper. “I saw the way out at
once. He didn’t say he’d give all this to _me_! He said he’d give it
to--_us_!”
“Is it going to be--us, then?” I demanded eagerly.
“Seems very like it, I think, doesn’t it?” she answered, demurely.
So--but not for a little while--we went to tell Parslewe.
THE END
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.