It is probable that Mrs. Da Souza, excellent wife and mother though she
had proved herself to be, had never admired her husband more than when,
followed by the malevolent glances of Miss Montressor and her friend,
she, with her daughter and Da Souza, re-entered the gates of the Lodge.
The young ladies had announced their intention of sitting in the fly
until they were allowed speech with their late host; to which he had
replied that they were welcome to sit there until doomsday so long as
they remained outside his gates. Mr. Da Souza lingered for a moment
behind and laid his finger upon his nose.
“It ain't no use, my dears,” he whispered confidentially. “He's fairly
got the hump. Between you and me he'd give a bit not to have us, but me
and him being old friends--you see, we know a bit about one another.”
“Oh, that's it, is it?” Miss Montressor remarked, with a toss of her
head. “Well, you and your wife and your little chit of a daughter are
welcome to him so far as we are concerned, aren't they, Flossie?”
“Well, I should say so,” agreed the young lady, who rather affected
Americanisms.
Da Souza stroked his little imperial, and winked solemnly.
“You are young ladies of spirit,” he declared. “Now--”
“Hiram!”
“I am coming, my dear,” he called over his shoulder. “One word more, my
charming young friends! No. 7, Racket's Court, City, is my address.
Look in sometime when you're that way, and we'll have a bit of lunch
together, and just at present take my advice. Get back to London and
write him from there. He is not in a good humour at present.”
“We are much obliged, Mr. Da Souza,” the young lady answered loftily.
“As we have engagements in London this afternoon, we may as well go
now--eh, Flossie?”
“Right along,” answered the young lady, “I'm with you, but as to writing
Mr. Trent, you can tell him from me, Mr. Da Souza, that we want to have
nothing more to do with him. A fellow that can treat ladies as he has
treated us is no gentleman. You can tell him that. He's an ignorant,
common fellow, and for my part I despise him.”
“Same here,” echoed Miss Montressor, heartily. “We ain't used to
associate with such as him!”
“Hiram!”
Mr. Da Souza raised his hat and bowed; the ladies were tolerably
gracious and the fly drove off. Whereupon Mr. Da Souza followed his wife
and daughter along the drive and caught them up upon the doorstep. With
mingled feelings of apprehension and elation he ushered them into the
morning-room where Trent was standing looking out of the window with his
hands behind him. At their entrance he did not at once turn round. Mr.
Da Souza coughed apologetically.
“Here we are, my friend,” he remarked. “The ladies are anxious to wish
you good morning.”
Trent faced them with a sudden gesture of impatience. He seemed on the
point of an angry exclamation, when his eyes met Julie Da Souza's. He
held his breath for a moment and was silent. Her face was scarlet
with shame, and her lips were trembling. For her sake Trent restrained
himself.
“Glad to see you back again, Julie,” he said, ignoring her mother's
outstretched hand and beaming smile of welcome. “Going to be a hot day,
I think. You must get out in the hay-field. Order what breakfast you
please, Da Souza,” he continued on his way to the door; “you must be
hungry--after such an early start!”
Mrs. Da Souza sat down heavily and rang the bell.
“He was a little cool,” she remarked, “but that was to be expected. Did
you observe the notice he took of Julie? Dear child!”
Da Souza rubbed his hands and nodded meaningly. The girl, who, between
the two, was miserable enough, sat down with a little sob. Her mother
looked at her in amazement.
“My Julie,” she exclaimed, “my dear child! You see, Hiram, she is faint!
She is overcome!”
The child, she was very little more, broke out at last in speech,
passionately, yet with a miserable fore-knowledge of the ineffectiveness
of anything she might say.
“It is horrible,” she cried, “it is maddening! Why do we do it? Are we
paupers or adventurers? Oh! let me go away! I am ashamed to stay in this
house!”
Her father, his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat and his legs far
apart, looked at her in blank and speechless amazement; her mother, with
more consideration but equal lack of sympathy, patted her gently on the
back of her hand.
“Silly Julie,” she murmured, “what is there that is horrible, little
one?”
The dark eyes blazed with scorn, the delicately curved lips shook.
“Why, the way we thrust ourselves upon this man is horrible!” she cried.
“Can you not see that we are not welcome, that he wishes us gone?”
Da Souza smiled in a superior manner; the smile of a man who, if only he
would, could explain all things. He patted his daughter on the head with
a touch which was meant to be playful.
“My little one,” he said, “you are mistaken! Leave these matters to
those who are older and wiser than you. It is but just now that my good
friend said to me, 'Da Souza,' he say, 'I will not have you take your
little daughter away!' Oh, we shall see! We shall see!”
Julie's tears crept through the fingers closely pressed over her eyes.
“I do not believe it,” she sobbed. “He has scarcely looked at me all the
time, and I do not want him to. He despises us all--and I don't blame
him. It is horrid!”
Mrs. Da Souza, with a smile which was meant to be arch, had something to
say, but the arrival of breakfast broke up for a while the conversation.
Her husband, whom Nature had blessed with a hearty appetite at all
times, was this morning after his triumph almost disposed to be
boisterous. He praised the cooking, chaffed the servants to their
infinite disgust, and continually urged his wife and daughter to keep
pace with him in his onslaught upon the various dishes which were placed
before him. Before the meal was over Julie had escaped from the table
crying softly. Mr. Da Souza's face darkened as he looked up at the sound
of her movement, only to see her skirt vanishing through the door.
“Shall you have trouble with her, my dear?” he asked his wife anxiously.
That estimable lady shook her head with a placid smile. “Julie is so
sensitive,” she muttered, “but she is not disobedient. When the time
comes I can make her mind.”
“But the time has come!” Da Souza exclaimed. “It is here now, and
Julie is sulky. She will have red eyes and she is not gay! She will not
attract him. You must speak with her, my dear.”
“I will go now--this instant,” she answered, rising. “But, Hiram, there
is one thing I would much like to know.”
“Ugh! You women! You are always like that! There is so much that you
want to know!”
“Most women, Hiram--not me! Do I ever seek to know your secrets? But
this time--yes, it would be wiser to tell me a little!”
“Well?”
“This Mr. Trent, he asked us here, but it is plain that our company is
not pleasant to him. He does his best to get rid of us--he succeeds--he
plans that we shall not return. You see him alone and all that is
altered. His little scheme has been in vain. We remain! He does not look
at our Julie. He speaks of marriage with contempt. Yet you say he will
marry her--he, a millionaire! What does it mean, Hiram?”
“The man, he is in my power,” Da Souza says in a ponderous and stealthy
whisper. “I know something.”
She rose and imprinted a solemn kiss upon his forehead. There was
something sacramental about the deliberate caress.
“Hiram,” she said, “you are a wonderful man!”