Part 22 (1/2)

”That's a comfort, Simpson. We have no visitors to deal with now, except the visitors who are staying in the house?”

”None, Sir Patrick.”

”They're all gentlemen, are they not?”

”Yes, Sir Patrick.”

”That's another comfort, Simpson. Very good. I'll see Lady Lundie first.”

Does any other form of human resolution approach the firmness of a woman who is bent on discovering the frailties of another woman whom she hates? You may move rocks, under a given set of circ.u.mstances. But here is a delicate being in petticoats, who shrieks if a spider drops on her neck, and shudders if you approach her after having eaten an onion. Can you move _her,_ under a given set of circ.u.mstances, as set forth above?

Not you!

Sir Patrick found her ladys.h.i.+p inst.i.tuting her inquiries on the same admirably exhaustive system which is pursued, in cases of disappearance, by the police. Who was the last witness who had seen the missing person?

Who was the last servant who had seen Anne Silvester? Begin with the men-servants, from the butler at the top to the stable boy at the bottom. Go on with the women-servants, from the cook in all her glory to the small female child who weeds the garden. Lady Lundie had cross-examined her way downward as far as the page, when Sir Patrick joined her.

”My dear lady! pardon me for reminding you again, that this is a free country, and that you have no claim whatever to investigate Miss Silvester's proceedings after she has left your house.”

Lady Lundie raised her eyes, devotionally, to the ceiling. She looked like a martyr to duty. If you had seen her ladys.h.i.+p at that moment, you would have said yourself, ”A martyr to duty.”

”No, Sir Patrick! As a Christian woman, that is not _my_ way of looking at it. This unhappy person has lived under my roof. This unhappy person has been the companion of Blanche. I am responsible--I am, in a manner, morally responsible. I would give the world to be able to dismiss it as you do. But no! I must be satisfied that she _is_ married. In the interests of propriety. For the quieting of my own conscience. Before I lay my head on my pillow to-night, Sir Patrick--before I lay my head on my pillow to-night!”

”One word, Lady Lundie--”

”No!” repeated her ladys.h.i.+p, with the most pathetic gentleness. ”You are right, I dare say, from the worldly point of view. I can't take the worldly point of view. The worldly point of view hurts me.” She turned, with impressive gravity, to the page. ”You know where you will go, Jonathan, if you tell lies!”

Jonathan was lazy, Jonathan was pimply, Jonathan was fat--_but_ Jonathan was orthodox. He answered that he did know; and, what is more, he mentioned the place.

Sir Patrick saw that further opposition on his part, at that moment, would be worse than useless. He wisely determined to wait, before he interfered again, until Lady Lundie had thoroughly exhausted herself and her inquiries. At the same time--as it was impossible, in the present state of her ladys.h.i.+p's temper, to provide against what might happen if the inquiries after Anne unluckily proved successful--he decided on taking measures to clear the house of the guests (in the interests of all parties) for the next four-and-twenty hours.

”I only want to ask you a question, Lady Lundie,” he resumed. ”The position of the gentlemen who are staying here is not a very pleasant one while all this is going on. If you had been content to let the matter pa.s.s without notice, we should have done very well. As things are, don't you think it will be more convenient to every body if I relieve you of the responsibility of entertaining your guests?”

”As head of the family?” stipulated Lady Lundie.

”As head of the family!” answered Sir Patrick.

”I gratefully accept the proposal,” said Lady Lundie.

”I beg you won't mention it,” rejoined Sir Patrick.

He quitted the room, leaving Jonathan under examination. He and his brother (the late Sir Thomas) had chosen widely different paths in life, and had seen but little of each other since the time when they had been boys. Sir Patrick's recollections (on leaving Lady Lundie) appeared to have taken him back to that time, and to have inspired him with a certain tenderness for his brother's memory. He shook his head, and sighed a sad little sigh. ”Poor Tom!” he said to himself, softly, after he had shut the door on his brother's widow. ”Poor Tom!”

On crossing the hall, he stopped the first servant he met, to inquire after Blanche. Miss Blanche was quiet, up stairs, closeted with her maid in her own room. ”Quiet?” thought Sir Patrick. ”That's a bad sign. I shall hear more of my niece.”

Pending that event, the next thing to do was to find the guests.

Unerring instinct led Sir Patrick to the billiard-room. There he found them, in solemn conclave a.s.sembled, wondering what they had better do.

Sir Patrick put them all at their ease in two minutes.

”What do you say to a day's shooting to-morrow?” he asked.