The Marquis, with an after-breakfast cigarette in his mouth, strolled
out of his front door, a few mornings later, to find himself face to
face with Richard Vont. He called Letitia, who was behind.
"The worst has happened," he groaned.
Letitia stood by her father's side and looked across the stone flags,
across the avenue, with its central bed of gay-coloured flowers, the
ring fence, the moat, the few yards of park, to where, just inside his
little enclosed garden, Richard Vont was seated, directly facing them.
"Well, you expected it, didn't you, father?" she observed.
"All the same," the Marquis declared, with a frown, "it's an irritating
thing to have a man seated there within a hundred yards of your front
door, with a Bible on his knee, cursing you. I am convinced now, more
than ever, that my case against this man must have been grossly
mismanaged. The law could never permit such an indignity."
Letitia stepped back for a moment to light a cigarette. Then she
rejoined her father and contemplated that somewhat grim figure
critically.
"If he is going to do that all the time," the Marquis went on, "I shall
have nerves. I shall have to live in the back part of the house."
Letitia gravely considered the matter.
"Why don't you try talking common sense to him?" she suggested.
"Perhaps a few words from you would make all the difference."
"He is probably sitting there with a gun," her father sighed.
"However, it's an idea, Letitia. I'll try it."
He strolled across the avenue, through a little iron gate in the
railings, and across the moat by a footbridge. When he had approached
within a dozen paces of the palings, however, Richard Vont rose to his
feet.
"You're nigh enough, Lord Mandeleys," he called out, "nigh enough for
your own safety."
The Marquis advanced with his usual leisurely and aristocratic walk to
the edge of the palings. Richard Vont stood glaring at him like a wild
beast, but there was no signs of any weapon about.
"Vont," the former said, "we both have rights. This park is mine so
far as your paling, just as your garden is yours where you are. I have
no fancy for shouting, and I have a word to say to you."
"Say it and begone, then," Vont exclaimed fiercely.
"Really," the Marquis expostulated, "you are behaving in a most
unreasonable manner. I am here to discuss the past. For any wrong
which you may consider I have done you, I express my regret. I suggest
to you that your daughter's present position in life should reconcile
you to what has happened."
"My daughter's brains nor your money don't make an honest woman of her."
The Marquis sighed wearily.
"Your outlook, Vont," he said, "is full of prejudice and utterly
illogical. I found qualities in your daughter which endeared her to
me, and she has lived a perfectly reputable and engrossing life ever
since she left your home, such a life as she could not possibly have
lived under your roof or in this part of the world. In every way that
counts, she has prospered. Therefore, I ask you to reconsider the
matter. I claim that any wrong I may have done you is expiated, and I
suggest that you abandon an attitude which--pardon me--is just a little
theatrical, put aside that very excellent Book or else read it as a
whole, and give me your hand."
"I'd cut it off first," Vont declared savagely.
"This is rank prejudice," the Marquis protested.
"It seems so to you, belike," was the scornful answer. "You clever
folk who can crowd your brain with thoughts and ideas from
books--you've no room there for the big things. You've so many little
weeds growing up around that the flower doesn't count. Nought that you
can say about Marcia can alter matters. I'd sooner have seen her
married to the poorest creature on your land than to know that she has
lived as your dependent for all these years."
The Marquis shook his head sorrowfully.
"You're an obstinate old man, Vont," he said, "and a very selfish one.
You are wrapped up in your own narrow ideas, and you won't even allow
any one else to show you the truth. Marcia has been happy with me.
She would have been the most miserable creature on earth married to a
clod."
"Ay, she's been here to show herself," Vont muttered, "down in a
motor-car, in furs and silks, like a creature from some world that I
know not about. She's talked as you've talked. I've listened to the
pair of you. I thrust my daughter out of the garden and bade her go
away and learn the truth. And you--well, I just take leave to say that
as I cursed you nigh on a score of years ago, and have cursed you in my
heart ever since, so I curse you now!"
"But are you going to sit there every day doing it?" the Marquis
enquired, a little irritably.
"This house and garden are mine," Richard Vont replied stolidly,
"although you've done your best to beggar me by taking them away. When
I choose, I shall sit here. When I choose, I shall sit and watch you
with your guests, watch you morning, noon and night. I've one wish in
my heart, hour by hour. Maybe that wish will reach home, Marquis of
Mandeleys. If it does, you'll see them all in black along the
churchyard path there, and hear the doors of your vault roll open."
"You're a little mixed in your similes, my friend," the Marquis
remarked, "because, you know, if those things happen--to me, I shall be
the one person who doesn't hear them. Still, I gather that you are
implacable, and that is what I came to find out. What astonishingly
fine hollyhocks!" he observed, as he turned away. "I must go and look
at my own."
For a moment there was tragedy in Vont's clenched fists and fierce,
convulsive movement forward. The Marquis, however, without a backward
glance, lounged carelessly away and, finding Letitia, strolled with her
to the walled garden.
"The man is impossible," he proclaimed. "It is obviously his intention
to sit there and make himself a nuisance. Well, we get used to
everything. I may get used to Richard Vont."
Letitia hesitated for a few moments.
"Father," she said, "there are certain subjects which are not, as a
rule, mentioned, but if you will permit me--"
The Marquis stopped her.
"My dear, please not," he begged, a little stiffly. "Remember, if you
will, that I have little in common with the somewhat modern school of
thought indulged in by most of your friends. There are certain
subjects which cannot be discussed between us. Let us hear what Mr.
Hales has to say."
Hat in hand, the head gardener had hastened down to meet them, and
under his tutelage they explored his domain. His master murmured
little words of congratulation.
"I have done my best, your lordship," the man observed, "but Mr.
Merridrew has been cruel hard on me for bulbs and seeds and plants, and
as to shrubs and young trees, he'll not have a word to say."
The Marquis nodded sympathetically.
"We may be able to alter that next year, Hales," he promised. "Mr.
Merridrew, I know, has had great trouble with the tenants for the last
few quarters. Next year, Mr. Hales, we will see what we can do."
The gardener once more doffed his cap and received the intelligence
with gratified interest. Over the top of the hill, a small governess'
cart, drawn by a fat pony, came into sight, and Letitia waved her hand
to the girl who was driving.
"It's Sylvia Laycey," she murmured. "Now how on earth can that child
still be at Broomleys, if Mr. Thain is really here?"
Sylvia explained the matter as she drove into the great stableyard,
Letitia walking on one side of her and the Marquis on the other.
"Of course we've left Broomleys," she told them, "but we are staying
with the Medlingcourts for three or four days. They asked us at the
last moment. And then your letter came, Letitia--just in time. I'm
simply crazy to come and stay with you. Letitia, you lucky girl! You
are going to be here all the time! I am simply foolish about him!"
"About whom?" Letitia asked indifferently.
"Why, Mr. David Thain, of course! He's the nicest thing I've ever
talked to. He lunched with us on Thursday--but of course you're in
love with him, too, so there'll be no chance for me."
Letitia's laugh was half amused, half scornful.
"If you are in earnest, Sylvia," she said, "which doesn't seem very
likely, I can assure you that you need fear no rival. Mr. Thain does
not appeal to me."
"We have nevertheless found Mr. Thain," the Marquis observed, suddenly
reminding them both of his presence, "a very agreeable and interesting
acquaintance."
Sylvia made a little grimace. She thrust her arm through Letitia's and
drew her off towards the lawn, where some chairs had been brought out
under a cedar tree.
"You are such a wonderful person, Letitia," she said, "and of course
your father's a Marquis and mine isn't. But I thought, nowadays,
Americans were good enough for anybody in the world, if only they had
enough money."
"Both my father and I, you see," Letitia observed, "are a little
old-fashioned. I have never had any idea of marriage, except with some
one whose family I knew all about."
"Of course," Sylvia declared, "I am a horrid Radical, and I think I'd
sooner not know about mine. If Mr. Thain's antecedents were
unmentionable, I should adore him just the same, but, as I know your
father would remind me in some very delicate fashion if he were here,
the situation is different. You don't mind talking about him, do you,
Letitia, because that's what I've come for?"
"Well, I'll listen," Letitia promised, as she settled herself in an
easy-chair. "I really don't know what I should find to say, except
that he's moderately good-looking, has quite nice manners, and money
enough to buy the whole county."
"You are fearfully severe," Sylvia sighed. "Of course, I've been
talking rot, as I always do, but we did find him charming, Letitia,
both Daddy and I. He was so simple and unaffected, and he drove me
into Fakenham and bought cutlets for our luncheon. When I come to
think of it," she went on, with a look of horror in her face, "I
believe he paid for them, too."
"He can well afford to," Letitia laughed.
The Marquis came to them across the lawn. He held in his hand an open
telegram.
"From Grantham, my dear," he said to Letitia. "It appears that he is
bored with town and proposes to come down to-morrow night instead of
waiting until Saturday. I have replied that he will be very welcome.
Mrs. Foulds will really have to bestir herself. I have a line from
Caroline, too, to ask if she may stay for a couple of days on her way
to Harrogate."
Letitia rose to her feet. The cloud which had fallen upon her face was
doubtless owing to housekeeping cares. The Marquis, shading his eyes
with his hand, was gazing across the park.
"Really," he remarked, a little drily, "I shall have to hint to our new
neighbour that turf which is several hundred years old is not meant to
be cut up like prairie-land. He sits his horse well, though."
Sylvia jumped quickly up and Letitia gazed in the direction which her
father had indicated. David, on his black horse, was riding across the
park towards Broomleys.