Part 18 (1/2)

”Well,” continued Robin desperately, ”that's really all--” knowing, however, that he had not yet arrived at the point of the story.

”She--and her mother--came down to live here--and then, somehow, I didn't like her quite so much. It seemed different down here, and her mother was horrid. I began to see it differently, and at last, one night, I told her so. Of course, I thought, naturally, that she would understand. But she didn't--her mother was horrid--and she made a scene--it was all very unpleasant.” Robin was dragging his handkerchief between his fingers, and looking imploringly at the fire.

”Then I went and saw her again and asked her for--my letters--she said she'd keep them--and I'm afraid she may use them--and--well, that's all,” he finished lamely.

He thought that hours of terrible silence followed his speech. He sat motionless in his chair waiting for their words. He was rather glad now that he had spoken. It had been a relief to unburden himself; for so many days he had only had his own thoughts and suggestions to apply to the situation. But he was afraid to look at his aunt.

”You young fool,” at last from Garrett. ”Who is the girl?”

”A Miss Feverel--she lives with her mother at Sea view Terrace--there is no father.”

”Miss Feverel? What! That girl! You wrote to her! You----”

At last his aunt had spoken. He had never heard her speak like that before--the ”You!” was a cry of horror. She suddenly got up and went over to him. She bent over him where he sat, with head lowered, and shook him by the shoulder.

”Robin! It can't be true--you haven't written to that girl! Not love-letters! It is incredible!”

”It is true--” he said, looking up. ”Don't look at me like that, Aunt Clare. It isn't so bad--other fellows----” but then he was ashamed and stopped. He would leave his defence alone.

”Is that all?” said Garrett. ”All you have done, I mean? You haven't injured the girl?”

”I swear that's all,” Robin said eagerly. ”I meant no harm by it. I wrote the letters without thinking I----”

Clare stood leaning on the mantelpiece, her head between her hands.

”I can't understand it. I can't understand it,” she said. ”It isn't like you--not a bit. That girl and you--why, it's incredible!”

”That's only because you had your fancy idea of him, Clare,” said Garrett. ”We'd better pa.s.s the lamentation stage and decide what's to be done.”

For once Garrett seemed practical; he was pleased with himself for being so. It had suddenly occurred to him that he was the only person who could really deal with the situation. Clare was a woman, Harry was out of the question, Robin was a boy.

”Have you spoken to your father?” he asked.

”No. Of course not!” Robin answered, rather fiercely. ”How could I?”

Clare went back to her chair. ”That girl! But, Robin, she's plain--quite--and her manners, her mother--everything impossible!”

It was still incredible that Robin, the work of her hands as it were, into whom she had poured all things that were lovely and of good report, could have made love to an ordinary girl of the middle cla.s.ses--a vulgar girl with a still more vulgar mother.

But in spite of her vulgarity she was jealous of her. ”You don't care for her any longer, Robin?”

”Now?--oh no--not for a long time--I don't think I ever did really. I can't think how I was ever such a fool.”

”She still threatens Breach of Promise,” said Garrett, whose mind was slowly working as to the best means of proving his practical utility.

”That's the point, of course. That the letters are there and that we have got to get them back. What kind of letters were they? Did you actually give her hopes?”

Robin blushed. ”Yes, I'm afraid I did--as well as I can remember, and judging by her answers. I said the usual sort of things----” He paused. It was best, he felt, to leave it vague.

But Clare had scarcely arrived at the danger of it yet--the danger to the House. Her present thought was of Robin; that she must alter her feelings about him, take him from his pedestal--a Trojan who could make love to any kind of girl!

”I can't think of it now,” she said; ”it's confusing. We must see what's to be done. We'll talk about it some other time. It's hard to see just at present.”