Part 7 (1/2)

Mrs. Tudor looked up anxiously.

”Oh no,” said Vicky, eagerly; ”we were only talking.”

”And about what, pray?” persisted Mr. Byrne.

Vicky hesitated. She did not want to vex Geoff, but she was unused to any but straightforward replies.

”About Geoff's umbrella,” she said, growing very red.

”About Geoff's umbrella?” repeated the old gentleman. ”What could there be so interesting and exciting to say about Geoff's umbrella?”

”Only that I haven't got one--at least, mine's in rags; and if I say I need a new one, they'll all be down upon me for extravagance,” said Geoff, as sulkily as he dared.

”My dear boy, don't talk in that dreadfully aggrieved tone,” said his mother, trying to speak lightly. ”You know I have never refused you anything you really require.”

Geoffrey did not reply, at least not audibly. But Elsa's quick ears and some other ears besides hers--for it is a curious fact that old people, when they are not deaf, are often peculiarly the reverse--caught his muttered whisper.

”Of course. Always the way if _I_ want anything.”

Mr. Byrne did not stay late. He saw that Mrs. Tudor looked tired and depressed, and he did not wish to be alone with her to talk about Geoff, as she probably would have done, for he could not have spoken of the boy as she would have wished to hear.

A few days pa.s.sed. Great-Uncle Hoot-Toot spent a part of each with the Tudor family, quietly making his observations. Geoff certainly did not show to advantage; and though his mother wore herself out with talking to him and trying to bring him to a more reasonable frame of mind, it was of no use. So at last she took Elsa's advice and left the discontented, tiresome boy to himself, for perhaps the first time in his life.

And every evening, when alone with Victoria, the selfish boy entertained his poor little sister with his projects of running away from a home where he was so little appreciated.

But a change came, and that in a way which Geoffrey little expected.

One evening when Mr. Byrne said ”Good night,” it struck him that his niece looked particularly tired.

”Make your mother go to bed at once, Elsa,” he said, ”I don't like her looks. If she's not better to-morrow, I must have a doctor to see her.

And,” he added in a lower tone still, ”don't let Geoffrey go near her to-morrow morning. Has he bothered her much lately?”

”Mamma has left him alone. It was much the best thing to do,” Elsa replied. ”But all the same, I can see that it is making her very unhappy.”

”Time something should be done; that's growing very plain,” said Mr.

Byrne. ”Try and keep her quiet in the mean time, my dear. I have nearly made up my mind, and I'll tell you all about it to-morrow.”

Elsa felt rather frightened.

”Great-uncle,” she said, ”I don't want to make silly excuses for Geoff, but it is true that he has never been quite so ill-natured and worrying as lately.”

”Or perhaps you have never seen it so plainly,” said the old gentleman.

”But you needn't think I require to be softened to him, my dear; I am only thinking of his good. He's not a bad lad at bottom; there's good stuff in him. But he's ruining himself, and half killing your mother.

Life's been too easy to him, as you've said yourself. He needs bringing to his senses.”

Geoff slept soundly; moreover, his room was at the top of the house. He did not hear any disturbance that night--the opening and shutting of doors, the anxious whispering voices, the sound of wheels driving rapidly up to the door. He knew nothing of it all. For, alas! his tiresome, fidgety temper had caused him to be looked upon as no better than a sort of naughty child in the house--of no use or a.s.sistance, concerning whom every one's first thought in any trouble was, ”We must manage to get Geoff out of the way, or to keep him quiet.”

When he awoke it was still dark. But there was a light in his room--some one had come in with a candle. It was Elsa. He rubbed his eyes and looked at her with a strange unreal feeling, as if he were still dreaming. And when he saw her face, the unreal feeling did not go away.