THE PRINCIPAL BOY: AN INTERLUDE
I
CAPTAIN LOTTINGAR opened the door of the library and roared up the
staircase--
"Lottie!"
Miss Lottie Lottingar came down. She was an exceedingly handsome young
person,--what is usually known as "a fine figure of a woman,"--but there
was nothing of the squire's daughter about her, as there should be about
a youthful _chatelaine_ who comes tripping down the shallow oak stairs
of a great Elizabethan country house. There is usually something breezy,
healthy, and eminently English about such a girl. Lottie, although her
colour was good and her costume countrified enough, smacked of the town.
She was undeniably attractive, but in her present surroundings she
somehow suggested a bottle of champagne at a school-treat. She would
have made an admirable "Principal Boy" in a pantomime. As a matter of
fact, she had been one.
Her father led the way into the library, and having shut the door, lit a
cigarette and leaned against the carved mantelpiece. Lottie sat on a
table and swung her legs.
"Where's the Honourable?" inquired the captain.
"Out," said Lottie tersely.
"I know that. Where?"
"Plantations."
"What's he after?"
"Shrimps, I expect," said Miss Lottingar flippantly.
"That will do. We're talking business just now. Showing any signs yet?"
"Lots."
"When will he come to the scratch?"
"Pretty soon, if you and your pals don't mess things."
The gallant captain's brow lowered.
"None of your lip, my girl!" he remarked. "What do you mean--mess
things?"
"I mean that you'll have to play carefully if you aren't going to scare
him away."
"Scare him? How?"
"Well, you and the others are a bit out of your depth in this affair.
I'll do you the justice, Dad, to admit that in the ordinary way of
business you are a hard nut to crack; but coming the country gentleman
over a man who, though he's a mug, _is_ a country gentleman, is rather
more of a job than your lot can manage comfortably. Look at Jerry!"
"What's wrong with Jerry?"
"Him? It's the first time he's played at being a gamekeeper, and he
doesn't know the rules, that's all."
"How do you know?"
"The Honourable told me. Said it wasn't his business, of course, but he
was afraid my father had got hold of a thoroughly incompetent keeper,
and perhaps he ought to be told so--haw!"
The captain snorted.
"What did you say?" he asked.
"I advised him," replied his daughter, smiling indulgently, "not to
mention it. I said you were rather fond of your own judgment in some
things, and might be offended."
"Well, Jerry does his best," said Lottingar; "but you are right, Lottie,
for all that. He'll muck things. You must keep the young fool out of his
way. Can't you take him out for walks, or something?"
"Walks? What excitement!" Miss Lottingar cast up her eyes pathetically.
"Well, you can go motoring with him as soon as we get a chauffeur.
That's what I wanted to see you about."
"Who is the chauffeur? One of the--one of your friends?"
"No, worse luck! Every man I can trust is in this business already. We
must make shift with some absolutely straight fool."
"That'll be a pleasant change," remarked Miss Lottingar.
"It will be all right in the long run," continued her father. "He need
never suspect anything. We can keep him mowing the grass or something
during his spare time. And if you can't bring off that proposal within a
week, my girl," he concluded, throwing his cigarette into the grate,
"you're not the sort I took you for."
"Give me the motor; I'll do the rest," said Miss Lottie, quite
undisturbed by this direct reference to her virgin affections.
"And for the Lord's sake be quick about it! The expense of all this
flummery is something cruel. There'll be nothing left to divide when
it's all over if you can't--"
"There's somebody coming up the drive," said Lottie, who was gazing
indifferently out of the window.
A few minutes later the door was opened by the captain's butler, an
elderly gentleman of benevolent appearance. A student of physiognomy
would have put him down as a rather eccentric and easily-imposed-upon
philanthropist. (He had made his living almost exclusively out of this
fact for the past thirty years.)
"Young feller to see you, Cap," he announced, having first satisfied
himself that, saving the presence of the Principal Boy, his employer
was alone.
"About the motor?"
"Yes."
"Show him in."
The butler retired, and presently returned, ushering a young man,
squarely built and black of hair, with serious blue eyes and a healthy
brown face.
"I came to see if you were still in want of a chauffeur, sir," he said
in reply to the captain's interrogation. "I have been employed at the
Gresley works."
"I do want a chauffeur" replied the warrior on the hearthrug; "but how
am I to know that you will do, my man?"
"If you care to go and put any part of the machinery out of order, I
will undertake to put it right again; and after that I could take you
for a run in the car."
This sounded direct and business-like, and pleased the captain, and,
incidentally, the captain's daughter.
"Well, that's fair enough. Go and have something to eat now, and after
that you can take Miss Lottingar and myself for a spin. By the way,
what's your name?"
"John Armstrong--sir!" said Pip. (He was always forgetting that word.)
"Have you any references?"
"No."
"Could you get any?"
"I might, but I'd rather not."
The captain regarded this blunt young man curiously. He possessed no
references himself, and he moved in a class of society where such things
were regarded with pious horror. Pip rather attracted him.
"Never mind them at present," he said, ringing the bell. "If you can
handle the car you will suit me. If you can't, you are worth nothing,
and you'll get nothing. Would you be willing to do odd jobs as well?"
"Certainly."
The butler appeared.
"Howard," said the captain, "take this man and give him something to eat
in the steward's room, and let me see him again at three o'clock."
Mr. Howard, looking particularly benevolent, led Pip away, and Captain
Lottingar was left alone with his daughter.
"He'll do, Lottie, I think," he said carelessly.
"M' yes--he'll do," said Lottie.
Her father turned round.
"You don't seem quite sure. What is it?"
"Nothing. I'm sure enough. Take him."
So the bargain was concluded, and Pip found himself engaged as chauffeur
to Captain Cuthbert Lottingar (regiment unknown), of Broadoak Manor,
Great Stileborough, Herts.
But Lottie was not sure. She had observed one fact which had escaped her
usually astute parent, and that was that the new chauffeur was a
gentleman--and, as such, a suspicious character. An ordinary mechanical
mechanic would have been harmless; but a gentleman was a superfluity,
and therefore a source of danger. But Lottie hesitated to comment on the
fact. Wisdom said, "Take no risks"; feminine curiosity said, "Chance
it!" Lottie chanced it, not for the first time in the history of
womankind.
II
However dubious the impression which the new chauffeur had made upon
Miss Lottingar, it is only fair to state that the impression made by
Miss Lottingar and her gallant papa upon the new chauffeur was more
dubious still. Pip, who was not an expert where women were
concerned,--only an enthusiastic amateur,--made a mental note that
Lottie "looked a good sort, and was a rare pretty girl." Being less
biassed and more experienced in regard to his own sex, he was nearer the
mark in his estimate of her father. The fact that Lottie's complexion
was not entirely her own was unrevealed to him, but he did not fail to
write down Captain Lottingar as a "bounder." He observed that his
employer, though he carefully pronounced "here" "heah," not infrequently
called "nothing" "nothink"; and Pip still possessed enough regard for
the fetishes of his youth to be conscious of a thrill of positive horror
at the spectacle of a man who wore brown boots with a top-hat on Sunday.
Various guests visited Broadoak,--gentlemen with waxed mustaches and
loud garments,--most of whom appeared to be intimate friends of
Lottie's. They shot Captain Lottingar's rabbits by day, with indifferent
success, and played cards most of the night. Much the most interesting
of the guests, however, was the gentleman heretofore referred to as "the
Honourable." He was more than a guest at Broadoak,--he was almost one of
the family. Captain Lottingar slapped him on the back and called him "my
boy"; Captain Lottingar's friends addressed him with admiring deference
and borrowed money from him; and Miss Lottingar behaved to him in a
manner which left no doubt in the minds of casual observers as to the
state of her affections.
The Honourable himself was a pleasant but dissipated-looking youth of
about two-and-twenty. His stature was small, and his attainments, beyond
those indigenous to every well-born and well-bred young Englishman,
insignificant; but his appreciation of the pleasures of life was great.
He was a good specimen of that type of young man but for whom
chorus-girls would be compelled to pay for their own diamonds. Pending
the arrival of the time when he would be called upon to assume the
office of an hereditary legislator, he was engaged in what he called
"seeing life." He did not see much, though he thought he did, for his
field of vision was limited; but what he saw he saw thoroughly. He
entertained a great admiration for Captain Lottingar, whom he had
encountered at a flashy club in town; and any fleeting doubts, derived
from the hints of experienced and officious friends, which he might have
entertained as to the genuineness of that warrior's pretensions to
gentility were at once set at rest when he arrived, in response to a
pressing invitation, on a visit to "my old place in Hertfordshire." A
ripening friendship with the Principal Boy was now turning his
admiration for the name of Lottingar into positive infatuation; and
altogether the Honourable Reginald Fitznorton was in that condition
usually described as "ready for plucking."
Pip, who did not as a rule concern himself overmuch with his neighbours'
affairs, soon became conscious of a distinct feeling of curiosity in
regard to his present surroundings. Captain Lottingar one day mentioned
to the Honourable in his hearing that the family of Lottingar had
inhabited Broadoak Manor, without intermission, from the days of Queen
Elizabeth,--a statement which Pip found rather hard to reconcile with
the fact that there lay in the garage at the back of the house a
notice-board, showing every sign of having been recently uprooted from
the grassplot by the front gate, inscribed with the simple legend "TO
LET." Moreover, one afternoon, while exploring the numerous passages in
the house in search of the Principal Boy's fox-terrier, which he had
been bidden to catch and wash, Pip made the discovery that, with the
exception of the dining-room, library, kitchens, hall and a few
bedrooms, Broadoak Manor was a warren of empty rooms destitute of
furniture, though a few of the more conspicuous windows were furnished
with curtains.
His fellow-menials also were a curiosity-inspiring crew. The
establishment, besides Howard, consisted of a not unattractive
middle-aged female who cooked; a beetle-browed individual named Briggs,
the keeper, who, though inclined to be reticent on matters connected
with that exotic biped, the pheasant, was a mine of information on
worldly topics, and a perfect encyclopaedia of reference in regard to
horse-racing; and a pretty but pert maid, who made eyes at Pip, and
once, in a moment of inadvertence, addressed the saintly Howard as "Pa."
All were on the best of terms, and sat down to poker in the evening
with a regularity and cheerfulness which convinced the inexperienced Pip
either that servants' halls were not what he had imagined them to be, or
that adversity had landed him in a very shady establishment.
However, he discovered one refreshing and self-evident truth in this
home of mystery. There was no doubting the fact that the Honourable's
courtship of Miss Lottingar (or Miss Lottingar's courtship of the
Honourable, if you happened to live on the other side of the curtain)
was fast maturing to a definite conclusion. On numerous motor excursions
Pip found himself compelled to combine with his duties as chauffeur the
highly necessary but embarrassing role of gooseberry. Occasionally Miss
Lottingar attempted to drive the car herself, but as a rule Pip had
entire charge, the young people sitting together in close companionship
in the tonneau behind. Occasionally the car would be stopped, and Pip
would be kindly bidden to smoke his pipe, what time the Honourable
escorted Miss Lottingar into a neighbouring plantation, to watch
hypothetical pheasants feeding; or Miss Lottingar took the Honourable up
a by-path, to show him a view which had sprung into existence within the
last five minutes.
Pip, simple soul, knew nothing and cared less about the gentle art of
husband-hunting. He felt himself irresistibly drawn towards this young
couple. He abandoned himself to sentimental sympathy, and drove his car
or smoked his pipe with his eyes fixed resolutely before him, thinking
of Elsie and wondering if his own turn would ever come.
One day, as they were returning from a long afternoon's spin, the car
suddenly slowed down to a stop, and with the complete and maddening
finality of its kind refused to move another inch. Pip divested himself
of his coat and disappeared beneath the vehicle, emerging after a brief
supine scrutiny to announce that the necessary repairs would involve the
assistance of a blacksmith and take an hour and a half to execute. The
couple received this announcement with marked composure, and left Pip to
wrestle with the car, merely bidding him call for them at the "George"
at Lindley, two miles ahead, on his way home.
It was dark by the time that the united efforts of Pip and the
blacksmith restored the car to a state of kinetic energy, and it was
more than two hours before Pip called at the "George" for his
passengers. They climbed swiftly into the tonneau, and the car proceeded
on its way. His charges were unusually silent, and Pip, turning suddenly
to ask for a direction, surprised the Honourable in the act of kissing
the Principal Boy's hands.
The Honourable departed next morning for London. In the afternoon the
car was ordered round, and Miss Lottie announced her intention of
receiving a driving-lesson. Pip instructed her to the best of his
ability, and by constant vigilance and the occasional intervention of
Providence succeeded in indefinitely prolonging the span of life of two
old women, one cow, seven children, and innumerable cocks and hens.
Presently it began to rain.
"Never mind about putting up the hood, Armstrong," said Lottie. "It's a
rotten affair--keeps no rain out. Let's run under those thick trees over
there."
Pip took the wheel, and the car slid up a narrow lane and came to anchor
under the thickest part of an arching grove of chestnuts.
"There," said the Principal Boy, removing her gloves, "I feel regularly
done up. My hands are all of a shake after that beastly wheel. Am I
improving?"
"You are a good deal steadier than you were--Miss," said Pip.
"That's all right. Much obliged for your help. You're a good sort,
Armstrong."
"Armstrong" turned extremely pink.
"Look here," continued Lottie breezily, "I'm tired of calling you
Armstrong. What's your name?"
"Er--John."
"Right-o! I shall call you Jack. And now, Jack, I want to ask you
something. What are you doing driving a motor-car?"
"Jack" regarded his mistress with some apprehension.
"Why shouldn't I drive a motor-car?" he asked, rather defiantly.
"Why? Because you're a gentleman. Bless you, dear boy, do you think I
didn't spot that long ago? What was it--debts?"
"Debts" seemed to meet the requirements of the situation without unduly
straining the truth, so Pip nodded.
"Ah!" said Miss Lottingar sympathetically; "I know. We have been that
way all our lives in our family."
Pip thought of Broadoak Manor and its present proprietor, and felt no
surprise.
"Dad has lived on his wits ever since I can remember," continued Miss
Lottingar. "I suppose you see what sort of a customer he is?" she added,
in a sudden burst of candour.
Pip nodded again. "I think I do," he said.
"He's a game old chap, is Dad," continued the dutiful daughter, "but
he's on the lowest peg at present. However, I landed the Honourable last
night, so things ought to look up now."
Pip, who regarded the love of a man for a maid as something rather more
sacred than honour itself, fairly gasped at this offhand remark.
"You mean--you are engaged to him?"
"Yes," said the Principal Boy in a matter-of-fact tone. "He asked me
last night at the 'George,' when you were tinkering at the car."
"Oh! Congratulations!" said Pip awkwardly.
"Thanks. But all the hard work has to come yet."
"What do you mean?"
"We've landed him. Now we have to skin him!"
After this somewhat unfeeling reference to her intended, Miss Lottie sat
silent, evidently wondering whether her sudden liking for the quiet
chauffeur had not caused her to be a little indiscreet.
Presently Pip said--
"I suppose he has gone to London to tell his father?"
"The Earl? Not much. I made Fitz promise to avoid the old man till I
gave him leave. He has gone up to town for the engagement ring. When he
gets back to-morrow he is going to write and tell him everything. That
will bring his lordship down here double-quick, and we'll settle
everything in one fair, square, up-and-down scrap." Miss Lottingar
almost smacked her lips.
"Will the Earl object, then?"
"Object? My dear boy, look at me!"
Pip looked. He saw a pair of bold black eyes, a very red and entrancing
mouth, a _retrousse_ nose, an alluringly dimpled chin, and a good deal
of glinting coppery hair. Individually these features were distinctly
attractive, but there was something about the _tout ensemble_ that
supplied an immediate answer to the owner's extremely frank question.
"You'll know me again," said Miss Lottingar, rather faintly.
"Beg your pardon," said Pip, ungluing his gaze with a jerk. "Bad habit
I've got. Yes, perhaps he will object."
"I should think so. 'Fast girl--shady father--with all their goods in
the shop window!' That's what the old man will see, if he's the least
bit less of a fool than his son."
"But," said Pip, "won't he consent if he sees that you really--care for
each other?"
"Afraid he won't see that," said Miss Lottingar composedly.
Pip stared.
"You mean you don't really care for Fitznorton at all?" he said.
"My dear boy, have you _seen_ him?" inquired Lottie plaintively.
"Yes. But--why on earth are you going to marry him?"
"I'm not quite certain that I am," said the Principal Boy coolly.
"But you said you were."
"I said I was engaged to him."
"Sorry! I had an idea it was the same thing," said Pip.
Lottie gazed at him, not without a certain admiration.
"Not quite," she said. "You're a simple old chap, Jack, but I like you
for it; so I'll tell you what we are going to do. When the Earl comes
down here--the day after to-morrow, I expect--Dad and I will interview
him. Fitz won't be there: I shall send him out into the woods to chase
rabbits. Then we shall point out to the old dear that if the engagement
is not permitted my heart will be broken."
"Oh!"
"You see?"
"I begin to. What will it cost to repair it?"
"A hundred thousand pounds."
"You value your heart at rather a high figure."
"He can afford the money: it's a mere fleabite to him. He is one of the
richest men in England."
"Well?"
"If he agrees, I sign a paper renouncing all claim to Fitz. The Earl
writes a cheque, takes Fitz home in a bandbox, and Dad is on his legs
again. That's all."
"Suppose the Earl doesn't agree?"
"He will. It will be a pill for him, but he doesn't want the family name
dragged through the law courts."
"But suppose?"
"Well, if he does, we are ready for him. If he ab-so-lute-ly refuses, I
go to the front door, whistle up Fitz, pop him into this motor, skim off
to Lindley, and get married by special licence. Fitz has agreed, and has
the licence in his pocket now. Then I shall have an even stronger card
to play--do you see?"
"Afraid not. Too deep for me."
"Well, once we're legally married, the old chap will find that as a real
wife I am far more expensive to get rid of than before."
"Get rid of?"
"Yes. He wouldn't think of admitting _me_ to his almighty family circle.
He would have to ask now what I would take to live apart from Fitz."
"Live apart?"
"Yes."
"And you'd agree?"
"For two hundred thousand--yes."
"My word! You'd leave your husband?"
"Yes. You don't suppose I want to spend all my days with an image like
Fitz, do you?"
Lottie threw herself back petulantly in her seat. Presently Pip laid his
hand on her arm.
"Don't!" said he.
"Don't what?"
"Don't be drawn into this affair."
"Why not? Seems to me I'm in it pretty thick already."
"You could break it off--at once. It would be the kindest thing to do."
"It would be a blamed silly thing to do," said Miss Lottingar frankly.
"Do you care for him at all?"
"Fitz? Not a rap."
"But--do you like him?"
"Oh, yes! He's a decent little sort."
"Well, just think what it would mean to him if he married you, and
then--found out."
"Um!" said Miss Lottie thoughtfully.
"Besides," continued Pip, following up his advantage, "think of
yourself."
"I usually do," said Lottie.
"Women were never meant for that low-down sort of game," said Pip,
getting to the heart of his subject.
Suddenly Lottie blazed out.
"There you go! Women, women, women! I wonder if there was ever a man in
this world that could treat a woman sensibly. Some men--most men--look
upon women as fair game, and treat them accordingly. The others--men
like you--look on them as little pot angels, and shudder when they show
they are made of flesh and blood. Women are human beings, no better and
no worse than men, only they don't get the chances men do, Jack. That's
all--human beings! Remember that."
"It's a hard world for women, I know," said Pip, rather staggered by
this outburst. "But some good chap is bound to come along and--er--make
you happy, and all that. Hasn't there ever been--anybody of that kind?"
"Lots."
"None you cared about, perhaps?"
"Not one. Well, there was one. Jim Lister is his name. He is assistant
stage-manager at the Crown Theatre."
"Well?" said Pip hopefully.
"I--I liked him well enough, but we should always have been
poor--awfully poor--and--"
"If a couple are really fond of each other, nothing else matters a
damn," said Pip, with conviction. "Sorry! I mean you might do worse."
Lottie rounded on him.
"There you go again. 'Might do worse!' 'Be thankful for small mercies!'
It's a rotten game being a woman, Jack. You are a man and can't
understand. But if you'd had as hard a time as I have,--yes, and if
you'd seen half as much of this world as I have,--you'd be gentler with
me, Jack."
Certainly the conversation was taking an unexpected turn. Pip was
completely out of his depth. Ten minutes ago he had been a respectful
chauffeur, teaching a rather flamboyant young mistress how to drive a
car. Now he was sitting by the selfsame young mistress, holding her arm
in a friendly fashion, and talking to her as an elder brother might talk
to a petulant child.
The irregularity of the situation apparently struck Miss Lottingar at
the same moment, for, with one of those swift and characteristically
feminine changes of mood which leave mere man toiling helplessly behind
in the trammels of logical consistency, she abruptly released her arm,
observed brightly that the rain had ceased, wondered if it wouldn't turn
out a fine evening after all, and bade Armstrong drive home as fast as
possible.
III
The Honourable Reginald Fitznorton was due back at four o'clock next
afternoon. The motor was ordered round, and Pip drove Lottie to the
station to meet him. Lottie, who was looking pale and not quite herself,
declined to sit in the tonneau, and accompanied Pip on the front seat.
In spite of the facilities for conversation afforded by this position
she said little; and Pip, whose repertory of conversational openings was
not extensive, said nothing at all. Besides, he was not certain whether
he was to be treated to-day as a big brother or as a chauffeur.
Had he been a more observant big brother or a less diligent chauffeur he
might have noticed that from time to time he was being favoured by his
mistress with a sidelong scrutiny of some intensity. Being Pip, he saw
nothing. One act of hers might have afforded him a good deal of
information had he desired it. When the car, which had started late,
rounded the last corner on the way to the station, there appeared in the
offing no less a person than the Honourable himself, bag in hand, and
diffusing happiness around him. Suddenly Pip became conscious of
something. The girl at his side seemed to shrink up to him, and for a
moment her hand travelled towards his as if for protection. An instant
later she was leaning back in her seat, smilingly dipping an answering
pennant to the frenzied signals of her rapidly approaching swain.
The car slowed down to a stop. Miss Lottingar stepped out, and was
received by her enraptured lover, regardless of Pip's presence, with a
smacking salute that fairly drowned the noise of the engine. After that
the happy couple entered the tonneau, and Pip, with eyes rigidly turned
to the front, heard little and saw nothing of them throughout the drive
home.
As the Principal Boy had confidently predicted, the Right Honourable the
Earl of Cartavon arrived at Broadoak Manor at lunch-time next day. The
inmates of that venerable pile were ready for him. Howard, looking like
a retired archbishop, received him at the door, and Captain Lottingar,
in tweeds and gaiters, greeted him in the library. His lordship was
affably informed that, in consequence of recent surprising and joyful
disclosures by the young folk, his visit was not altogether unexpected;
and that if he would join the house-party at luncheon, the business on
which he had come down might be comfortably discussed over a cigar in
the library afterwards.
This much was retailed in the servants' hall by Howard, whose
well-formed ears had missed little or nothing of the dialogue in the
library, even in a filtered form. Mr. Briggs opined, amid general
approval, that "the Captain and the gal between them could bleed the old
toff proper."
After lunch the Honourable emerged from the front door, armed only with
a walking-stick, and set out briskly, apparently on a country walk. At
the same time word was sent to Pip that the motor would be required at
three.
Punctually to time he ran the car up the broad avenue, passing the
library windows on the way. He was conscious of a group of three round
the fire,--it was a chilly day in late September,--and he wondered how
the process of bleeding was getting on.
The car and its driver stood before the front door for more than an
hour. It was after four when the front door suddenly opened, and Lottie,
banging it behind her, hurriedly descended the steps. She slipped up
beside Pip.
"Start off," she said--"quick!"
Pip got down and set the engine going.
"Where to?" he inquired.
"Anywhere!" said Lottie in a choking voice, "anywhere! But get started."
Pip sprang up into his place and took the wheel. The great car ceased
vibrating and began to creep forward. Suddenly it gave a mighty plunge,
and sped down the avenue.
At the same moment Captain Lottingar, looking anything but a country
gentleman, and furiously angry, threw open the library window and bawled
to Pip to stop. But the louder he bawled and the more thoroughly he
blasphemed the faster the car shot down the drive.
Lord Cartavon sat stiffly in a high-backed chair by the fire.
"I shouldn't trouble if I were you, Captain--er--Lottingar," he said.
"She won't come back."
Captain Lottingar banged down the window, and, returning to his
favourite position on the hearthrug, summed up his daughter's character
in terms which would have been excessive if applied to Jezebel herself.
The Earl stood up.
"Sir," he said, "I am obliged to you for your hospitality. I will walk
to the station now, and catch the five-thirty train back to town. I
presume, after what has just happened, that we may regard this incident
as closed. And let me tell you, Mr. Lottingar," the old gentleman added,
turning on his heel as he opened the door, "that Miss Lottingar is a
d----d sight too good a daughter for such a shark as yourself."
After he had gone, Captain Lottingar kicked a valuable Japanese
fire-screen (for which he had not paid) round the room.
IV
On clearing the lodge-gates Pip turned the car to the left, and they
spun down the London road. For an hour they travelled, sometimes slowing
through a village or changing gear up a hill, but usually running at top
speed, rolling up the miles like shavings under a jack-plane. Pip sat
gripping his wheel, intent on his work. Lottie, rigid and upright
beside him, looked straight before her, with her hands clasped tightly
together under the rug. Occasionally she cast a sidelong glance at her
silent companion.
At last, when they had covered nearly thirty miles, Lottie spoke.
"Jack, I want to talk to you. Stop this machine in some quiet place.
That beastly engine makes too much noise for me."
Pip, who was getting used to these wayside halts, ran the car up the
next opening and stopped.
Then the two turned and regarded each other. A glance apprised Pip of
the fact that he was to be big brother again.
"Well?" he said.
"Jack, I've done it this time."
"Done what?"
"Upset the apple-cart. Poor old Dad! But I'd do it again!"
"How did you do it the first time?" said Pip patiently.
"Well, I'll tell you. After lunch, Dad and I and his lordship went into
the library. We all sat down, the old gentleman very stiff and upright.
He had hardly given me a glance so far, but now he turned and looked at
me. I felt pretty small, Jack. I can hold my own in a staring match with
most people, but that proud old man fairly beat me. He simply looked
right through me at the cushion my head was leaning against. By the way,
you can do that a bit, too, Jack. It's a trick some men have. That's
what first made me think that you--where was I?"
"In the library."
"Oh, yes. Well, at last the old man turned to Dad, and looked at _him_.
Dad didn't half like it, I could see. The old man said--
"'I understand that my son proposes to ally himself with--er,--this
young lady?'
"'Yes,' said Dad, 'he does.'
"'And you have given your consent to the match?'
"'Yes', says Dad, as solemn as a judge; 'after due consideration, I
have.'
"'Then I may as well tell you at once,' says his lordship, quite
briskly, 'that I am utterly and entirely opposed to the match, and will
never give my consent to it.'
"There was a little silence, and we all three settled down in our chairs
as much as to say, 'Now we are really getting to business.' Presently
Dad said,--
"'I am afraid, my lord, that solemn agreements of this kind are not so
easily broken. Consider my daughter's feelings.'
"'I am perfectly willing to consider her feelings, sir,' says the old
gentleman, with a little odd bow. Then he turned to me and said,--
"'May I ask a direct question? Are you genuinely attached to my son?'
"I wished he wouldn't keep on at me like that. However, I had to keep my
end up, so I said, in a sort of soft voice, 'Yes.'
"'Ah,' said he, as if he was thinking. Then Dad, evidently considering
we were wasting time, put in,--
"'If this match is broken off, my daughter's susceptibilities must be
solaced in a very substantial manner.'
"Then the old gentleman turned and looked Dad through and through, and
said, 'Ah!' again, as much as to say, 'I thought so.'
"'Well,' he said at last, 'how much do you want?'
"'_I_?' says Dad, still playing the game--'nothing. _I_ am not the
injured party. It is for my poor girl to say.'
"The Earl looked at me. I took a big breath, and said, 'A hundred
thousand pounds.'
"'You value your heart at rather a high figure, madam,' says he. (Do you
remember, those were the very words _you_ used to me, Jack?) Then he
swings round to Dad, and says,--
"'Of course this is preposterous. I am willing to pay you five thousand
pounds, to extricate my son from the trap, the carefully baited
trap'--he looked all round the room, and I _knew_ he knew everything in
it had been got on the nod--'into which he has fallen. That is more than
you would get out of the most impressionable jury, and I advise you to
take it, Mr.--er--Lottingar.'
"'Quite true, my lord,' says Dad. 'But you know you'd give more than a
hundred thousand to keep the family name out of the courts. You don't
want the papers to get hold of it. "A Cabinet Minister's son sued for
Breach-of-Promise"--you know the sort of stuff--and Lottie's portrait in
"The Sketch."'
"'I am afraid we are wasting time, Mr. Lottingar,' says his lordship.
'If your daughter will sign a document, which I will draw up for her,
renouncing all claims to my son, and undertaking not to molest him for
the future, I will give her a cheque for five thousand pounds. If not, I
must bid you good-afternoon.'
"'A hundred thousand!' says Dad.
"'I think you are acting foolishly,' says the old man, getting up. 'If
you refuse my offer I shall go up to town now, and call on my solicitor
to-morrow morning; and I think it highly probable, from what I see of
your surroundings here, and from what I know of your antecedents
already, that I shall be able to make it exceedingly risky for you to
face the publicity of the law courts in any capacity whatsoever. In
fact, I should not be surprised if you had to leave the country.'
"My word, Jack, he was fine! He dropped each word out of his mouth like
a little lump of ice. But old Dad stood up to him. He simply chuckled.
"'No, no, my lord, it won't do,' he said. 'I have laid my plans farther
ahead than you think. Now, look here. If you don't sign that little
cheque I'm asking for, Lottie here will walk straight out of this house,
take her motor, pick up your son, who is waiting for her at the roadside
this minute, and drive straight to Lindley, where they will be married
by special licence this very afternoon. Your son has got that licence in
his pocket now. And when the two are firmly tied up, you'll realise two
things, my lord,--first, that it's hardly the thing to rake up the past
life of your daughter-in-law's father; and secondly, that a wife is a
deal more expensive to buy off than a _fiancee_.'
"After that there was a _very_ long pause. Dad was top dog again, and
the old Earl was thinking it out. Suddenly he turned to me. He said,--
"'You say my son has a special licence in his pocket?'
"'Yes,' I said.
"'And you have asked him to wait by the roadside for you this afternoon,
in case of--contingencies?'
"'Yes.'
"'You must possess great influence over him.'
"'She does,' says Dad, before any one else could speak.
"The old man took not the slightest notice, but went on talking to me.
"'If you married my son you would demand a large sum--'
"'Two hundred thousand quid,' says Dad.
"'You would demand a large sum,' goes on the Earl, acting as if he and I
were alone together, 'as a condition of your living apart from him and
refraining from molesting him. Would you?'
"The words began to stick in my throat a bit, but I said, 'Yes.'
"'I think,' he went on, 'that you told me just now that you were deeply
attached to my son?'
"This time I just nodded.
"'Then you mean to say,' he says, looking at me in a way that simply
made me feel faint, 'that you would marry a young man whom you profess
to love, and, having blackmailed him to the fullest possible extent,
would readily consent to live apart from him, leaving him prevented by
the law of the land from ever taking a wife of his own station and
fulfilling his duty to society and posterity, so long as you remained
alive? For the sake of a sum of money you would deliberately wreck the
life of a foolish but good-hearted young man, who has paid you the
highest honour that a man can pay a woman; and with his life you would
wreck the fortunes of an ancient and honourable house? Would you do
that?"
"His face was like iron, Jack, but there were tears in his eyes. I sat
gripping the arms of my chair. Suddenly Dad struck in,--
"'Come, come, my lord! you are simply wasting words. Which is it to be?
Will you settle this matter, or must Lottie take the final step?'
"The old man said nothing, but looked at me. And then suddenly I found
my voice. I boiled over, for I had realised at last what an awful thing
I was going to do--awful for him, and awful for me. Somehow I didn't
feel as if I could back Dad any longer. It flashed across me what I had
been trying to do--sell myself! I'm not a great saint, Jack, but, thank
God! I realised in time that there are things in this world that money
can't buy. I just stood up and said,--
"'Dad, it's no good. I simply won't do this. I can't think why I ever
consented. I'm sorry. I've always backed you up to now; but I'm a decent
girl after all, and I _won't_ do this--I _won't_, I _won't_.'
"Then I sat down and cried a bit. Dad looked perfectly flummoxed. In a
minute I had dried my eyes, and I said to the old lord,--
"'Lord Cartavon, I wouldn't marry your son if you begged me on your
knees. I won't marry a man I don't love, so I won't marry _him_. Keep
your cheque-book in your pocket. I renounce all claims to him--there!'"
Lottie's voice broke at last.
"Oh, well done!" said Pip softly.
"That's just what the old lord said," exclaimed the girl, turning a
surprised look upon him. "You both seem to have the same feelings."
"Well, what happened next?" inquired Pip.
"Things were a bit mixed after that," said Lottie, not without relish.
"There was a great roar like thunder, and Dad dashed across the room at
me. He was in an awful passion. He nearly killed me once, when he--never
mind that. But the old Earl just stepped in front of him and said,
'Gently, sir, gently! there is a lady present.' Then he went quickly to
the door and opened it, and gave me a little nod to go. All the time he
was holding Dad's arm with his other hand. I walked out, and the old man
bowed to me as I passed, and said, very gently, 'God bless you, young
lady!' He said that--to me!" she reiterated proudly, turning a pair of
shining eyes on Pip. "Then he closed it behind me just as Dad broke
into another roar. I rushed out of the house, hopped on to the car, and
here we are!"
V
"And what are you going to do now?" inquired practical Pip.
"I don't know, I daren't go back. Dad would kill me."
The girl shuddered, and turned to Pip appealingly, as a woman, however
strong her will may be, always turns to a man she knows she can trust.
Pip reflected in his deliberate fashion.
"You had better go to London," he said at last. "You know your way about
there, I expect. I think you should go on the stage again. You like it,
and it will make you independent. I suppose you can get an engagement?"
"Yes, I can manage that," said the Principal Boy. "Drive on now, Jack,
and take me to Hunsford Station. It can't be more than a mile or two
from here."
Once more the car sped through the gathering darkness.
"I'll go round to the 'Crown,'" continued Lottie more briskly, "first
thing to-morrow morning. Jim Lister will get me a shop of some sort, if
it's only in the chorus. That'll do to go on with."
"He must be a good chap," said Pip.
"He is," said Lottie warmly.
Presently they reached the little station. Inquiries elicited the news
that there would be a train for London in half an hour.
"I'll stay with you till it starts," said Pip.
He ran the car under a wall out of the wind, and continued talking. He
was in an unusually communicative mood, for him.
"I was wondering," he said, "why your feelings changed so suddenly in
that interview, after you had quite made up your mind to--for the other
thing."
"Don't know, I'm sure," said Lottie. "I can't think now what made me
agree to the idea, even for a moment. Jack, would you have thought
_very_ badly of me if--"
"I think I know what it was," continued Pip, who had been following his
own train of thought; "you must have been kee--fond of somebody else all
the time, fonder than you really knew, and when the critical moment
came, the thought of--of him, though you didn't know it, prevented you
from making yourself cheap. Is that it? Don't answer if it isn't a fair
question."
"Yes, Jack, it's a fair question."
"And am I right?"
There was a silence. Pip saw a rather strange look settle on the girl's
face. Presently she answered, in a low voice,--
"I believe you are."
"Then why not--go to him?"
"Perhaps--perhaps he doesn't want me."
"Are you sure? Is it Jim Lister?"
"No. He's a good boy, but it's not him."
"Ah! That's a pity."
Another pause. Lottie sat very still. She understood now why the idea of
marrying the Honourable had become suddenly repugnant to her. The reason
was sitting beside her, wondering what the reason could be. Lottie
excelled in woman's favourite pastime--playing with fire--but this time
she had burnt her fingers.
Pip talked to her a good deal during the next half-hour. Once he said,--
"I wonder what made you confide in me about all this. I expect it was
because you spotted that I was a kindred spirit--in the same state as
yourself."
"What state?"
"In love," said Pip simply.
"In love? Who with?" asked Lottie, ungrammatically but earnestly.
"I'll tell you if you like," said Pip. He launched into a description of
Elsie, reciting his hopes and fears with all the complete _abandon_ of
the reticent man when once he lets himself go.
"It isn't often," he concluded, descending to earth again, "that I
reveal my feelings to anybody. But I suppose things are rather out of
the common to-day."
"Does she care for you?"
"I don't see how she possibly can," said Pip, with absolute sincerity.
"But I'm going to ask her for all that."
"When?"
"As soon as I get on my legs again--financially."
"Ah, but when will that be? Debts are awful millstones, Jack."
"Debts? What? Oh, I forgot. Well, they are off."
"How?"
"This morning," said Pip, "I got a letter. It was from old Gresley, the
head of the Motor Works where I am employed. His son used to be a friend
of mine at Cambridge. The old man's letter is the most astonishing
affair. He offers to take me into partnership! He seems to--to have
taken a sort of liking for me," he added apologetically. "Isn't it like
a fairy tale?"
(What old Gresley had said was this: "Partly because you have always
been a good friend to my son, but chiefly because you combine
first-class mechanical ability with sound common sense and the power of
managing men, I write to ask if you will enter the firm as a partner, on
equal terms with Harry. He has brains and you have ballast. Between
you, you should sweep the board. I am getting old. Once the business is
fairly gripped by you, I shall retire and leave you to run the show
together. Give up your present post and come here at once, so that we
may discuss matters more fully and settle details.")
"Then you'll be rich again?" said Lottie wonderingly.
"Well enough off, at any rate," said Pip, "to go and have it out--"
"With _her_?"
"Yes. Here's your train. I'll get your ticket."
Pip put the Principal Boy into an empty first-class carriage, and having
shut the door conversed with her through the open window. The engine
gave an impatient whistle, but the line was not clear, and the
starting-signal remained obstinately red.
"Got any money?" said Pip awkwardly.
"Yes, thanks. Enough to keep me going."
The train still delayed, and Pip said,--
"I say, will you take my advice?"
"Depends on what it is."
"Go to Jim Lister."
"Well--I'll see," said the girl rather brokenly. She had borne up
bravely till now, but the prospect of parting from her protector and the
coming plunge into the unknown were telling their tale. Suddenly she
looked up.
"Jack," she whispered, "come with me!"
The two gazed at each other steadily. Never was there a more direct
invitation, and no man knows what thoughts passed through Pip's heart,
or how great the battle that was fought and won during that brief
minute. At length he spoke.
"I am still your father's paid servant, and until I have seen him and
thrown up my billet I must stay here."
Lottie bowed her head submissively. She knew her man.
"But I'll tell you what," continued Pip. "To-morrow I shall be in town.
If you _still_ want help, send a line to me at the Oxford and Cambridge
Club, and I'll come to you."
"You promise?"
"I promise. But _you_ must promise not to write unless you really need
me."
Lottie, a little mystified, agreed.
Suddenly the red signal-light turned to green. The guard at the rear of
the train broke off an engrossing conversation with the only porter, and
waved his lantern. The engine gave a preliminary quiver.
Lottie and Pip shook hands. The girl's eyes were full of tears. Poor
Principal Boy! Kindness which asked for nothing in return had been a
rarity in her life. Suddenly she said,--
"Give us a kiss, Jack!"
Pip complied, with a satisfactory thoroughness that elicited a humorous
expostulation from the only porter, who was passing by.
"Good-bye!" he said. "You'll be all right when you get to King's Cross."
Which cryptic remark was the last he ever addressed to the Principal
Boy, for the train glided out of the station, and he never saw her
again.
* * * * *
Before leaving the station Pip despatched the following telegram:--
_Lister, Crown Theatre, Strand, London._
Arriving King's Cross 7.30. Can you meet me? Want help badly.
LOTTIE.
The following morning, having discarded his chauffeur's attire and
departed from Broadoak Manor, after listening to an eloquent and most
enjoyable valedictory address from its tenant, Pip returned to London.
At the end of a highly satisfactory interview with the Gresleys he
turned his steps in the direction of the Oxford and Cambridge Club,
which he had not entered for three years.
He made himself known to those in authority, and announced that he had
now returned from "abroad." He then asked if there was any letter for
"Armstrong," which, he explained rather lamely, had been sent him under
that name, "by mistake."
Yes, there was a note left by a messenger that afternoon. He opened it.
It contained a single line--
All's well; and we thank you--_both_ of us!
LOTTIE LISTER.
BOOK THREE
THE JOURNEY'S END