CHAPTER IVA COMPLICATION
The morning following the events of the last chapter, Philip was taking an early breakfast alone, preparatory to going into Robertson Street in quest of furniture for the bungalow. He was regretting that his purse was not longer. His mother’s income was not considerable either, for which reasonMr.Burns had elected to make one of the household, to give him the excuse to augment his sister’s income. (The excuse he gave was his loneliness.)
Philip had artistic tastes, and he would have liked to make the bungalow something unique. He liked to write amid perfect surroundings, for his work was beautiful work—too beautiful to pay well—and he had an idea that surroundings influenced him a great deal when he wrote.
The windows of the room in which he sat were open, and sweet scents from the garden filled the air.
All at once he caught sight of Uncle Robert coming from the gate, hatless, and with a big towel round his neck.
He was returning from his customary swim.
He hailed his nephew joyously:
“The water is fine this morning, Phil! Why don’t you go for a swim like me?”
“Not fond of it, uncle,” replied Philip a little curtly.
Uncle Robert came in at the window and pouredhimself out a cup of coffee, upsetting it on the white cloth, to his nephew’s annoyance, and adding to his iniquities by dabbing it up with the table-napkin Philip had just laid down.
Really, Uncle Robert’s ways were a constant irritation to Philip.
“Why not ring for one of the servants to put that right?” Philip remarked.
“Never give others a thing to do when you can do it yourself,” repliedMr.Burns, drinking off his coffee at a single gulp. “And, by the way, Philip, I want to have a hand in this furnishing of yours.”
Philip broke into a smile. Uncle Robert’s taste was too awful to bear thinking of.
“Thank you, uncle,” he said; “but, you know, I just want to follow my own fancies in this.”
“Of course, of course, Philip! I know I should be of no use in choosing your gimcracks. What I meant was, that I wrote out a check for a hundred pounds for you before I went out. It will help you to have things you fancy.”
Philip’s usually pale face became scarlet with shame.
How he snubbed this uncle, how he allowed himself to be irritated with him and his ways! Yet Uncle Robert never resented it, and was always good-humored and kindly.
This generous gift covered the young man with confusion.
“I don’t deserve your kindness, Uncle Robert,” he broke out impulsively. “I am always surly with you, and you are always kind. I feel ashamed of myself, and I may as well own it. It is a good thing for you I am taking myself off!”
“They say biting and scratching is Scotch folks’ wooing,” laughed Uncle Robert; “and if you dosometimes drop on me like a thousand of bricks, you are fond of your old uncle, all the same, and he knows it! Why, bless my soul! I want taking down a peg or two sometimes. It is good for me!”
“I want taking down a good many pegs!” acknowledged Philip humbly.
He had a very poor opinion of himself just at this moment.
Just then Mrs. Barrimore appeared, looking very girlish, in a muslin morning-gown, which had sprigs of lavender upon a white ground.
Philip rose and placed a chair for her, and when she was seated, leaned over and kissed her.
“You have a new dress on, mother,” he remarked. “It is very pretty—but—isn’t it a bit young for the mother of a big son like me?”
He spoke with gentle raillery, but the mother was a little hurt.
“Do you really think that, Philip?” she asked anxiously. “I told Colonel Lane last night that you thought I ought not to wear hats. He thought it nonsense.”
“Don’t you attend to Philip’s foolish remarks, Annie,” put in Uncle Robert. “A woman is as young as she looks—and you look about five-and-twenty.”
“I can’t help looking young,” said Mrs. Barrimore apologetically.
“You ought not to want to help it,” Uncle Robert told her.
“She doesn’t!—do you, mummy?” laughed Philip, looking with affection at the delicate face blushing so rosily.
The advent of letters covered Mrs. Barrimore’s confusion. One was for Philip. He scrutinized the handwriting with an odd expression on his face.
At last he said: “If I did not know Dan Webster so well, I should imagine he had been drinking! Look at the unsteady, wavering writing, mother!”
“Yes, it is unsteady,” she answered. “Open it, Philip. Perhaps he is ill.”
“Oh!” ejaculated the young man, as he read the opening passage. “Poor Dan!”
“What is it?” came from Mrs. Barrimore and uncle in a duet.
“His eyes have gone wrong. He is to do no painting for a long time. He is down in the depths,” said Philip. “Poor Dan! and his people, who have never approved of his taking up art as a profession, say it is a judgment on him! He says there is no reason to fear loss of sight if he follows the doctor’s directions rigidly. It is necessary to take entire rest, and till the inflammation is subdued he must wear a green shade. He has unfortunately very little money, but, all the same, he says he shall take a room somewhere to be away from nagging and reproaches.”
Uncle Robert jumped up and knocked over his cup (just replenished by his sister). “Why can’t he come here?” he inquired.
“There will be Philip’s room,” added Mrs. Barrimore. “I will write to-day and ask him. The garden is so restful, and he can walk on the sea-front with you, Robert, and sit and listen to the band.”
“And I can read to him,” rejoined Uncle Robert. “I shall go out and telegraph.”
He was marching off through the window to carry out his project when his nephew reminded him that he was wearing no collar.
“‘A sweet disorder in the dress,’ eh?—as Herrick puts it,” said Uncle Robert. “I can send a wire without the aid of a collar.”
With that he departed.
“What a brick Uncle Robert is!” commented Philip, as the bulky form disappeared, “and I am ashamed of my intolerance, mother! Do you know, he is giving me a hundred pounds for furnishing?”
“I am not surprised, Philip, at any generous act from your uncle. He will take Dan completely under his wing, you will see, and will commission all our portraits, I expect, as soon as Dan’s eyes are well.”
“Well, mother, Dan is a splendid fellow, and a handsome one, too; and, mark my word, some old lady whose portrait he paints will one day leave him a fortune.”
“I only hope so,” smiled the mother. “And now, I suppose you will want to be off on your shopping expedition. By the way, there is a lovely old oak dresser for sale in a shop in High Street—in the Old Town, you know. The shop is not far fromSt.Clement’s Church—a secondhand shop, of course. You will know it by a big horse painted up on the side. You might look at the dresser. Also, they have a dear old grandfather clock, and you said you wanted one. I should like to go with you to see the bungalow.”
“So you shall, mother,” said Philip, rising. “But let me get it in order first.”
Mrs. Barrimore’s tender mouth quivered. She so much wanted to do the “putting in order” herself for her boy. But he had his own ideas, and she tactfully said nothing of her disappointment.
Philip hurried off and caught a tram to the Memorial, from the top of which he beheld Uncle Robert coming back, puffing and blowing, from the General Post Office. His face was red and beaming from pleasant thoughts.
In Robertson Street Philip encountered Phyllis, looking like a flower in her white frock and blue ribbons.
“I have been shopping early, Philip,” she said, smiling up at him. “I am going to Fairlight Glen to a picnic this afternoon, and I had to get a new parasol to match my dress. I wish you were going! Oh, father was so horrid about Captain Arbuthnot going home last night! I do hope he doesn’t find out! But no one knows but you, and you won’t tell.”
“What about the clergyman who married you?” asked Philip.
“He was a stranger—taking duty, and you know that father goes to Blacklands Church, thoughSt.Clement’s is our parish. But I must go. I have lots of things to do.”
Philip watched her as she tripped away in the sunshine, and his heart misgave him. There was trouble in store for little Phyllis he felt sure—and possibly for Arbuthnot. What a fool Arbuthnot had shown himself!
But then!—a man in love—what will he not do? Had Eweretta lived, would he not have been as wax in her dear little brown hands?
The thought of those brown hands brought a mist before his eyes. He saw her before him in all her young, joyous beauty. The rich coloring on her sun-kissed face; the dark masses of her hair; her wonderful dark eyes. He had been wont to call her his prairie flower.
He had a wild longing to see her half-sister, whom he had heard so exactly resembled her. He would be kind to Aimée Le Breton for her sake. But should he ever find her? She had disappeared from Qu’Appelleso completely. Philip, as he walked towards the “Old Town,” had an odd feeling of beingoutsidelife. His life seemed to be ended, while he still remained to haunt the places where he had formerly lived. Reality seemed to have given place to something dreamlike. Outwardly he was the same Philip, except that he was graver. But inwardly he felt himself a sort of ghost, that took part in a life in which it had no real place.
He was really keen about the bungalow. He wanted to drown himself in work. Work was the only real panacea when the heart sorrowed. He did not wear his heart on his sleeve, however, not being built that way.
As he was passing the two yachts (known as theAlbertines), he was suddenly accosted by Colonel Lane.
“Have you seen Phyllis?” demanded the Colonel. “An old flame of hers—Herbert Langridge—has just turned up unexpectedly. He is staying at the ‘Albany.’ Should not wonder if he is come to try his luck once more!”
“I just left her in Robertson Street,” answered Philip, who felt decidedly uncomfortable.
“Oh, well, I will go in pursuit,” said the Colonel. “Langridge is going to lunch with us. To tell you the truth, I should not be sorry to see her settle down in that quarter. He’d keep her in order! Good-bye!”
“Here is a pretty kettle of fish!” muttered Philip, as he strode on.