Part 13 (2/2)

Harry moved silently about the room, flung up the blind to let in the sun, propped up the pillows, and then sat down by the bed.

”You're looking better, father,” he said; ”you'll soon be up again.”

”The devil I will,” said Sir Jeremy. ”No, it's not for me. I'm here for a month or two, and then I'm off. I've had my day, and a d.a.m.ned good one too. What do you think o' that girl now, Harry--she's fine--what?”

He produced from under the pillow a photograph, yellow with age, of a dancer--jet-black hair and black eyes, her body balanced on one leg, her hands on her hips. ”Anonita Sendella--a devilish fine woman, by gad--sixty years ago that was--and Tom Buckley and I were in the running. He had the money and I had the looks, although you wouldn't think it now. She liked me until she got tired of me and she died o'

drink--not many like that nowadays.” He gazed at the photograph whilst his eyes twinkled. ”Legs--by Heaven! what legs!” He chuckled.

”Wouldn't do for Clare to see that; she was shaking my pillows this mornin' and I was in a deuce of a fright--thought the thing would tumble out.”

He lay back on his pillows thinking, and Harry stared out of the window. The end would come in a month or two--perhaps sooner; and then, what would happen? He would take his place as head of the family. He laughed to himself--head of the family! when Clare and Garrett and Robin all hated him? Head of the family!

The sky was grey and the sea flecked with white horses. It was s.h.i.+fting colours to-day like a mother-of-pearl sh.e.l.l--a great band of dark grey on the horizon, and then a soft carpet of green turning to grey again by the sh.o.r.e. The grey hoofs [Transcriber's note: roofs?]

of the Cove crowded down to the edge of the land, seeming to lean a little forward, as though listening to what the sea had to say; the sun, breaking mistily through the clouds, was a round ball of dull gold--a line of breakwater, far in the distance, seemed ever about to advance down the stretch of sea to the sh.o.r.e, as though it would hurl itself on the cl.u.s.ter of brown sails in the little bay, huddling there for protection. Head of the House! What was the use, when the House didn't want him?

His father was watching him and seemed to have read his thoughts.

”You'll take my place, Harry?” he said. ”They won't like it, you know.

It was partly my fault. I sent you away and you grew up away, and they've always been here. I've been wanting you to come back all this time, and it wasn't because I was angry that I didn't ask you--but it was better for you. You don't see it yet; you came back thinking they'd welcome you and be glad to see you, and you're a bit hurt that they haven't. They've been hard to you, all of 'em--your boy as well.

I've known, right enough. But it cuts both ways, you see. They can't see your point of view, and they're afraid of the open air you're letting in on to them. You're too soft, Harry; you've shown them that it hurts, and they've wanted it to hurt. Give 'em a stiff back, Harry, give 'em a stiff back. Then you'll have 'em. That's like us Trojans.

We're devilish cruel because we're devilish proud; if you're kind we hurt, but if you do a bit of hurting on your own account we like it.”

”I've made a mess of it,” Harry said, ”a hopeless mess of it. I've tried everything, and it's all failed. I'd better back out of it--”

Then, after a pause, ”Robin hates me----”

Sir Jeremy chuckled.

”Oh no, he doesn't. He's like the rest of us. You wanted him to give himself away at once, and of course he wouldn't. They're trying you and waiting to see what you'll do, and Robin's just following on.

You'll be all right, only give 'em a stiff back, the whole crowd of 'em.”

Suddenly his wrinkled yellow hand shot out from under the bedclothes and he grasped his son's. ”You're a d.a.m.ned fine chap,” he said, ”and I'm proud of you--only you're a bit of a fool--sentimental, you know.

But you'll make more of the place than I've ever done, G.o.d bless you--”

after which he lay back on his pillows again, and was soon asleep.

Harry waited for a little, and then he stole out of the room. He told the nurse to take his place, and went downstairs.

It was four o'clock, and he was going to tea at the Bethels'. He had been there pretty frequently during the past week--that and the Cove were his only courts of welcome. He knew that his going there had only aggravated his offences in the eyes of his sister, but that he could not help. Why should they dictate his friends to him?

The little drawing-room was neat and clean. There were some flowers, and the chairs and sofa were not littered with books and needlework and strange fragments of feminine garments. Mrs. Bethel was gorgeous in a green silk dress and the paint was more obtrusive than ever. Her eyes were red as though she had been crying, and her hair as usual had escaped bounds.

Mary was making tea and smiled up at him. ”Shout at father,” she said.

”He's downstairs in the study, browsing. He'll come up when he knows you are here.”

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