Part 29 (1/2)

”With no precise result--that is to say, she did not promise to surrender them--not immediately. But I have every hope----” He paused mysteriously.

”Of what?” If his uncle had really a chance of getting them, he was not such a fool after all. Perhaps he was a cleverer man than one gave him credit for being.

”Well, of course, one has very little ground for any real a.s.sertion, but we discussed the matter at some length. I think I convinced her that it would be her wisest course to deliver up the letters as soon as might be, and I a.s.sured her that we would let the matter rest there and take no further steps. I think she was impressed,” and he sipped his tea slowly and solemnly.

”Impressed! Yes, but what has she promised?” Robin cried impatiently.

He knew Dahlia better than they did, and he did not feel somehow that she was very likely to be impressed with Uncle Garrett. He was not the kind of man.

”Promised? No, not a precise promise--but she was quite pleasant and seemed to be open to argument--quite a nice young person.”

”Ah! you have done nothing!” There was a note of relief in Clare's exclamation. ”Why not say so at once, Garrett, instead of beating about the bush? There is an end of it. We have failed, Robin, both of us; we are where we were before, and what to do next I really don't know.”

It was rather a comfort to drag Garrett into it as well. She was glad that he had tried; it made her own failure less noticeable.

Robin looked at both of them, gloomily, from the fireplace. Aunt Clare, handsome, aristocratic, perfectly well fitted to pour out tea in any society, but useless, useless, useless when it came to the real thing; Uncle Garrett and his eyegla.s.s, trying to make the most of a situation in which he had most obviously failed--no, they were no good either of them, and three weeks ago they had seemed the ultimate standard by which his own life was to be tested. How quickly one learnt!

”Well, what is to be done?” he said desperately. ”It's plain enough that she means to stick to the things; and, after all, there can only be one reason for her doing it--she means to use them. I can see no way out of it at all--one must just stand up to it.”

”We'll think, dear, we'll think,” said Clare eagerly. ”Ideas are sure to come if we only wait.”

”Wait! But we can't wait!” cried Robin. ”She'll move at once.

Probably the letters are in the lawyer's hands already.”

”Then there's nothing to be done,” said Garrett comfortably, settling back again into his book--he was, he flattered himself, a man of most excellent practical sense.

”No, it really seems, Robin, as if we had better wait,” said Clare.

”We must have patience. Perhaps after all she has taken no steps.”

But Robin was angry. He had long ago forgotten his share in the business; he had adopted so successfully the role of injured sufferer that his own actions seemed to him almost meritorious. But he was very angry with them. Here they were, in the face of a family crisis, deliberately adopting a policy of _laissez-faire_; he had done his best and had failed, but he was young and ignorant of the world (that at least he now admitted), but they were old, experienced, wise--or, at least, they had always seemed to him to stand for experience and wisdom, and yet they could do nothing--nay, worse--they seemed to wish to do nothing--Oh! he was angry with them!

The whole room with its silver and knick-knacks--its beautifully worked cus.h.i.+ons and charming water-colours, its s.h.i.+ning rows of complete editions and dainty china stood to him now for incapacity. Three weeks ago it had seemed his Holy of Holies.

”But we can't wait,” he repeated--”we can't! Don't you see, Aunt Clare, she isn't the sort of girl that waiting does for? She'd never dream of waiting herself.” Dahlia seemed, by contrast with their complacent acquiescence, almost admirable.

”Well, dear,” Clare answered, ”your uncle and I have both tried--I think that we may be alarming ourselves unnecessarily. I must say she didn't seem to me to bear any grudge against you. I daresay she will leave things as they are----”

”Then why keep the letters?”

”Oh, sentiment. It would remind her, you see----”

But Robin could only repeat--”No, she's not that kind of girl,” and marvel, perplexedly, at their short-sightedness.

And then he approached the point--

”There is, of course,” he said slowly, ”one other person who might help us----” He paused.

Garrett put his book down and looked up. Clare leaned towards him.

”Yes?” Clare looked slightly incredulous of any suggested remedy--but apparently composed and a little tired of all this argument. But, in reality, her heart was beating furiously. Had it come at last?--that first mention of his father that she had dreaded for so many days.