Part 22 (2/2)
”Sorry, Mr. Hildebrand, but me and my mate are due at Baltimore in the morning, setting a chancel window at S. Paul's. I don't think your work can be managed before the first of next week.”
”Then I'll have to take the risk?”
”I'm afraid so. But we've put the really bad place in decent order, and I don't see why the gla.s.s shouldn't stand any ordinary wind. Just got to chance it, sir.”
Of course there was nothing further to say, so I thanked the men and dismissed them. Yes, there was no alternative; I should have to chance it.
When I wrote my usual nightly letter to Betty I told her of the circ.u.mstances which had caused me to break the letter of my promise about entering the library. I dare say I nourished a secret hope that the news would upset her; that it might even have the effect of inducing her to make a hasty return to the ”Hundred.” But that would imply that she still cared for me, and the cold fact remained that, at this very moment, the name of Chalmers Warriner stood inscribed upon the register of the Red Lion Inn at Stockbridge.
Chapter XIX
_The Seat Perilous_
Wednesday, the twentieth of June, was the blackest of all black days.
When Betty's letter came I found it very unsatisfactory reading.
Warriner had been making the most of his opportunities; that was certain. He had been over twice for five-o'clock-tea, and a number of pleasant affairs were in prospect--a water party on the Bowl, a day's golf at Pittsfield, a masked ball at Lenox; so it went. Apparently Betty was in for a royal good time, and she had no compunction in making me aware of the fact. My intrusion upon the forbidden ground of the library was, it seemed, a matter of no importance; not even mentioned. Later on, I realized that she could not have received my communication on the subject--but never mind; I felt aggrieved, and the black dog of jealousy heeled me wherever I went that long, beautiful June day. Surely, I was the most miserable man alive, and it is not surprising that I diligently continued the digging of the pit into which I was so soon to fall.
Thursday, the twenty-first, brought a number of business matters to my attention, and under the pressure of these imperative duties I half forgot about my troubles. Again Betty's letter was non-committal and made no references to my doings or delinquencies. I should have enjoyed calling it evasive, but that was hardly possible seeing that Warriner's name was mentioned three or four times; the fellow was a.s.suredly making hay. After my solitary evening dinner I thought it wise to keep my mind at work, and, accordingly, I started in on a big batch of farm accounts.
I had heard the trampling of a horse's hoofs on the gravel drive, but had paid no attention; now a heavy step echoed along the black-and-white chequers of the great hall, and I became conscious that Marcus, the house-boy, stood at the door in the act of announcing a visitor. I looked up and saw John Thaneford.
Amazement held me speechless for a moment; then I found my feet and blurted out some form of greeting; I can't be sure that we actually shook hands, but this was my house and he had come as a guest; I must observe the decencies.
”Black Jack” had changed but little in the two years since I had seen him. Perhaps a trifle broader in girth, while the cleft between his sable eyebrows was deeper than ever. Apparently, he was quite at his ease, and I fancied that he took a furtive and malicious pleasure in my embarra.s.sment. Now we were seated; I pushed the box of cigars to his hand, and waited, tongued-tied and flus.h.i.+ng, for the conversational ice to be broken.
”So we meet again, Cousin Hugh!” he began, with perfect aplomb. ”You don't appear to be overjoyed.”
”Why should I be?” I retorted. ”But I don't forget that you are under my roof. Naturally, I am somewhat surprised.”
”At my return, or because I am seeking you out at the 'Hundred?'
Possibly, you have forgotten that I no longer possess even the apology of a shelter that was once 'Thane Court.'”
”You can hardly hold me responsible for the fire,” I said, feeling somewhat nettled at his tone.
”Oh, surely not,” he a.s.sented, flicking the ash from his cigar with an airy wave of his hand--that well remembered, big hand with its black-tufted knuckles.
”As for the property, I bought it in at public sale to protect myself.
You can have it back at any time for the price I paid. And no interest charges.”
”Very good of you, Cousin Hugh, and later on I may hold you to your offer. I may say that I am in quite the position to do so,” he added with a boastful flourish.
”Glad to hear it,” I said shortly. And in my heart of hearts I did rejoice, for I had an acute realization of what this man's heritage in life might have been had Francis Graeme and I never met. Somehow the whole atmosphere of our foregathering had suddenly lightened, and I experienced a feeling of hospitality toward Thaneford which was certainly cordial and almost friendly. ”By the way, have you dined?” I asked. ”The cook has gone home, but I dare say Effingham could find some cold meat and a salad.”
”I had supper at the hotel in Calverton, but a drop or two of whiskey wouldn't go amiss. The prohibition lid is clamped down pretty tight around here.”
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