Part 23 (1/2)

”Yes, Barney,” said Philippa sadly. ”It is the hardest thing you could ask me, but if it is for your good I must not think of myself. You shall go, dear, as soon as an opening is found; and we will give you as complete an outfit as can be bought, but after that we can do no more.

You will have to stand by yourself and fight your own battles. There will be no home open if you run away from your work, and no stupid old sister to spoil you and give you a fresh start.”

The smile with which Barney regarded her was at once charming and pathetic--so full of warm-hearted affection, so radiantly complacent and a.s.sured.

”Canada is not far off; it would be as good as being in England, for it is under the old flag, and the people are so jolly loyal and brave. I could come back every two or three years, and when I get a home of my own you will have to come out and visit me. Don't you worry, old girl; I'll get on like a house on fire, and I promise you to keep out of mischief. There will be no chance of getting into it, for one thing, away out in the wilds.”

”Oh Barney, Barney, don't be so sure! There will be difficulties and temptations wherever you go, and you must be prepared to meet them.

Don't be content to promise _me_, dear. Promise yourself--the strong, good man you were meant to be. Promise G.o.d, Barney, and ask Him to help you to stand fast.”

It was not Philippa's habit to preach, and the fact gave additional weight to her solemn words. Barney looked awed and impressed, and thoroughly uncomfortable into the bargain. ”All right, Phil, I'll remember,” he said softly; but the next moment he discovered that she looked tired, and hurried away. Philippa heard him go into his own room, and presently the sound of his voice reached her ears, raised in happy strains:

”Jack's the boy, when girls are sad, To kiss their tears away.”

He had been serious for five minutes on end, and the strain was evidently too much for his const.i.tution; but Philippa lay awake far into the night, talking to G.o.d about her boy, asking His help where she had failed. It was the truest of all comforts to feel that the far-off country was still near to Him.

Fortunately for all concerned, the letter from the Hermit's brother proved in every respect satisfactory, for the Loftus family washed their hands of Barney, going out of their way to refuse help before it was asked. The 'mannikin' would, no doubt, have acted differently had he been permitted, but his wife told him sternly that he could not allow _all_ his friends to be victimised by that dreadful boy, when he said, ”Yes, my dear--yes! No, my dear--no!” and collapsed, as his custom was.

The Charringtons were hardly disappointed, for they had learned long ago that--except where Hope was concerned--it was useless to expect sympathy from Aunt Loftus. Avice's affection for Hope made her a welcome guest, and she was frequently asked to fill a vacant place at a dinner-table, or presented with a ticket for an afternoon concert which she would not otherwise have been able to afford. It was at such a concert that Hope's next meeting with Ralph Merrilies took place, and through all her embarra.s.sment she noticed the glance exchanged between him and Avice as he seated himself in the vacant stall by her side.

There was no surprise in her cousin's languid eyes, but something very, very like triumph at the completion of a well-laid scheme. Could it be possible that the seat had been designedly reserved?

As we all know, well-bred people never dream of whispering or talking at cla.s.sical concerts, and Hope's devotion to her programme was so continual and absorbing that her next-door neighbour could study her profile at his ease, and wonder if there was another girl in the world who had such long eyelashes and such a sweet, winsome mouth. The interval seemed a long time in coming, but it came at last, and then Avice gave Ralph another eloquent glance and carried off her mother to speak to some friends at the other side of the hall. The occupants of stalls to right and left were also moving about and chattering together, and to the two who were left seated there was a sense of solitude in the midst of a crowd.

”Wasn't it beautiful?” asked Hope, still studying her programme.

”Very!” replied Ralph; but they were not referring to the same subject.

He rested his arm on the back of the seat and said softly:

”Never mind that programme just now. Talk to me. I haven't seen you for months. Mrs Loftus told me that you refused her invitation to The Shanty. I had been hoping to meet you there.”

”And I was sorry not to go, but we were in trouble at the time, and I felt I ought to stay at home. Did you have a good time?”

”Fairly so. It suffered from contrast. It was amusing to meet Miss Bennett in her new role.”

”I met her a few weeks ago at the Carlton.”

”So she told me.” There was a meaning expression in his voice which made the blood rush into Hope's face. He bent nearer to her, his eyes fixed earnestly on hers. ”What made you think that? What made you imagine for a moment that she could be engaged to met.”

”I can't tell you,” replied Hope, truthfully enough. She stared down at the programme, and became intently occupied in plaiting its cover between her fingers. ”I knew it was some one whom I had met at The Shanty, and I took for granted that it was you.”

”You can't truthfully tell me that you thought I was in love with her last year?”

”N-no.”

”Did it ever strike you that I was in love with some one else?” The elbow moved its position and encroached on the corner of her own chair.

”Hope, I want you to answer a question. Did you refuse to let me call upon you in town because you knew I loved you, and thought it was impossible to care for me in return?”

The grey eyes were lifted at that with an air of startled disclaimer.

”Oh no, no! Quite the contrary!” cried Hope eagerly.