As a result of his visit to Rosemount, Hugh Murchison was very perturbed in his mind. He blamed himself severely for having been tempted into that rather intimate conversation at the tea-shop. Miss Burton was attractive enough, and lady-like enough, to excuse any man for taking advantage of his obvious opportunities, but he had been a fool to go farther. He ought never to have set his foot in the house of people of whom he knew nothing.
It was all Jack Pomfret's fault, he decided hastily. It was his influence, his keen desire to make the girl's acquaintance, that had weighed down his friend's prudence. For, if left to himself, Hugh was quite sure that he would have dallied and dallied till all inclination to call at Rosemount had died down.
And Pomfret had owned to being greatly impressed with the fair young chatelaine. He had admitted that he had never met a girl who had appealed to him in quite the same sort of way. In fact, it was easy to see he had fallen desperately in love with her.
And Jack was just one of those light-hearted, susceptible sort of chaps who have not an atom of common-sense in their composition, who will obey their impulses, regardless of consequences.
And he was not his own master. His career was practically at the disposal of his somewhat puritanical aunt. It was just on the cards that Jack would be mad enough to propose to this girl who had so bewitched him. One could imagine how the aunt would receive such a communication.
There was one little ray of hope, however. If Jack did commit such a crowning folly, he would be far too honourable not to acquaint Miss Burton with his circumstances. Hugh was fairly convinced that the young lady knew how to take care of herself. And, even if she did fall in love with Jack, as he had done with her, and be inclined to make a fool of herself, there was the objectionable brother to be reckoned with. He would certainly not allow his sister to engage herself to a man, except with the consent of that man's family.
All the same, it was as well to avoid any embarrassing entanglements, if possible. It is easy to retrace your steps when you have only just started.
With this object in view, Murchison sought his friend on the Sunday preceding the day on which they were to present themselves at Rosemount.
"Jack, old man, I have been thinking——" he began.
Mr. Pomfret lifted a warning finger. "My dear friend and mentor, don't indulge in such violent processes. It's very bad for you."
"Don't be an ass, Jack. You are not really funny when you say that sort of thing. I've been thinking over this business to-morrow, and, frankly, I don't relish the prospect. We had better cut it out."
Pomfret's face took on an obstinate expression. "You are speaking for yourself, of course. For my part, I don't intend to break my appointment. In my opinion, it would be an awfully low-down thing to do. If you didn't want to go, you shouldn't have accepted."
It was evident the young man was not in a very reasonable frame of mind, equally evident he would require very careful handling.
"Now, Jack, don't get off the handles. You know you are an awfully impetuous chap, and that I have much the cooler head of the two. I have been thinking it all out the last day or two, and I don't like the look of it."
"You informed me just now that you had been thinking," replied Mr. Pomfret in the same sarcastic strain. "There is no need to dwell upon the fact. It is obvious."
But the elder man was not to be ruffled. If anything unpleasant came of this sudden acquaintance he would lay the blame on himself for having mentioned that little incident of the tea-shop, and inspired the mercurial Jack's love of the daring and adventurous.
"I don't know that I did accept, as a matter of fact, except by implication. I was about to return an evasive answer, leave it in the air, so to speak, when you cut in and jumped at the invitation for both."
This was true, and Mr. Pomfret's air lost a little of its jaunty confidence. "Well, if you think I lugged you in, get out of it yourself. Of course you will have to tell some beastly lie that they will see through at once. Anyway I am going, and that's flat."
"If you go, I shall go," said Hugh firmly. "But I would like you to listen to me for a few moments, and put things before you as they present themselves to me."
"Fire away, then," was Pomfret's answer, but it was delivered in a very ungracious tone.
"Of course we are both agreed about the brother," began Hugh mildly.
The other interrupted impatiently: "The brother be hanged. We are not going to the house for the brother's sake, but because of the sister. what's the use of blinking the fact? If you had met him in the tea-shop instead of her, I don't suppose you would have wasted a word on him, no more should I. But I don't see why that pretty girl should be ostracised because of him."
"I don't quite see, under the circumstances, how you can separate them," pursued the obstinate Hugh. "I should like to turn off, just for a moment to the sister, and consider her."
"Go ahead," said Mr. Pomfret in a somewhat sullen tone. He was keeping his impulsive and fiery nature under control, out of his great respect for his friend. But it was very doubtful if he would stand much criticism even from one so respected.
"I have not a word to say against her appearance or her manners. I will go further, and say there is not a girl in Blankfield, or for the matter of that in the 'county' itself, who gives the impression of a thorough gentlewoman more convincingly than she does." Pomfret's face brightened at these words. "Oh, then you admit that, and you have knocked about the world a few years longer than I have. I am of the same opinion, but if you say it, it must be so."
"I do say it unhesitatingly, but mind you, I am only judging from outside appearances. Now, how comes it that such a refined and ladylike girl as that should have such a bounder of a brother? There is a mystery there."
Jack Pomfret prepared to argue. "I don't quite agree that he is a bounder, he is not quite boisterous enough for that. Let us agree on a common definition—namely, that he is bad form. That fits him, I think."
"And the sister is very good form. You can't deny that there is a mystery."
But the young subaltern developed a quite surprising ingenuity in argument.
"She just simply calls him her brother," sharply, "but she has told you he is her halfbrother by a first marriage—father a gentleman, mother a common person, hence the bad form. A second time, the father married a woman of his own class, hence Norah Burton. Norah knows him for a good sort, if a bit rough, and sticks to him. That's a reasonable theory, anyway."
"More ingenious than reasonable perhaps," commented Murchison with an amused smile.
Pomfret went on, warming to his subject. "And, hang it all, if we speak of bounders—and mind you, I won't admit he is a bounder in the strict sense of the term—is there a family in England without them?"
"Quite the same sort, do you think?" was Hugh's question.
"Look here, I'm not going to be impertinent, and ask if you can point to any amongst your own connections, but I know something of my own family. I've got a cousin, good blood on both sides. He's been a bounder from the time he learned to talk, sets your teeth on edge; as some fellow said, every time he opens his mouth he puts his foot into it. By Gad, this fellow Burton is a polished gentleman to him. If George showed his nose in this regiment they would send him to Coventry in five minutes."
"As they did that chap last year," remarked Hugh, alluding to an offensive young man who had been compelled to send in his papers, owing to the fact that his general demeanour had not come up to the somewhat exalted standard of the gallant Twenty-fifth.
"Precisely," assented Pomfret. "But you were going to give me some views about the girl. Again I say, fire away."
"Well, to go back to that meeting in the tea-shop. It was, to say the least, a little unconventional for a young girl to invite an utter stranger to call upon her."
"You were not an utter stranger," retorted Jack doggedly. "She had heard who you were, perhaps from the tradespeople. She knew you were a gentleman, she knew your name, Captain Murchison. Hang it all, if you had met her in one of these dull Blankfield houses, and she had been introduced by a hostess about whom you both knew precious little, and asked you to call, being the mistress of her brother's house, you would have thought it quite the correct and proper thing. So would every man in the barracks. Don't people strike up acquaintances in hotels, and sometimes trains?"
"They generally find out something about each other before they pursue the acquaintance," suggested Murchison. "Look here, old man, you know as well as I do, you are arguing all round the point. It would be precious easy for the Burtons to say who and what they were, and furnish some proper credentials. If they did that, I daresay all Blankfield would call upon them, and swallow the brother for the sake of the very charming sister."
"Well, I'll pump her to-night, and get out all you want to know," retorted Mr. Pomfret confidently. "I don't go so far as to say they will be able to refer us to Burke or Debrett. Decent middle-class people, I expect."
It was useless to argue with such an optimist. "You've accounted for the brother, I remember, by your ingenious theory. Well, you've made up your mind to go then?"
"Most certainly I have. You do as you like, but while we are on the subject of good form, it is not a pretty thing to accept an invitation, and then excuse yourself at the eleventh hour by an obvious lie."
"Under ordinary circumstances, you would be quite right. It has not occurred to you that we were rather rushed into this dinner, then—that we were, so to speak, jumped at?"
"It might look like it at first blush," admitted Mr. Pomfret reluctantly. "But here are two poor devils, marooned, as it were, in this snobbish town, and they naturally jump at the first people who show them the slightest civility. They must simply be aching to exchange a word with their fellow-creatures. Well, I am going to exchange several with them, I promise you."
Hugh felt it was useless. When Pomfret got in these moods, it was waste of time to reason with him. He felt uneasy, however. He had promised his family to look after him, and he felt a certain responsibility. It was to be hoped the sudden infatuation for a pretty face would expire as quickly as it had been born.
Perhaps a closer association with the bounder brother would produce a chastening influence. But then Jack seemed bounder-proof. Had he not alluded to a well-born cousin, beside whom Burton shone as a polished gentleman?
Anyway, he must not desert his young and very impulsive friend. But it was with considerable reluctance that he accompanied him to Rosemount on the Monday night.
Eight o'clock was the hour appointed for dinner, this fact scoring in the Burtons' favour, as evincing a knowledge of the habits of good society. Even a few of the most select hostesses in Blankville, who ought to have known better, made a base compromise with half-past seven.
The two men arrived about five minutes before the time. The young hostess was awaiting them in the drawing-room, attired in some filmy creation that made her look very charming and ethereal. Soft lights from shaded lamps played about her, and lent a touch of perfection to the picture.
Mr. Burton was attired in the usual conventional evening dress of the English gentleman. One would have guessed him the sort of man who would wear a ready-made tie. Not at all. He had tied the bow himself, and with a masterly hand. Pomfret even, who was admitted to be the Beau Brummel of his regiment, could not have done it better.
It is generally supposed that a common man looks more common still when he dons evening attire. "George" was an exception to the rule. His black clothes became him, and lent him a certain air of dignity, which was wanting when he assumed everyday garments. Even Murchison, prejudiced as he was against him, was forced to admit to himself that the "bounder" for once looked quite respectable. Pomfret, ever leaning to the charitable side, felt quite enthusiastic over him, and contrasted him favourably with his own cousin, who could boast blue blood on both sides.
Norah Burton played the hostess as to the manner born, greeting the visitors with just the right degree of cordiality, quite free from the effusiveness of most of the Blankfield hostesses. And Burton, taking his cue from her, was hearty without boisterousness.
The young subaltern's heart warmed to her, she was so gracious, so sweet, and about her there hovered such an air of calm dignity. Rosemount, no doubt, was honoured by the introduction of such distinguished visitors, viewed merely from the social point of view, but she did not permit a suspicion of this to escape her. Rather, judging by her demeanour, the visitors were honoured by being admitted to Rosemount.
"Rather reminds me of a young queen entertaining her subjects," Pomfret remarked afterwards to his friend in a rather enthusiastic outburst. "I'm not speaking of the 'county' of course, but these Blankfield women make you feel they are overwhelmed with your condescension in coming to their houses, that they are hardly fit to sit at the same table with you."
The dinner was plain, but well cooked. The appointments were perfect, snowy napery, elegant glass and cutlery. One neat-handed maidservant waited, and waited well. Mr. Burton carved the dishes that were carvable, there was no pretence at anà la Russebanquet. Their small establishment could not cope with that, and they did not attempt it. There was a generous supply of wines: hock, burgundy and champagne.
And Mr. Burton, strangely subdued, was quite a good host, hospitable but not pressing. Murchison thought he must have been having some lessons from his sister, who seemed intuitively to do the right thing Still suspicious, he was sure that she had been steadily coaching him how to comport himself on this important night.
For, after all, it must be a feather in their caps, that after having been coldly cast aside by theéliteof Blankfield, they had captured for their dining acquaintance two of the most popular officers of the exclusive Twenty-fifth.
And Murchison, ever on the watch for any little sign or symptom to confirm his suspicions, had to admit the pair were behaving perfectly. Not the slightest sign of elation at the small social triumph manifested itself in the demeanour of either. Dinner-parties like this might be a common occurrence for all they showed to the contrary.
The substantial portion of the meal was over. Dessert was brought in, with port, claret and sherry, all of the most excellent vintage. The house was a small one, and not over-staffed, but there was no evidence of lack of means. Perhaps the Burtons were wise people in not keeping up a great show, but spending the greater part of their income on their personal enjoyments.
While the men were still lingering over their dessert, Miss Burton rose.
"There are no ladies to support me, so I shall feel quite lonely by myself," she said in her pretty, softly modulated voice. "Shall we have coffee in the drawing-room? You men can smoke. It is quite Liberty Hall here. My brother smokes in every room of the house."
Murchison noted the subtle difference between the brother and sister. If Burton had given the invitation, he would certainly have said, "you gentlemen." The beautiful Norah would not make a mistake like that.
Five minutes afterwards, the three men trooped into the pretty drawing-room with its subdued, shaded lights. Norah was sitting at a small table, on which were set the coffee equipage with an assortment of liqueurs. Decidedly, the Burtons knew how to do things when they received guests.
The "bounder" brother, as Hugh always called him to himself, had drunk very heavily at dinner of every wine: hock, burgundy and champagne. But evidently he could carry a big quantity. It would take more than a small dinner-party like this to knock him over. When he entered the drawing-room his mien was as subdued as when he had first received his visitors.
They drank their coffee round the fair-sized octagonal table, and then they broke up. Miss Burton retired to a Chesterfield, whither Pom-fret followed her, as he was bound to do.
Burton bustled out of the room, and returned with a huge box of expensive cigars. He offered the box to Hugh, who took one with a deprecating look at the young hostess.
"We dare not, Miss Burton. Think of your curtains in the morning."
"Don't trouble, Captain Murchison," she said, with her charming smile. "The curtains have to take what comes in this house. George doesn't often sit in this room, but when he does he always smokes cigars. I told you this was Liberty Hall, you know."
The box was offered to Pomfret, who took one. "Do you smoke, Miss Burton?" he asked.
"Once in a blue moon. I think I will have one to-night, as a little treat. It is terribly tempting, when I see all you men smoking." The enamoured Pomfret fetched her a cigarette, hovered over her with a match, till it was properly lighted, and settled himself again on the Chesterfield. If that silly old Hugh didn't butt in, he was going to have a nice little chat with this charming girl, who had played the young hostess to such perfection.
But Hugh was safely out of the way. Burton had piloted him to a comfortable easy-chair at the extreme end of the drawing-room, and these two antipathetic persons were apparently engaged in an interesting conversation. Anyway, Murchison's laugh rang out frequently.
Pomfret, it must be confessed, was not very great at conversation. If the ball were opened, he could set it rolling, but he lacked initiative. He looked at Miss Burton with admiring eyes, but although he had got her comfortably to himself on that convenient Chesterfield, he could think of nothing to say to her.
And then a brilliant inspiration came to him. "I say, how gracefully you smoke." The young woman burst into a pleasant peal of quite spontaneous laughter. She always had a ready smile at command, but her laughter was generally a little forced. This time it was perfectly genuine.
"Oh, you are really comical," she cried. "How can any girl smoke a cigarette gracefully? In the first place, it is a most unfeminine thing to do. All people must smoke them in the same way, and there can never be anything graceful in the act."
"Women don't smoke them the same way," replied the young subaltern, with the air of a man who has observed and learned. "Most of them chew them, and hold them at arm's length, as if they were afraid of being bitten."
"It's because they don't like smoking, really, and only do it to be in the fashion. Now, when I am quite in the mood, I actually revel in a cigarette. I am in the mood to-night."
Pomfret leaned forward, with a tender expression on his rather homely, but good-humoured, countenance.
"That means that you feel happy to-night, eh?"
She nodded brightly. "Oh, ever so happy! It is seeing new faces, you know, after weeks of isolation," she added with a touch of almost girlish gaiety. "It seems such ages since we gave a dinner-party. And you and Captain Murchison are so nice. It seems almost like a family gathering."
"You like my friend Murchison, then? I am glad, because it is to him I owe the pleasure of your acquaintance."
"I think he is a dear, he seems so honest, straightforward, and so reliable." She spoke with apparent conviction. "Were you not dreadfully shocked when he told you, for of course he must have told you, how we got to know each other?"
"Not in the least," said Mr. Pomfret stoutly. "I explained to him that people can become acquainted, without being properly introduced in the conventional sort of way."
"Ah, then, he had some doubts himself?" flashed Miss Burton. "I expect he was a little shocked, if you were not."
"Not in the slightest, I assure you," replied Mr. Pomfret easily. He was not above telling a white lie upon occasions. He remembered too well the remarks that his friend had made upon the girl's unconventional behaviour, but he was not going to admit anything.
Miss Burton spoke softly, after a brief pause. "You and Captain Murchison are very great friends, are you not?"
"Awful pals," was the genuine response. "You see, he knows all my family. And when I joined the regiment, they deputed him to look after me. He has got a hard task," he added with a laugh.
"Oh, not so very hard really, I am sure of that." Norah's voice was very sweet, very caressing. "But you and your friend are of very different temperaments."
"In what way?"
She smiled. "Oh, in half a hundred ways. Captain Murchison is as true as steel, but also as hard as steel. You, now, are not in the least hard. You are very kind and compassionate, you think the best of everybody."
"Don't flatter me too much, please," interjected the bashful Pomfret.
"Oh, pardon me, I know just the kind of man you are." The sweet face was very close to his own, the beautiful, rather sad eyes were looking steadily into his. "You are a rich man, or you would not be in this expensive regiment. But, if you were a poor man, and you had only ten pounds in your pocket, you would lend an impecunious friend five of them, and not trouble whether he repaid you or not."
"I think you have fitted me, Miss Burton. My dear old chum Hugh is never tired of telling me I am an awful ass."
"You are both right, really," answered Miss Burton.
"You see, we look at life from two different standpoints."
"I fancy you come from two different classes?" queried the charming young woman.
Pomfret felt a little embarrassed. He did not want to give away his particular chum. But there were no doubt certain inherited commercial instincts in Hugh that sometimes offended the descendant of a more careless and aristocratic family.
"You see, Hugh has come from the trading class, originally. His ancestors, no doubt, were close-fisted people. Hugh is not close-fisted himself: he is, in a certain way, the soul of generosity, but sometimes the old Adam peeps out in little things."
He had a swift pang of remorse when he had said this. For he suddenly remembered Hugh's generous offer of the two hundred which Pomfret, by a very diplomatic letter, was going to cajole out of the octogenarian great-aunt.
"Believe me," added he fervently, "Hugh is one of the best. He is a little peculiar sometimes in small things. I ought not to have spoken as I have done. I am more than sorry if I have conveyed a wrong impression of him."
"But you have not," cried Norah Burton swiftly. "He would be hard in some things: I am sure—for instance—he would never forgive a really dishonourable action, even in the case of his best friend."
"No, I am sure he would not," assented Pomfret. "But I don't fancy he has been much tried that way. We don't get many 'rotters' amongst our lot."
"Noblesse oblige," quoted Miss Burton, lightly. Then she added more seriously: "And I am sure he is very kind-hearted and thoughtful. I was impressed with his reluctance to smoke because of the curtains. Of course, he did not remember that it did not matter in the least, as we never have callers."
She was getting on the theme of their social isolation, but Pomfret was sure that, unlike her brother, strangely subdued to-night from his usual boisterousness, she would handle the subject with her customary tact and good taste.
"Ah, of course, all that is very regrettable. It is not so much your loss, as the loss of Blankfield. I suppose you won't stay very long here."
For a moment there came a blazing light in the soft, beautiful eyes. "A few days ago, I advised my brother to pack up and clear out. The snobbish plutocracy of Blankfield had beaten us, made up of retired shopkeepers and merchants. To-night, with you and Captain Murchison as our guests, I think we have beaten Blankfield with its fat mothers and plain daughters."
She looked superb, as she drew her slender form up to its full height, the glow of indignant triumph blazing on her cheek. At the moment she was extremely beautiful. If Pomfret had been attracted before, he was infatuated now.
"I will help you to beat the Blankfield people, for whom I don't care a row of pins. I will come, whenever you want me."
"And your friend Captain Murchison, will he come, too?"
Pomfret smiled whimsically. "Oh yes, he will come, if I make a point of it. Old Hugh thinks he leads me, but I really lead him." She leaned forward eagerly. "Can you bring some of your brother officers, Mr. Pomfret? Please don't think I am bold and forward and presumptuous. But I do long to be even with these Blankfield people. I would love to make a little sort ofsalonof my own. I know it is useless to expect the women at present, but they might come in time. Mind you, I don't want them."
"I will try," said Pomfret slowly. "I think I may say that Hugh and I are the two most popular men in the regiment; I say it without vanity. And I don't suppose we care a snap of the fingers about the Blankfield people. Still, I don't want to raise hopes that may never be fulfilled. I can only say, I will try." There was a pause. Then she spoke, and there was a far-away look in her eyes. "You hesitate, I see. Oh, I quite believe you when you say you will try. But there is some stumbling-block in the way, isn't there?" Pomfret had perforce to dissemble. "There is no stumbling-block that I know of, except running the risk of offending Blankfield. That is not a great one, as we shall be out of here in about two months."
She leaned closer to him, and her voice sank to a whisper. "There is a stumbling-block, I know. You are too kind and generous to state what it is, you could not, as to-night he is your host. It is my brother."
And then poor, infatuated Pomfret sought no further refuge in subterfuge. He blurted out the truth. "Some of our chaps wouldn't stand him, you know," he said simply.
There was a little convulsive movement of the delicate hands. "And he is such a dear good fellow at heart, wanting I know in the little delicacies that mark a real gentleman. You see a great difference between us, don't you?"
"A very distinct difference," assented Pomfret.
"I will explain it to you in a few words. My father was a harum-scarum sort of person, as I told you last time you were here, hard-riding and hard-drinking. When he was a boy of twenty-five he married a woman out of his own class, a shop-girl or a barmaid, I am not quite sure which. George is many years older than myself, as I told you he is really my halfbrother. The first wife died, my father married again, this time a lady. I am the daughter of the second marriage. Now, I think you understand."
Pomfret was delighted at this avowal, it proved his own prescience.
"I am so glad you told me, but as it happens, it was just what I guessed."
Miss Burton looked at him with admiring eyes. "You are really very clever, you know. Well, I will not exactly say this is a secret, but you will whisper it about discreetly. You need not be quite so frank as I have been about details, but you can hint at amésalliance. I hate to have to tell you so much, for my brother has been so good to me."
"Ah!" Mr. Pomfret's air plainly showed that he was eager for further information.
And Miss Burton was quite willing to gratify him. The young man was a pleasant, comfortable sort of person to talk to. He was an admirable listener, and never broke in with unnecessary, or irritating interruptions.
"When my father died he left little behind him but debts; my mother had preceded him some ten years. Poor George had gone into a stockbroker's office, through the good offices of a distant connection. His salary was very small, but he made a home for me. He would not hear of my earning my own living."
"That could not have been very long ago," remarked Pomfret, "because you are not very old now."
"No, it was not long," answered the girl, not committing herself to any definite dates. "Well, we had a very hard time, as you can imagine. Then suddenly our luck changed. An uncle of George's on his mother's side had gone out to Australia as a boy, and amassed, we won't say a fortune from your point of view, but what we should look upon as wealth. He had never married, and when he died, a will was found in which he left all he was possessed of to his sister's children. George was the only child, so he took it all."
"So he threw up business and went in for a country life."
"Well, he has thrown it up for a time. I am not quite certain he will not get tired of inactivity, and go back to it. Now that he has capital, it would be easy for him to embark in something that would keep him occupied, and pay him well."
"Not a sportsman, I suppose, he doesn't care for hunting or shooting? The country is slow for a man if he doesn't do something in that line."
The pretty girl smiled; there was a faint touch of humour in the smile. "Oh, he's not rich enough to indulge in luxuries of that sort. Besides," she added hastily, "he has such wretched sight, he would be no good at sport."
Pomfret thought it had been a very pleasant, enlightening conversation. Norah seemed to have been perfectly frank about their past and their present position. She did not pretend to be anything but what she was, the daughter of a spendthrift father, living on what was practically the charity of a good-hearted brother. And that brother was indebted for his good fortune to a relative who must have been a man of the people.
While the two young people were having this confidential chat, Mr. Burton was making himself agreeable to the other guest, in his doubtless well-meant, but somewhat undiplomatic, fashion.
"I do envy you young fellows when I see you walking about as if the world belonged to you."
Hugh drew himself up stiffly. "I was not in the least aware that any one of us conveyed that impression."
"No offence meant, I assure you." Hugh's tone showed him that he had been guilty of bad taste: a blessing Norah had not heard—she would have given him a bad quarter of an hour later on. "But all army men, I think, get a certain kind of swagger. Oh, nothing overbearing or unpleasant about it, of course. They are made so much of that there is no wonder if they do fancy themselves a bit. I'm sure I should if I were one of them."
Murchison made no comment on this frank statement, and the other man rambled on in desultory fashion.
"It's the life I wanted. As a boy I longed to grow up quickly and go into the army. There was a fair chance of it then, when the old man had still got a bit of money left. But by the time I was old enough the idea had to be knocked on the head. I had to go into a dingy stockbroking office instead."
Hugh pricked up his ears at the announcement. He had not suspected that the man would be so communicative about his past. Of course he had gone as a clerk. If his father was not well-off enough to put him in the army neither could he have afforded to buy him a share in a business.
"Yes," pursued Mr. Burton, "it was an awful come down after the dreams I had indulged in."
"It must have been a very bitter disappointment," assented Hugh politely, in spite of his firm conviction that the army was the very last profession in the world suited to a man of his host's obvious peculiarities.
"I should have been awfully keen on soldiering," pursued Mr. Burton, under the impression that he had discovered a sympathetic listener. "Don't you consider it a splendid life?"
"There are many things in its favour, certainly," was the rather frigid reply.
"But, after all, I don't think I should have cared to be in the line; there's not the same glamour about it, is there? You fellows in the cavalry, in a crack regiment like yours, must see the rosy side of life." He heaved a sigh. "And, of course, you've all got pots of money to grease the wheels."
Hugh fidgeted perceptibly. How very vulgar the man was, with an innate vulgarity that nothing would ever eradicate. But his host, absorbed in his own reflections, did not observe the movement.
"Of course, we know all about you, about the great house of Murchison, you are tiled-in all right." He lowered his voice to a confidential whisper: "What about that young chap yonder? I suppose he's rolling in money, too?"
It was growing insufferable. For two pins Hugh would have got up and bidden him goodnight then and there, but he shrank from making a scene. what a fool he had been to come here, to allow his kindly feeling for that susceptible young donkey of a Pomfret to expose him to such an ordeal as this.
"Really, Mr. Burton," he said in a cutting voice, "I do not discuss the private affairs of my friends on such a brief acquaintance. If you are really anxious to know, I believe Mr. Pomfret has considerable expectations from an old aunt who is fairly wealthy. Those expectations depend, I understand, upon his conforming generally to her wishes in all respects."
"Ah, I understand," said the unabashed Burton. "Sorry if my question gave you offence. What really put it in my head was the difference between his position and mine when I was his age."
There was silence for some little time, while the two men applied themselves steadily to their cigars. Then Burton jumped up suddenly.
"This must be a bit slow for you and your friend, and the night is young. What do you say to a game at bridge?"
Yes, Captain Murchison would welcome a game of bridge, anything as a relief to this vulgarian's conversation.
They played for over two hours, Murchison keenly alert from certain suspicions that had been forming in his mind. At present there was no foundation for these vague suspicions. They played for small stakes, but the visitors rose up the winners, not by a great amount, but still winners.
It was a fine night, the two men walked back to their quarters.
"How did you get on with the charmer? I saw you seemed very confidential together," asked the older man.
"Splendidly, old chap. She told me a lot about her history." Pomfret related all he had been told in full. "And how did you get on with the brother?"
"Don't ask me," replied Hugh with a groan. "He's the most insufferable creature I ever came across. I don't really think I can go there again. At the beginning of the evening he started fairly well, but later he reverted to type."
"Well, I may as well tell you straight, I shall. The next time we go I'll take a share of the brother."
When Pomfret spoke in that tone he meant what he said, and Hugh knew he would have his own wilful way.
There was one piece of information which the young subaltern had not imparted to his friend.
It was this—that after much pressing, and more than one refusal, Miss Burton had agreed to meet him to-morrow afternoon at a very sequestered spot about a mile and a half from Blankfield, with the view of pursuing their acquaintance.
From the night of that dinner-party Murchison noted a subtle difference in his young friend's demeanour. Pomfret had always been a harum-scarum sort of young fellow, accustomed to follow erratic and injudicious impulses, not absolutely devoid of brains of a certain order, but of imperfect and ill-balanced mentality.
But in his wildest escapades he had always been frank and above-board. And he was ever the first, when he had overstepped the border-line, to admit that he was in the wrong. And on such occasions, far from justifying his exploits, he had been ready to deplore them.
But his frankness seemed to have departed from that night. He seemed rather to avoid than seek the society of his old friend and mentor. When Hugh brought up the subject of the Burtons, Pomfret seemed anxious to avoid it, to say as little as possible. He seemed to shut himself up within his own soul.
Hugh, of course, was profoundly uneasy. Such a transparent creature as Pomfret would not be likely to retire within his own shell unless there were cogent reasons for the withdrawal. And the reasons were inspired by the attractive personality of the fascinating siren at Rosemount, the charming young woman who explained the presence of an undesirable brother by the narrative of her father's first unfortunate marriage.
Pomfret had invited the brother and sister to a dinner at the principal hotel in the place, and Hugh had been his friend's guest. Ladies, of course, could not be asked to the Mess. It had been a happy solution of a somewhat awkward position. Mr. Burton no doubt understood, but he accepted the situation with alacrity.
From the dinner they had adjourned to Rosemount. Here they had played cards as before, but they left off fairly even. Hugh's suspicions about card-sharping were dissipated as before. At the same time, he was still resolved to keep a watchful eye upon the pair. It was firmly engrained upon his mind, and only, of course, from the purest instinct, that he did not trust either of them.
Much to his surprise, they left without having been asked to a return dinner. It was the turn of the Burtons. And judging from the haste with which Burton had jumped at them on the first visit, the omission was a little noticeable. It could not be that these new isolated dwellers in Blankfield wanted to shelve an acquaintance which must have brightened their dull and unvisited existence.
Another fact presented itself to Murchison's rather acute intelligence. There seemed already established between Pomfret and the attractive Norah a certain kind of freemasonry, a certain sort of easy relations. And once in the course of the evening he was sure that he heard the young man, in the course of a whispered conversation, address her by her Christian name. They had been sitting together on the Chesterfield, and their remarks to each other had been addressed in a very low tone. But Hugh's hearing was wonderfully acute, and he had surprised a sudden expression of rebuke in Miss Burton's eyes when Pomfret made the slip.
And here, for a moment, this story must leave Hugh Murchison with his honest doubts and suspicions, while it follows the fortunes of his young friend and the attractive Norah Burton.
For, truth to tell, at this particular juncture, young Pomfret, for all his apparent guilelessness, was pursuing a double game. Madly, overwhelmingly, in love with Norah, he was meeting her clandestinely, sometimes at her own house, sometimes in sequestered spots in the surrounding neighbourhood. And of these visits and meetings Hugh knew nothing.
Pomfret was not free from a few pangs of self-reproach, from the fact that he was not running quite straight with good old Hugh, to whom he had always, hitherto, confessed all his difficulties and troubles.
But then Hugh, although one of the best, was such a practical old stick. And if he told him the whole truth, there was no knowing what course Hugh might not think it was his duty to take. He might write to his family and bring them down in an avalanche on him, or even to the octogenarian aunt.
Love taught him deep cunning, and what he lacked in this subtle quality was ably supplemented by Miss Burton, this young girl with the rather sad expression, and the candid eyes that always met your gaze unfalteringly.
From the first clandestine meeting, arranged in whispers on the night of the dinner at Rose-mount, Pomfret had made the running very fast. He had given Norah to understand that he thought her the most desirable girl he had ever met, that no other woman had appealed, would or could appeal, to him as she did. There was a good drop of Irish blood in his own veins, and he certainly made a most fervent lover.
Norah listened with a modest bashfulness that enchanted him. He was sure from her demeanour that she had never been made love to before. She seemed so overwhelmed that she could hardly say a word. If one were not so much in love, one might almost have thought she was stupid.
She was not so stupid, however, as not to preserve her wits sufficiently to make another appointment, this time at Rosemount. Pomfret consented gladly, but he made a certain stipulation, which his companion was more than pleased to agree to.
"We mustn't let old Hugh know about this, though, or he'll think he's left out in the cold. You see, it was really through him I knew you. You must tell your brother not to let it out."
Miss Burton promised that, so far as she and her brother were concerned, Captain Murchison would be none the wiser. It only remained for Mr. Pomfret—although entreated to do so, she could not at this early stage address him as "Jack"—to surround his movements with a proper degree of mystery.
When the two parted, and the meeting had been rather a brief one, for it was always a little dangerous lingering long about the environs of Blankfield, in case of unexpected intruders, Miss Burton made a significant remark.
"I am quite sure your friend Captain Murchison does not like me. In fact, I think his real feeling is one of dislike."
Mr. Pomfret was young enough to blush; he did so upon this occasion. He guessed the real truth, that Murchison did not dislike her at all, on the contrary, he rather admired her—but he had a certain distrust of her.
"Fancy on your part, fancy, I'm quite sure," he answered glibly. "I expect he is a little bit sore, you know, about the whole thing, thinks I have cut him out with you."
"Perhaps," assented Norah, easily. But in her own heart she knew it was nothing of the kind. She recognised at once the difference between the two men. Murchison was a thorough gentleman, kind and chivalrous, but he was a man of the world, with a certain hard strain in him, a man who would submit everything to the test of cold, practical reasoning, not to be hoodwinked or led astray.
This poor babbling boy, with his unrestrained impulses, that Celtic leaven in his blood, would fall an easy prey to any woman who was clever enough to cast her spells over him. He would never reason, he would only feel.
After that first meeting, the precursor of many others, the affair progressed briskly. Pomfret made love with great ardour, Norah received his advances with a shy sort of acquiescence that inflamed him the more. He was sure, oh very sure, he was the first who had touched that innocent heart.
From these delightful confidences Murchison was shut out. It would not be wise to ignore him altogether, for such a course of action would have intensified his suspicions. But the invitations to Rosemount from either host or hostess were few and far between.
He was not, however, so easily gulled as the three conspirators thought. Pomfret's preoccupied mood, the air of a man who had much on his mind, his frequent and unexplained absences, gave to his friend much food for thought. He felt certain that the easy-going, irresponsible young man was entangling himself. But in such a state of affairs he felt powerless. Short of invoking the influence of the Colonel, or writing to the elderly aunt, he could do nothing.
It cannot be said that the course of true love was running very smoothly, even from the point of view of the ardent and enamoured suitor himself. In spite of his impulsive temperament, his disinclination to look hard facts squarely in the face, there was in him a slight leaven of common-sense.
Save for the bounty and goodwill of this generous, if somewhat narrow-minded, aunt he was an absolute pauper. There was no hope of marrying without her consent. And he was quite sure that in a case like this her consent would never be given. Afiancée, to be received by her with approval, must present some sort of credentials.
And there was the difficulty. Poor Jack had exhausted all his simple cunning to extract from them some convincing details of their antecedents. But even he, infatuated as he was, had to admit that they had parried inquiries with great adroitness. They maintained a persistent reticence as to names and places. Even he was forced to conclude that, for some reason or another, they did not choose to be frank about their past.
These obvious facts, however, did not lessen his infatuation. To marry her was the one dominating object of his life, in spite of all that his few remaining remnants of common-sense could urge against such a step.
More than once the rash idea occurred to him that he would marry her in secret, and when the marriage was an accomplished fact, throw himself upon his aunt's forgiveness.
He mooted the idea to Norah, to whom, of course, he had already made a frank statement of his position, as befitted the honourable gentleman he was. But she did not receive the suggestion with enthusiasm, although she professed to fully reciprocate his ardent affection.
"If I were a selfish girl, and only thought of my immediate happiness, I should say 'Yes,'" she said with a little tremulous smile, that made her look more desirable than ever in her lover's eyes. "But I could not allowyouto run such a terrible risk. Old people are very strange and very touchy when they think they have been slighted. Suppose she cast you off."
"I suppose I could work, as thousands have to do," replied Jack, with a touch of his old doggedness.
She shook her head. "My poor Jack! It is easy to talk of working, but you have got to find an employer. And you have been brought up to an idle life. What could you turn your hand to?" She paused a moment, and then added as an after-thought: "And besides, my brother would never sanction it."
Even to Pomfret's slow revolving mind, the worldly taint in her just peeped forth in those sensible remarks.
"If I am prepared to risk my aunt's displeasure, you can surely afford to risk your brother's?" he queried angrily.
But Norah disarmed him with one of her sweetest smiles.
"Be reasonable, dearest; we must not behave like a pair of silly children. And besides, there is a certain moral obligation on both sides. You owe everything to your aunt. I owe everything to my brother. It would be very base to ignore them."
Jack was touched by the nobility of these last sentiments. "You are much better than I am, Norah, much less selfish."
She caressed his curly head with her hand. "We must have patience, Jack. You have told me as plainly as your dear, kind heart would allow you to tell me that, for reasons which I don't want you to explain, your aunt would never give her consent to your marriage with me. Well, we must wait."
In plain English her meaning was that they must possess their souls in patience till such time as this excellent old lady had departed this life. The suggestion was certainly a coldblooded one, but in his present infatuated mood Jack did not take any notice of that. Norah made a feeble attempt to gloss over the callousness of her remarks by adding that, although it was a very horrible thing to have to wait for the shoes of dead people, a person of Miss Harding's great age must expect to very shortly pay the debt of nature.
Two days later, Jack received a telegram which seemed to give a certain air of prophecy to the young woman's forebodings. It was dispatched to him from his aunt's home in Cheshire by the local doctor, who had attended her for years. It informed him that she was seriously ill and requested his immediate attendance.
He sought the Colonel at once and obtained leave. There was no time to call at Rose-mount, but he scribbled a hasty note to Miss Burton explaining matters. On his arrival, he found his aged relative very bad indeed.
She had had a severe stroke, the second in two years, and Doctor Jephson was very doubtful as to whether her vitality would enable her to recover. He added that she had a marvellous constitution, and in such a case one could not absolutely say there was no hope. Of a feebler woman he would have said at once a few hours would see the end.
Pomfret stayed there as long as the result was in doubt. At the end of three days the brave old lady rallied in the most wonderful way, and was able to hold a little conversation with her beloved nephew. He did not leave till the doctor assured him that she was out of danger.
"It's a wonderful recovery," said Doctor Jephson as he shook hands at parting with the young man. "But it's the beginning of the end. I don't give her very long now, a few months at the most. Well, she has had a wonderful life, hardly an ache or a pain till the last few years, and then nothing very severe. But, of course, the machinery is worn out."
All the way back to Blankfield those words kept repeating themselves in his ears: "I don't give her very long now, a few months at the most."
And then an idea began to form in his mind. He was not so callous that he wanted his poor old aunt to die quickly, but it was obvious the time could not be long delayed when he would find himself possessed of her fortune, the master of his own destinies. Was there any reason why he should not forestall that period by the rather daring expedient of a secret marriage? They were both young. Even if the doctor was wrong, and they had to wait four or five years, it was not a great sacrifice of their youth. At least that was his way of looking at it. Of course he did not know how she would take the suggestion.
She appeared to listen to him with deep interest and attention when he unfolded his plans.
He explained that he had a very handsome allowance, which up to the present he had generally exceeded. Now that could all be altered. He would declare that he was sick of the army, and send in his papers. Through his family influence, he would get some Government appointment which necessitated his living in London. He would take inexpensive chambers for himself, rent a small house for her in some pleasant and not too remote suburb, and spend as much of his time as possible with her.
"You don't think your aunt would reduce your allowance if you left the army?" was the one pertinent question she put to him when he had finished.
"On the contrary, she would be more likely to increase it," was the confident rejoinder. "She would always have preferred that I should go in for something that meant real work. She thinks the army is an idle life."
Miss Burton, no doubt, rapidly calculated the pros and cons of such a daring step. Jack had named a very handsome sum for her maintenance. If she could put up with the clandestine nature of the connection, till such time as a certain event happened, she would be better off than at Rosemount. She begged for time to think it over, and of course she would have to consult her brother before taking such an unusual step.
That was only natural; it was impossible for Jack to insist that she should settle the matter herself without reference to the one person who, whatever his social defects, had behaved to her with unexampled kindness and generosity.
Brother and sister no doubt talked it over very thoroughly, for it was three days before she told her lover that, although George would have preferred a longer period of waiting, he trusted him sufficiently to entrust Norah to his keeping, on the terms proposed.
She did suggest that they should wait till Jack had left the army and settled himself in London. But he fought this idea stubbornly. He was mad to tie her to himself, for fear that somebody else with more immediate prospects might step in and carry her off. A little common-sense, of course, might have told him that if she was as fatally attractive to others as to himself, she would have been carried off before this.
He was so terribly jealous of her, that he had never made the slightest effort to bring any of his brother officers round to Rose-mount. He even kept Hugh away as much as he could.
The lovers worked out their little plot very nicely. Miss Burton would leave Blankfield for a couple of weeks, ostensibly to pay a visit to a relative. Her destination would be London. Jack would take a few days' leave of absence in due course, and procure a special licence. They would return on separate days and resume their normal life, until such time as they perfected their after arrangements.