Sir Thomas gazed at the envelope again. Joviality and benevolence
resumed their thrones.
"And in a feminine handwriting," he chuckled. He eyed the limp peer
almost roguishly. "I see, I see," he said. "Very charming, quite
delightful! Girls must have their little romance! I suppose you two
young people are exchanging love-letters all day. Delightful, quite
delightful! Don't look as if you were ashamed of it, my boy! I like
it. I think it's charming."
Undoubtedly, this was the opening. Beyond a question, his lordship
should have said at this point:
"Uncle, I cannot tell a lie. I cannot even allow myself to see you
laboring under a delusion which a word from me can remove. The
contents of this note are not what you suppose. They run as follows-
-"
What he did say was:
"Uncle, can you let me have twenty pounds?"
Those were his amazing words. They slipped out. He could not stop
them.
Sir Thomas was taken aback for an instant, but not seriously. He
started, as might a man who, stroking a cat, receives a sudden, but
trifling scratch.
"Twenty pounds, eh?" he said, reflectively.
Then, the milk of human kindness swept over displeasure like a tidal
wave. This was a night for rich gifts to the deserving.
"Why, certainly, my boy, certainly. Do you want it at once?"
His lordship replied that he did, please; and he had seldom said
anything more fervently.
"Well, well. We'll see what we can do. Come with me."
He led the way to his dressing-room. Like nearly all the rooms at
the castle, it was large. One wall was completely hidden by the
curtain behind which Spike had taken refuge that afternoon.
Sir Thomas went to the dressing-table, and unlocked a small drawer.
"Twenty, you said? Five, ten, fifteen--here you are, my boy."
Lord Dreever muttered his thanks. Sir Thomas accepted the guttural
acknowledgment with a friendly pat on the shoulder.
"I like a little touch like that," he said.
His lordship looked startled.
"I wouldn't have touched you," he began, "if it hadn't been--"
"A little touch like that letter-writing," Sir Thomas went on. "It
shows a warm heart. She is a warm-hearted girl, Spennie. A charming,
warm-hearted girl! You're uncommonly lucky, my boy."
His lordship, crackling the four bank-notes, silently agreed with
him.
"But, come, I must be dressing. Dear me, it is very late. We shall
have to hurry. By the way, my boy, I shall take the opportunity of
making a public announcement of the engagement tonight. It will be a
capital occasion for it. I think, perhaps, at the conclusion of the
theatricals, a little speech--something quite impromptu and
informal, just asking them to wish you happiness, and so on. I like
the idea. There is an old-world air about it that appeals to me.
Yes."
He turned to the dressing-table, and removed his collar.
"Well, run along, my boy," he said. "You must not be late." His
lordship tottered from the room.
He did quite an unprecedented amount of thinking as he hurried into
his evening clothes; but the thought occurring most frequently was
that, whatever happened, all was well in one way, at any rate. He
had the twenty pounds. There would be something colossal in the
shape of disturbances when his uncle learned the truth. It would be
the biggest thing since the San Francisco earthquake. But what of
it? He had the money.
He slipped it into his waistcoat-pocket. He would take it down with
him, and pay Hargate directly after dinner.
He left the room. The flutter of a skirt caught his eye as he
reached the landing. A girl was coming down the corridor on the
other side. He waited at the head of the stairs to let her go down
before him. As she came on to the landing, he saw that it was Molly.
For a moment, there was an awkward pause.
"Er--I got your note," said his lordship.
She looked at him, and then burst out laughing.
"You know, you don't mind the least little bit," she said; "not a
scrap. Now, do you?"
"Well, you see--"
"Don't make excuses! Do you?"
"Well, it's like this, you see, I--"
He caught her eye. Next moment, they were laughing together.
"No, but look here, you know," said his lordship. "What I mean is,
it isn't that I don't--I mean, look here, there's no reason why we
shouldn't be the best of pals."
"Why, of course, there isn't."
"No, really, I say? That's ripping. Shake hands on it."
They clasped hands; and it was in this affecting attitude that Sir
Thomas Blunt, bustling downstairs, discovered them.
"Aha!" he cried, archly. "Well, well, well! But don't mind me, don't
mind me!"
Molly flushed uncomfortably; partly, because she disliked Sir Thomas
even when he was not arch, and hated him when he was; partly,
because she felt foolish; and, principally, because she was
bewildered. She had not looked forward to meeting Sir Thomas that
night. It was always unpleasant to meet him, but it would be more
unpleasant than usual after she had upset the scheme for which he
had worked so earnestly. She had wondered whether he would be cold
and distant, or voluble and heated. In her pessimistic moments, she
had anticipated a long and painful scene. That he should be behaving
like this was not very much short of a miracle. She could not
understand it.
A glance at Lord Dreever enlightened her. That miserable creature
was wearing the air of a timid child about to pull a large cracker.
He seemed to be bracing himself up for an explosion.
She pitied him sincerely. So, he had not told his uncle the news,
yet! Of course, he had scarcely had time. Saunders must have given
him the note as he was going up to dress.
There was, however, no use in prolonging the agony. Sir Thomas must
be told, sooner or later. She was glad of the chance to tell him
herself. She would be able to explain that it was all her doing.
"I'm afraid there's a mistake," she said.
"Eh?" said Sir Thomas.
"I've been thinking it over, and I came to the conclusion that we
weren't--well, I broke off the engagement!"
Sir Thomas' always prominent eyes protruded still further. The color
of his florid face deepened. Suddenly, he chuckled.
Molly looked at him, amazed. Sir Thomas was indeed behaving
unexpectedly to-night.
"I see it," he wheezed. "You're having a joke with me! So this is
what you were hatching as I came downstairs! Don't tell me! If you
had really thrown him over, you wouldn't have been laughing together
like that. It's no good, my dear. I might have been taken in, if I
had not seen you, but I did."
"No, no," cried Molly. "You're wrong. You're quite wrong. When you
saw us, we were just agreeing that we should be very good friends.
That was all. I broke off the engagement before that. I--"
She was aware that his lordship had emitted a hollow croak, but she
took it as his method of endorsing her statement, not as a warning.
"I wrote Lord Dreever a note this evening," she went on, "telling
him that I couldn't possibly--"
She broke off in alarm. With the beginning of her last speech, Sir
Thomas had begun to swell, until now he looked as if he were in
imminent danger of bursting. His face was purple. To Molly's lively
imagination, his eyes appeared to move slowly out of his head, like
a snail's. From the back of his throat came strange noises.
"S-s-so--" he stammered.
He gulped, and tried again.
"So this," he said, "so this--! So that was what was in that letter,