He was speaking to me about the coming holidays, and begging me in a
most humble manner to choose what time I should like to take mine,
assuring me that any time would do for him.
I suggested, curtly, that as Doubleday had not yet had his holiday I
considered he had first choice.
"Oh," he said, "I don't think so. Besides, Batchelor, Doubleday and I
could both be away at the same time; but I really would hardly feel
comfortable in going unless you could take charge of the petty-cash
while I am away."
"Smith will be back," I said; "he could do that for you."
As I expected, his face clouded.
"I can't agree with you there, Batchelor. But don't let us talk of
that. I hope you will choose the time you would like best. I can
easily arrange for any time."
"I don't know what makes you so wonderfully civil," said I, losing
patience at all this soft soap. "After all that has happened,
Hawkesbury, I should have thought you might have spared yourself this
gush, as far as I was concerned."
"I would like bygones to be bygones between us, Batchelor. I know quite
well I have been to blame in many things! I am sorry for them now, if
it prevents our being friends."
And he smiled sweetly.
I gave it up in disgust, and let him say what he liked. It was not
worth the trouble of preventing him, unless I was prepared for an open
rupture, which just then I felt would be unwise, both on Jack's account
and my own.
So he had the satisfaction of believing his sweetness had made its due
impression on my savage breast, and of scoring to himself a victory in
consequence.
As I had found it before, hard work proved now to be the best specific
for dull spirits, and during the next few days I gave the remedy a full
trial.
It seemed ages before any letter came from Packworth, and I was dying to
hear. For meanwhile all sorts of doubts and fears took hold of me. How
had that strange family meeting gone off? Had it been marred by
Masham's cruel letter? or was the poor lost father once more finding
happiness in the sight of one whom he had last seen an infant beside his
dead wife? Surely if sympathy and common interest were to count for
kinship, I was as much a member of that little family as any of them!
At last the letter came. It was from Jack:
"Dear Fred,--We got down on Wednesday. Father went that night to the
hotel, as his heart failed him at the last moment. I went on to Mrs
Shield's, and found your telegram on my arrival. I was horrified, but
hardly surprised at what it told me. Happily, Mary was in bed, as I had
not been expected till the morning, so I was able to explain all to Mrs
Shield. She knew all about it before I told her; for the enclosed
letter had arrived by the post in the morning, addressed to Mary.
Mercifully, seeing it was in a strange hand, and, as I have often told
you, being most jealously careful of Mary, Mrs Shield took it into her
head to open the letter and read it before giving it to Mary, and you
may imagine her utter horror. She of course did not let her see it, and
thus saved the child from what would have been a fearful shock; and I
was able to break it all to her gradually. Father is to come this
evening--I am thankful it is all so well over.
"How are you getting on? Anything fresh at Hawk Street? I don't envy
Hawkesbury or his friend their feelings just now; but I am determined to
take no notice of this last brutal plot. Good-bye now.
"Yours ever,--
"J.S."