Part 32 (1/2)

Sir Eustace did not look round or cease to write. ”Presently,” he said.

Scott drew back and sat down near him. He did not smoke or take up a paper. His att.i.tude was one of quiet vigilance.

Minutes pa.s.sed. Sir Eustace continued his task exactly as if he were not there. Now and then he paused to flick the ash from his cigarette, but he did not turn his head. The dressing-gong boomed through the hotel, but he paid no attention to it. One after another the men in the room got up and sauntered away, but Scott remained motionless, awaiting his brother's pleasure.

Sir Eustace finished his letter, and pulled another sheet of paper towards him. Scott made no sign of impatience.

Sir Eustace began to write again, paused, wrote a few more words, then suddenly turned in his chair. They were alone.

”Oh, what the devil is it?” he said irritably. ”I haven't any time to waste over you. What do you want?”

Scott stood up. ”It's all right, old chap,” he said gently. ”I'm going. I only came in to tell you I was sorry for all the beastly things I said to you last night--this morning, rather. I lost my temper which was fairly low of me, considering you had been up all night and I hadn't.”

He paused. Eustace was looking up at him from under frowning brows, his blue eyes piercing and merciless.

”It's all very fine, Stumpy,” he said, after a moment. ”Some people think that an apology more than atones for the offence. I don't.”

”Neither do I,” said Scott quietly. ”But it's better than nothing, isn't it?” His eyes met his brother's very steadily and openly. His att.i.tude was unflinching.

”It depends,” Eustace rejoined curtly. ”It is if you mean it. If you don't, it's not worth--that,” with a snap of the fingers.

”I do mean it,” said Scott, flus.h.i.+ng.

”You do?” Eustace looked at him still more searchingly.

”I always mean what I say,” Scott returned with deliberation.

”And you meant what you said this morning?” Eustace pounced without mercy upon the weak spot.

But the armour was proof. Scott remained steadfast. ”I meant it--yes. But I might have put it in a different form. I lost my temper. I am sorry.”

Eustace continued to regard him with a straight, unsparing scrutiny. ”And you consider that to be the sort of apology I can accept?” he asked, after a moment.

”I think you might accept it, old chap,” Scott made pacific rejoinder.

Eustace turned back to the table, and began to put his papers together.

”I might do many things,” he observed, ”which, not being a weak-kneed fool, I don't. If you really wish to make your peace with me, you had better do your best to make amends--to pull with me and not against me.

For I warn you, Stumpy, you went too far last night. And it is not the first time.”

He paused, as if he expected a disclaimer.

Scott waited a second or two; then with a very winning movement he bent and laid his arm across his brother's shoulders. ”Try and bear with me, dear chap!” he said.

His voice was not wholly steady. There was entreaty in his action.

Eustace made a sharp gesture of surprise, but he did not repel him. There fell a brief silence between them; then Scott's hand came gently down and closed upon his brother's.

”Life isn't so confoundedly easy at the best of times,” he said, speaking almost under his breath. ”I'm generally philosopher enough to take it as it comes. But just lately--” he broke off. ”Let it be _pax,_ Eustace!” he urged in a whisper.

Eustace's hand remained for a moment or two stiffly unresponsive; then very suddenly it closed and held.