Part 6 (2/2)

Nearer they came and nearer, the girl chatting merrily, and the man listening with languid amus.e.m.e.nt. Eileen felt herself watching-- watching--for the upward glance, the recognition, the pleased greeting.

They were almost together now--he looked up--the recognition came instantly, but a second later, Lawrence Blake had raised his hat and pa.s.sed on with a bow.

CHAPTER SIX.

LAWRENCE BLAKE.

While Paddy and Jack were sitting on the table a week previously, swinging their feet and discussing the news of the Blakes' home-coming, just brought by Aunt Mary and Aunt Jane, Lawrence Blake, in his own special sanctum in Cadogan Place, lounged in a big arm-chair, and considered the interesting subject of his own boredom. He was particularly bored with his mother and his two sisters. Having seen a good deal of them in the last three years, he was anxious for a spell of existence without them.

And now his mother wanted him to go across to Ireland with them before his projected tour to India. And it was so beastly damp and dull in Ireland--so altogether unpleasant. Then there would be this tiresome ”coming-out” dance of the girls; such a fatuously idiotic idea to have a preliminary ”coming-out” at home, and then repeat it in grander measure in London. He didn't mind going out of his way occasionally to please his mother, but to be bothered with Doreen and Kathleen was too much to expect. To his august personality they were so young, and crude, and foolish. He told himself he was bored to death with their aimless vapourings, and this time he must really follow his own inclinations, and let them go to Ireland without him--at which decision he got up leisurely, and prepared to stroll round to the club.

But almost at the same moment, the door opened, and a soft voice said, ”Are you here, Lawrence?”

An antique Egyptian screen of beautiful workmans.h.i.+p hid the interior of the room from the door, and it was not until an intruder had pa.s.sed it, he could tell if the room were occupied or not.

”I am,” replied Lawrence casually; ”but I am just going out.”

Mrs Blake closed the door and advanced into the room, seating herself in the big chair he had vacated.

”I want you to come to Ireland with us,” she began at once, with a note of persuasion in her voice. ”There is so much you ought to see to on the estate, before you start off again travelling.”

Lawrence remained standing on the hearthrug.

”May I smoke!” he asked, with a mixture of indifference and courtesy that was entirely typical of him.

His mother inclined her head, and looked anxiously into his face.

It was, perhaps, noticeable that, in spite of his non-responsive manner, she in no wise appeared abashed, merely reiterating her request.

But then who should know a man better than his mother, if she happen to have been blessed with discernment? With Lawrence and Mrs Blake this was emphatically the case, hence the direct opening of the subject, without any preliminary leading up. Mrs Blake knew when she came to the smoke-room that he had made up his mind not to go; she knew that he would be politely unresponsive and calmly difficult. As a matter of fact, he almost always was, but she had found that directness was better than any amount of circ.u.mvention, and, though he could not be driven, he could just occasionally be led.

”Why do you want me to go?” he asked. ”It only causes dissension, and you know more about the estate than I do.”

”Perhaps. But I ought not. Do you never intend to take it in hand?”

”I did not think of doing so, until most other things had failed.”

She was a clever woman, who had won through a good deal of stress and difficulty, with a husband she adored and a son she wors.h.i.+pped, both of whom had been what is generally described as ”peculiar tempered.” If she had cared for either of them less, the home would have been pandemonium. Fortunately for all concerned, her love had stood every test, and her natural cleverness had been content to expend itself on tactfully managing her male belongings. The people who had only a superficial insight, and were at considerable pains to pity her, might have saved their sympathy. Mrs Blake was eminently no object for condolence. A clever woman must have some outlet for her cleverness, and why not direct it toward managing two interesting, if difficult, specimens of the male s.e.x? If she truly loves them, what could be more engrossing, and what reward more enthralling, than the intervals of devotion and tenderness won by consummate tact? Certainly, these had never been missing; both men, below the surface awkwardness and obstinacy, unswervingly returned her devotion.

It was the other members of the household who suffered generally, and felt aggrieved at the male belongings with which they had been saddled.

It was in allusion to this that Mrs Blake now remarked:

”Kathleen and Doreen would not quarrel with you, if you spared them your sarcasms.”

”Kathleen and Doreen are silly little fools,” coldly.

”It is only that they don't understand you,” she told him, ”and you must remember they are very young. Of course you often aggravate them purposely, when you are not pointedly indifferent to their very existence, and they are quite justified in resenting it.”

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