Part 23 (1/2)

”Nevertheless, I should like to hear you put it into words.”

Sir Tobias gave one of his remarkable exhibitions of youthfulness.

Flinging aside his decrepitude, as though it had been no more than an affectation, he shot bolt upright, gripping the arms of his chair. ”Last night, within a handful of hours of my forbidding him the house, he had the impertinence to call here to inform me that he was in love with Terry. Not content with that, he added insult to his impertinence by telling me that he had been your valet. How is it, Taborley, that on that evening when you dined here as his fellow-guest, you never once hinted by look or word that he wasn't the part he was playing? I can't consider that very honorable of you. As an old friend, quite apart from any new relations.h.i.+p, I had the right to expect that my interests were nearer to your heart. It upsets me to find I was mistaken. Have you so little pride in the girl you propose to marry that it doesn't offend you to see her gadding about with ex-servants? You saw them get up and leave the table that night. You heard the front-door bang and knew that they'd gone out together--my daughter with the fellow who used to put the studs into your s.h.i.+rts! And there you sat with me, sipping your coffee and chatting as though it were all perfectly right and normal. Upon my soul, Taborley, you're beyond my comprehending. If I, her father, can feel this indignation, what ought not you to feel? You're supposed to be her lover and you're not jealous. So far as I can see, you're not even disturbed.”

Tabs' face had gone suddenly white. He acknowledged to himself that, had he been Terry's father, he would have said no less. When he spoke it was with quiet intensity.

”I am annoyed, Sir Tobias--a good deal more annoyed than I care to own to myself; but I try not to let my annoyance obscure my sense of justice. It isn't fair to consider Braithwaite in the light of a servant. He isn't a servant; he's won his spurs. He arrived at the position he occupies to-day through original and unaided merit. That the man who was my servant, happens to be my rival, is bitterly galling. But I'm not going to let it blind me to the fact that he has qualities of greatness. He proved those qualities, even more than on the battlefield, when he came to you and pluckily told you the truth about himself. G.o.d knows what he thought to gain by it; but I'm hats off to him.”

Sir Tobias threw out his hands in a disowning gesture. ”I don't want to quarrel with you--that's the last thing I desire. But I must confess that I fail to sympathize with your att.i.tude of mind. Magnanimity is all very well, but it's easy to be magnanimous where your affections aren't too deeply concerned. A man in love has no right to be magnanimous--it isn't a healthy sign. Lady Beddow used those very words to me this morning. She feels as I do, that in your att.i.tude to Terry you lack something. You've let two days elapse since you asked my permission to approach her---- You're the same with this Maisie woman--inhumanly, unsatisfactorily magnanimous. You don't identify yourself with our antipathies--you almost side with the people who affront us. It's estranging and distressing. I like a man to be more emphatic in his loyalties and aversions. I like him to show more fire. In days that I can almost remember, Braithwaite's intrusion would have been an occasion for a duel. Terry's mother feels the same about you; it makes her unhappy. 'He lacks ardor'--that was how she expressed it. 'Perhaps, after all, he's too old for Terry,' she said. Personally I don't go as far as that.”

Now that he had made an end, Sir Tobias attempted to beam on Tabs with his accustomed suavity. He was skillful in saying offensive things with an air of consideration. When he had said, ”Personally I don't go as far as that,” he had leant out and patted Tabs' hand with a senile display of affection.

_Too old for Terry!_ Tabs sat pondering the words. They voiced his own doubt--the doubt that had haunted him from the moment of his return. The antiquated version of Shakespeare sat watching him, plucking at his pointed beard and blinking his faded eyes shrewdly.

Suddenly with a cavalier smile of conquest, which was strangely unwarranted, Tabs swung himself to his feet. ”Well, Sir Tobias, we've talked for more than our half hour. After all, it doesn't matter a continental what you, or I, or Lady Beddow feels. It's Terry's feelings that count. I shall know what she feels before the afternoon is ended.”

He was holding out his hand to the surprised old gentleman, when the door opened just sufficiently to admit Terry's head.

”Come on, your Lords.h.i.+p!” she laughed mockingly, ”you've kept me waiting long enough.”

CHAPTER THE SIXTH

TRAMPLED ROSES

I

As Tabs emerged from his interview with Sir Tobias, he found Terry standing in the hall, doing up the last b.u.t.ton of her gloves. James, of the velvet-plush manners, lost no time in proffering him his hat and cane, and in flinging the front-door wide. He did it with the air of a sentimentalist who was aiding and abetting an elopement. Tabs had the feeling as he limped along the pavement with Terry tripping at his side, that the eyes of the house which they had left followed them--followed them jealously, romantically, expectantly. There was only one way in which they could give satisfaction and that was by returning to it engaged.

”He lacks ardor. Perhaps, after all, he's too old!” Lady Beddow's criticism drummed in his mind. Not very pleasant hearing!

Silence was maintained till they had rounded a corner and the tall buff house was left behind. Then Terry raised a shy, laughing face.

”Downcast, Tabs? You look as though you were bearing the sins of all the world.”

”Not of all the world!” he corrected gravely. ”Only of three people.”

”Then I'm one of them. Who are the other two?”

”You know already--Mrs. Lockwood and Braithwaite. I saved all your necks, but I broke my own.”

She brushed against him affectionately. ”Tabs, you're a trump.”

Her praise displeased him. ”I didn't tell you for that.”

”Then why?”

”Because I thought you ought to know.” He slackened his pace. ”I thought you ought to know that your father isn't as keen on me as he was, Terry.”

”That's all right,” she said cheerily; ”I am. But what have you been doing to Daddy?”