smile. "For months past I only awaited a good and fair excuse for
discharging him, which that young--which your son's behaviour, madam,
scarcely afforded me." Here Mr. Hamilton coughed, to hide another and
far more genial smile. "Unfortunately for all concerned," he continued,
"Samuel Smith was a most exemplary clerk, business-like"--Helen
winced--"discreet, punctual to his work, good head for figures."
"My boy was punctual, I trust," Helen murmured, as Mr. Hamilton paused,
feeling that of all this list of qualifications punctuality was the
safest item to mention.
"Once in a blue moon, perhaps," returned Teddie's superior, "but let
that pass. I like the boy, though he requires a sharp eye kept upon
him, I can assure you, madam," he continued severely, resolutely
checking a strong tendency on the part of his risible muscles to twitch.
"He will have to make many promises of amendment for the
future--reasonable ones enough, as I think you will admit."
"Mr. Hamilton," Helen interrupted gently, though somewhat proudly, "my
son is not asking to be taken back. If you wish again to employ him,"
she added, after a pause, "I fear you must not hope to wring too many
promises from him. He is so proud: it is in the Le Mesurier blood."
Mr. Hamilton shrewdly guessed that the maternal side also had bestowed
the characteristic in question, but, being a wise man and a just, he saw
and admitted the reasonableness of the gentle rebuff.
"Leave the boy in peace or, taking him, don't nag, you would say,
madam," he replied, good-humouredly enough. "Well, I shall have him
back if he will come. I have your permission?"
"I shall be very glad to know him once again safe with you," Helen
replied graciously. "He is attached to you, and really felt leaving
you. He bears you no grudge," she added, "owning that you could not
have acted otherwise than you did, under the circumstances."
"Owned himself to be in the wrong, did he--the young scamp? I am glad
to hear it. Attached to me, is he? I am fond of the boy myself. Had a
son once, about his age--something of his spirit," and Mr. Hamilton
turned away toward the window and blew his nose.
"Your only son?" Helen asked pitifully.
"My only child, ma'am," the old gentleman returned, somewhat brusquely.
But she was not hurt by his manner, understanding him.
After further talk of Teddie and other subjects, Helen asked her guest
to accompany her to the woods, where her daughter and three of her sons
would presently congregate for tea. So together they set forth, Mr.
Hamilton in open admiration of all they passed on the way.
In the meanwhile of Gerald, Hugh, and Teddie there is little to tell,
unless it is of their dreams, which, to judge by the profound peace
depicted upon their countenances, were of a beatific nature. For nigh
upon two hours had they three lain thus wrapped in innocent, childlike
slumber, the while their sister and Paul Charteris held low-toned
converse together, somewhat apart; Paul, in his kindly consideration,
deeming it a pity to disturb such blissful tranquillity.
"They had a hot walk this morning, poor fellows!" he said
compassionately. "Let them rest."
But Miles had no such compunction, when, a while later, he made
preparation for tea, with so much demonstration and clatter--quite at
variance indeed with his usual noiseless motion and deft skill in the
handling of such rattle- and jingle-begetting articles as cups, saucers,
and spoons--that one by one, or rather pair by pair, the blue eyes of
the Le Mesurier boys opened and blinked in the light of day, dazed at
first somewhat, and blank as to expression, till by slow degrees dire
wrath blazed up in their depths--direst in the pair owned by the peppery
Teddie--as they fell upon the callous disturber of their peace, and the
enormity of the offence began to dawn upon their reviving intellects.
"Hang it all, Miles," Teddie remonstrated, "can't a fellow close his
eyes for five minutes without you must come and make such an outrageous
row; and for what?" he asked, with a comically injured voice and mien.
"That we may feast our eyes on that wretched crockery for two hours and
more."
"Yes, Miles," put in Gerald, somewhat more dignified in his sense of
grievance, "whatever possesses you to bring out all those paraphernalia
ten minutes after luncheon?"
"If it were not for your grey hairs, Miles," added Hugh severely, "you
would just have to cart it all back again."
Miles chuckled. He also had indulged in a nap in this, his one free
hour in the week, and knowing of its pleasures and of the pain of
awakening; being, besides, greatly refreshed, he felt lenient towards
his young masters for what he deemed the mere puerile irritation that
sometimes besets the young on first being roused from sleep.
"I am arranging the _china_, Mr. Ted," he explained, with marked
emphasis on the word china, in reproof of the reflection cast upon that
valuable earthenware, "in compliance with my mistress's wish that tea
should be served at four o'clock."
Hazel, who with Paul had been enjoying the foregoing dialogue, at this
juncture interposed.
"You silly boys," she exclaimed, laughing merrily, "you have all been
fast asleep. And you have had the narrowest possible escape of being
surprised by a stranger," she added, looking down one of the pathways
leading from the house. "See, who is it, coming with mother?"
The whole party followed the direction of her gaze, to behold their
mother accompanied by an elderly gentleman, inclined to portliness,
wearing a short, iron-grey beard and moustache. Teddie, rubbing his
eyes to observe the more surely, presently gave vent to a long, low
whistle.
"Great Scott!" he remarked briefly, and rose uncertainly to his feet.
Slowly the two approached, conversing as they came. By the time they
reached the little party, that had risen to receive them, Teddie had
completely recovered himself, and, by right of acquaintanceship,
advanced to greet his mother's guest.
"Hallo, Mr. Hamilton, this is a surprise," he said cordially, holding
out a friendly hand. "I am glad to see you."
Mr. Hamilton took the proffered hand, and stood regarding the lanky
youth's honest countenance for some moments before he spoke.
"Thank you, Le Mesurier," he said, with twinkling eyes; "I hope you
won't be less glad when I tell you what occasions my visit. The truth
is I am shorthanded, young Smith having left me----" He paused and
hesitated.
"Is that 'the Lout?'" asked Hazel, who was listening wide-eyed. "Oh,
Teddie, then you could go back."
"My sister," said Teddie, shortly, formally. "Hazel, you should not
interrupt."
"Oh, I beg your pardon," she said, turning a pair of penitent brown eyes
on Mr. Hamilton. "I--I was so pleased, you know."
"Not at all, my dear young lady," he returned, somewhat drily, half
incensed, half amused, to note that this lovely girl also, like the
mother, seemed to consider all coaxing and persuading in the matter due
and necessary to the independent Teddie. "Not at all; but may I inquire
what it was you asked?"
"If 'young Smith' was 'the Lout,'" Hazel replied, blushing.
"I did not know him by that name," Mr. Hamilton replied, smiling in
spite of himself; "but I dare say it is the same person--the epithet is
not inapposite. Well, Le Mesurier," he continued, "what do you say?
Like another trial, eh? But, mind, you must keep your ink-pot in your
desk; and there must be no further need of raw steaks in my office--it
is not a butcher's shop, you know. Is that a bargain?"
"That's all right," Teddie responded laconically. "Well, Mr. Hamilton,
I'll come back; but there is one little thing I'd like to mention--a
little hint to help to keep the peace. If you would not mind being a
trifle more particular in the future as to the society one works with in
your office."
Mr. Hamilton gasped.
"Then that is all right," Teddie said comfortably, "and I, for my part,
will try to keep my temper, which, to be sure, is a bit hot when roused;
though nothing can be sweeter," he added earnestly, "when people do
their best, in a reasonable sort of way--I don't ask too much--to please
me."
Mr. Hamilton mechanically received a cup of tea from Hugh's hand, and
looked from him to Helen somewhat helplessly.
"Ted," Helen interposed, a little reproachfully, "you must expect to
take your chance as to companions. And pray, of what credit is it to you
to keep your temper if it is never tried--if you are never tempted to
lose it?"
"I don't _ask_ any credit, mother," her son answered, smiling
affectionately upon her. "It merely struck me as a pity, being
naturally, as I have said, particularly sweet, to rouse it
unnecessarily."
It was now Helen's turn to look helpless.
"But you will thank Mr. Hamilton for his kind offer?" she asked, taking
the hand as well as the cup that he brought to the little table, for
more tea.
"As to that," Teddie replied genially, "he and I are good enough
friends, and fully understand each other; don't we?" he added, turning
to Mr. Hamilton, who, his sense of irritation completely subsided, was
looking immensely entertained.
"Yes, yes," he responded warmly, "we are good friends, my dear boy."
Teddie looked gratified, and, asking to be allowed to present his two
brothers and his friend, Paul Charteris, who were congregated somewhat
in the background, the conversation became more general.
Hazel, seated near to Mr. Hamilton, took occasion to study him as
closely as politeness would permit. So this was the redoubted Mr.
Hamilton, Teddie's dreaded "boss," whom Hazel had held to be the most
imposing of men. She had once entertained the thought of addressing a
letter to him, in Teddie's behalf, but had abandoned the idea as too
fearful. So this was he, this kindly looking elderly man, who from time
to time threw her glances of much benignity and interest, and who called
Teddie his dear boy. What could Teddie have been thinking of, to have
made of him such a _bete noire_? There was, to be sure, at times, a
certain severity about the mouth, but the eyes were always kind, the
girl thought. If she could but summon the spirit to engage him in talk
concerning her own private affairs! Of a surety he would be a most
likely person to help her; for was he not an eminent "City man," living
in the very thick of that City life of which she, Hazel, knew so little,
yet thought so much? Perhaps, even, he was born and bred there, and was
as much at his ease, as much at home in its murky atmosphere, among its
imperial buildings, as she was here, in her beloved woods. How
wonderful to walk the City, the dear, grand City, as he did; to wend
one's way through a very labyrinth of courts, alleys, and byways, never
to lose oneself, to know one's whereabouts always, as she knew the
woods, blindfolded!
Hazel's chin was in her hand, her elbow supported on her knee, and her
eyes grew round and deeply reverential as she lost herself in the
contemplation of this being from another sphere. The magnetic influence
of her gaze presently drew Mr. Hamilton's eyes to meet hers, but so
gently did he turn, so quietly did they fall upon her, that the girl was
not startled from her reverie, but continued to gaze in reverence,
whilst an eager questioning grew up in her speaking eyes.
"You were wishing to say something, my dear?" he asked kindly, and with
a sudden impulsive tenderness, new to him, he laid a broad hand upon the
girl's brown head.
Hazel hesitated, then glanced about her. Her brothers were engaged for
the moment in some discussion together, her mother in interested
listening. Paul Charteris, certainly, was observing herself, and, being
nearest, would catch her words; but she did not mind Paul: he would not
interfere. She even gave him a little smile--an invitation to attend,
should he care to do so.
"I know that you do not keep lady clerks," she began, with gentle,
confidential eagerness, "but have you ever thought of changing your
mind?"
Mr. Hamilton looked his amazement.
"I should like to be one very much," she continued, "most of all yours;
and I was wondering whether, supposing you could get two good,
serviceable clerks from the same house--people that you knew something
of and could rely upon--it would not be worth your while to alter your
rule and have a lady."
Mr. Hamilton's eyes encountered those of Paul Charteris for one
moment--a moment charged with sympathy, pregnant with feeling--and both
men endeavoured to conceal their amusement by pulling at their
moustaches.
"Do I understand that by 'two serviceable clerks' you refer to yourself
and your brother Edward?" asked Mr. Hamilton, when he had sufficiently
recovered himself.
"Yes," Hazel replied cheerfully. "I am much more business-like than I
appear--Teddie you already know. I am not saying that the advantage
would be all on your side," she went on, "only, naturally I like to
think of you first. The advantage to me would be very great; indeed, if
you don't take me, I am afraid I shall have to give up the idea
altogether, because mother is very particular in her wish that I should
not travel or walk alone. Now this arrangement"--and the girl made an
airy gesture with her hand in her brother's direction--"would give me
Teddie's company from door to door; and if on occasion, say a press of
work, he could not take me to lunch, you would see that another clerk
went with me, wouldn't you?" and she looked to Paul for sympathy in so
congenial a plan.
"I certainly should be very much tempted to make an exception to my
rule, if by doing so you would honour me by coming daily to my office,"
Mr. Hamilton responded gallantly; "but, my dear young lady, with all
these brothers, there cannot be the slightest necessity for----"
"Oh, no necessity," Hazel interposed. "Just for pocket-money, you know,
and--and to feel that I am doing my part."
"But," suggested Paul quietly, "is it not the part of an only and
much-beloved daughter to stay at home, to be a companion to her mother,
and to make home a bright and happy place for the workers to come to?"
"I should not be much with mother, certainly," Hazel said reflectively;
"but, as to the boys, why, I should be home when they were."
"Apart from the--er--inadvisability on several scores," Mr. Hamilton
resumed, smiling kindly at the girl, "your mother could never spare you,
my child; an only daughter must be an unspeakable treasure--one that she
must always wish to keep near her. And--pardon me if I seem amused at
what I see you take so seriously--but, it is not conceivable; one cannot
imagine you in the City."
In which sentiment Paul appeared to participate.
"That is what they all say," Hazel rejoined, somewhat mournfully.
"Well," she added, more cheerfully, "to stay with her, I suppose, _is_
doing something for mother."
*CHAPTER VII*
Upon a day--a Tuesday, to be specific--there passed into the gates of
Hazelhurst a smart trap, drawn at a smart pace by a smart horse, the
smart equipage being impelled by the smart mental qualifications of
Digby Travers, dubbed "Greeky." The turn-out was really remarkably
smart; the trap itself, with its polished woodwork and brass
appointments, glistened and shone in the sunlight, whilst the gleam of
the plated harness was reflected in the glossy coat of the well-groomed
quadruped.
Paul Charteris had for the space of a whole hour waited and watched in
the marble hall of Hazelhurst, his restless pacing only relieved by
occasional halts at the foot of the stairway that led--well, to the
rooms above, and to Hazel's chamber, that numbered, naturally enough,
among the rest. His vigil began at precisely one minute to ten, and the
ancient grandfather's clock was even now tremulously clearing its throat
with wheezy, whirring sound, suggestive of asthma, preparatory to
striking eleven. Truth to tell, it was only with considerable effort
that the clock could strike at all, its general feebleness being the
more marked since undergoing a very severe operation, not too skilfully
performed, by Teddie Le Mesurier, wherein the whole of the worn internal
mechanism was taken to pieces and subjected to the hardy
treatment--better suited to the constitution of younger clocks--of oil
and emery-paper, the massage being administered with no light hand.
Furthermore, there was a strong misgiving in the minds of all but Teddie
himself as to whether there was not some flaw in the reconstruction of
the clock. But the boy was sensitive upon the point, and easily hurt, so
that it was only by furtive glances in its direction that the family
ever dared to manifest anxiety when sounds, more dubious than ordinary,
seemed to suggest that each struggle to give expression to the time of
day must surely be the last.
The eleven laboured strokes were just completed when the sound of wheels
fell upon Paul's ear. He withdrew his patient gaze from the direction
of the remote sanctum above and turned to look uneasily through the
arched doorway, to see Travers's trap pull up before it. At the same
moment Hazel appeared at the head of the staircase, flushed and
important, dragging at an enormous trunk. Paul sprang to her aid, and,
bracing every muscle for a mighty effort, nearly overbalanced himself,
as the trunk responded to his exertions with the most unexpected and
discomposing readiness, being in truth of that light consistency known
as wickerwork, and covered with black leather; nor was it one quarter
part full.
"Why, it's nearly empty," he exclaimed in triumphant tone, for the fact
argued well for the shortness of the proposed visit.
"Nearly empty!" Hazel cried, indignant, "and I have been nearly an hour
packing! There are two or three changes of ribbons, and two pairs of
shoes, besides what I am wearing, and my best muslin that has just been
'got up,' and must not be crushed, Mrs. Doidge says. I wonder if you
would mind going to the horse's head. Digby is waiting to come in," she
broke off, as a prolonged whistle was heard from without.
Digby Travers, shading his eyes from the glare, could just discern a
man's form, which he supposed by its occupation of trunk-bearer to be
that of a servant. Paul, eager to fulfil the little lady's slightest
behest, safely deposited his burden near the entrance, and presented
himself before the surprised and somewhat disconcerted Travers.
"I--would you be so very good as to mind the horse while I look for a
servant?" Digby stammered. "I have come to take Miss Le Mesurier back
with me," he added, a suggestion of defiance marking look and tone as he
encountered the nascent hostility of the other's glance.
Paul felt resentment in that young Travers should make use of so formal
an appellation in naming the girl, knowing well that for years--from
earliest childhood--the two had been Hazel and Digby to one another.
The formality was for _him_, then--for _his_ benefit: that he might the
more readily comprehend, once and for all, his exact position toward the
Le Mesurier family in general, and toward Hazel in particular. He was
to understand that he was not accounted friend of the family in the
astute eyes of this old and staunch, if somewhat proprietary, ally of
the house of Le Mesurier. Yet, with complete though not unnatural
inconsistency, Paul in his heart of hearts knew, and, knowing, owned,
that the mention of the girl's Christian name would have been quite as
distasteful to him.
"Why did you not bring a man with you?" he asked, striving to speak with
polite indifference. "But perhaps you are not aware how shorthanded
Mrs. Le Mesurier is. There is only one servant here, old Miles,
and--well, it stands to reason, he is always busy."
Digby stared politely.
"My name is Travers," he said at length, ingenuously; as who shall say,
"Now that I have put aside any doubt as to my identity, you will be
spared the trouble of making further communication concerning the Le
Mesuriers." "You are Charteris--Paul Charteris," he continued. "I
remember your face quite well, though it is ages since we met. Thanks,
awfully, for looking to the horse, but I must find Miles to help me up
with that trunk," and he eyed with complacent regard the black,
dome-topped object just discernible in the shadow of the hall.
"It is very light," Paul returned, not ill pleased to volunteer the
information, "Do you know where Miles is?" he asked of Hazel, who
appeared at that moment, framed in the great arched doorway--and a very
pretty picture she made.
Digby sprang to her, and Paul groaned inwardly as he marked the fervour
of the young man's greeting, albeit he found comfort in noting the
girl's cool reception of, and most inadequate response to, the same; for
she withdrew her hand from the devout clasp that held it, so soon as the
orthodox number of moments to be devoted to that ceremony was ended.
Nor did her eyes rest upon his face longer than the one direct look--of
Hazel's peculiar directness--that kindly interest and innate courtesy
alike dictated.
"Why didn't you bring some one with you?" she asked, somewhat severely.
"It is not very polite to oblige Mr. Charteris to stand in the sun."
"There was the luggage," faltered Digby. "There was not much room, you
know."
He glanced sheepishly at Paul, but there was understanding without
sympathy to be read in Paul's countenance; and young Travers inwardly
dubbed this old acquaintance and near neighbour of the Le Mesuriers,
hard and callous of disposition.
"Well, I'll hold the horse," Hazel said, descending the steps and taking
the bridle from Paul's hand, "and perhaps you two would not mind lifting
up the trunk. It is not so heavy as it looks."
This matter dexterously accomplished, Digby Travers got to his seat
again, expecting Paul to help Hazel to her allotted place, frankly eager
to be gone. He was somewhat taken aback when the girl, who had
disappeared for the space of a few moments, returned with an enormous
umbrella of sombre green hue, which she opened with some difficulty, and
proffered to him with both hands, gravely matter-of-fact.
"I shall not be long," she announced, "but I want to see mother again
before we start, and--and I did not know Mr. Charteris had called. You
don't mind, do you?" she added, "It is rather heavy, but the stick is so
tall that you can rest the handle on the seat beside you if you take
your hat off, and, though ugly, it casts a cool and restful light."
So saying she re-entered the house, followed by Paul, leaving poor Digby
disconsolate beneath an extensive shade; so extensive, indeed, that
though noonday was approaching and the sun was high in the heavens, the
quadruped also enjoyed the benefit of it, over its hind quarters, well
to its middle.
"Have you been here long?" Hazel asked of her companion, as the two
paused in the hall, at the foot of the stairway.
The girl's usually bright spirit was clouded for the moment. A while
since all had been bustle and excitement--she had made her small plans
and arrangements with much of interest and ardour--had packed her small
wardrobe with a keen sense of anticipatory pleasure. There had been
something of the stirring nature of the heroic in yesterday's farewells
to the elongated Monday faces of her brothers; and her tender solicitude
was not unmixed with youthful elation at the thought that her mother
would miss her right sorely. Now, of a sudden, all this seemed changed.
Without doubt or question, she did not want to go, and the vague
consciousness that Paul did not wish it either, that he too would miss
her, did not tend to lift the girl's despondency; for she was tender,
true, and pure womanly, and, being so, knew nothing of the malicious joy
of that perversity wherein so many of Eve's daughters delight.
She sank down upon the first stair, rather listlessly, and looked to
Paul for his answer.
"An hour," he said, "when you appeared. But Hazel," he added
commiseratingly, "you have tired yourself over all that packing. Could
not one of the maids have done it?"
"I am not tired, thank you," she answered absently, "at least, I do not
think I am."
Paul did not look satisfied. The girl was pale, and the small hands,
usually nervous-looking and energetic, lay limp before her.
"I am sorry," she continued, "I did not know. Miles could not have
known, or he would have sent us a message. You must have been very
dull."