Part 10 (1/2)

”But come, this is serious,” said Miss Brodie. ”The Bank, you know, or you don't know, is my uncle's weak spot.”

Mr. Rae's words flashed across Dunn's mind: ”We ought to have found his weak spots.”

”He says,” continued Miss Brodie with a smile--”you know he's an old dear!--I divide his heart with the Bank, that I have the left lobe.

Isn't that the bigger one? So the Bank and I are his weak spots; unless it is his Wilts.h.i.+res--he is devoted to Wilts.h.i.+res.”

”Wilts.h.i.+res?”

”Pigs. There are times when I feel myself distinctly second to them. Are you sure my uncle knows all about Cameron?”

”Well, Mr. Rae and Captain Cameron--that's young Cameron's father--went out to his place--”

”Ah, that was a mistake,” said Miss Brodie. ”He hates people following him to the country. Well, what happened?”

”Mr. Rae feels that it was rather a mistake that Captain Cameron went along.”

”Why so? He is his father, isn't he?”

”Yes, he is, though I'm bound to say he's rather queer for a father.”

Whereupon Dunn gave her an account of his interview in Mr. Rae's office.

Miss Brodie was indignant. ”What a shame! And what a fool! Why, he is ten times more fool than his son; for mark you, his son is undoubtedly a fool, and a selfish fool at that. I can't bear a young fool who sacrifices not simply his own life, but the interests of all who care for him, for some little pet selfishness of his own. But this father of his seems to be even worse than the son. Family name indeed! And I venture to say he expatiated upon the glory of his family name to my uncle. If there's one thing that my uncle goes quite mad about it is this affectation of superiority on the ground of the colour of a man's blood! No wonder he refused to withdraw the prosecution! What could Mr.

Rae have been thinking about? What fools men are!”

”Quite true,” murmured Mr. Dunn.

”Some men, I mean,” cried Miss Brodie hastily. ”I wish to heaven I had seen my uncle first!”

”I suppose it's too late now,” said Dunn, with a kind of gloomy wistfulness.

”Yes, I fear so,” said Miss Brodie. ”You see when my uncle makes up his mind he appears to have some religious scruples against changing it.”

”It was a ghastly mistake,” said Dunn bitterly.

”Look here, Mr. Dunn,” said Miss Brodie, turning upon him suddenly, ”I want your straight opinion. Do you think this young man guilty?”

They were both looking at Cameron, at that moment the centre of a group of open admirers, his boyish face all aglow with animation. For the time being it seemed as if he had forgotten the terrible catastrophe overhanging him.

”If I hadn't known Cameron for three years,” replied Dunn slowly, ”I would say offhand that this thing would be impossible to him; but you see you never know what a man in drink will do. Cameron can carry a bottle of Scotch without a stagger, but of course it knocks his head all to pieces. I mean, he is quite incapable of anything like clear thought.”

”It is truly terrible,” said Miss Brodie. ”I wish I had known yesterday, but those men have spoilt it all. But here's 'Lily' Laughton,” she continued hurriedly, ”coming for his dance.” As she spoke a youth of willowy figure, languis.h.i.+ng dark eyes and ladylike manner drew near.

”Well, here you are at last! What a hunt I have had! I am quite exhausted, I a.s.sure you,” cried the youth, fanning himself with his handkerchief. ”And though you have quite forgotten it, this is our dance. What can you two have been talking about? But why ask? There is only one theme upon which you could become so terrifically serious.”

”And what is that, pray? Browning?” inquired Miss Brodie sweetly.

”Dear Miss Brodie, if you only would, but--ugh!--” here ”Lily”

shuddered, ”I can in fancy picture the gory scene in which you have been revelling for the last hour!” And ”Lily's” handsome face and languid, liquid eyes indicated his horror. It was ”Lily's” constant declaration that he ”positively loathed” football, although his persistent attendance at all the great matches rather belied this declaration. ”It is the one thing in you, Miss Bessie, that I deplore, 'the fly in the pot--' no, 'the flaw--' ah, that's better--'the flaw in the matchless pearl.'”

”How sweet of you,” murmured Miss Brodie.