CHAPTER IX
THE PRINCIPAL BOY: AN INTERLUDE
I
Captain Lottingar opened the door of the library and roared up the staircase—
"Lottie!"
Miss Lottie Lottingar came down. She was an exceedingly handsome young person,—what is usually known as "a fine figure of a woman,"—but there was nothing of the squire's daughter about her, as there should be about a youthful châtelaine who comes tripping down the shallow oak stairs of a great Elizabethan country house. There is usually something breezy, healthy, and eminently English about such a girl. Lottie, although her colour was good and her costume countrified enough, smacked of the town. She was undeniably attractive, but in her present surroundings she somehow suggested a bottle of champagne at a school-treat. She would have made an admirable "Principal Boy" in a pantomime. As a matter of fact, she had been one.
Her father led the way into the library, and having shut the door, lit a cigarette and leaned against the carved mantelpiece. Lottie sat on a table and swung her legs.
"Where's the Honourable?" inquired the captain.
"Out," said Lottie tersely.
"I know that. Where?"
"Plantations."
"What's he after?"
"Shrimps, I expect," said Miss Lottingar flippantly.
"That will do. We're talking business just now. Showing any signs yet?"
"Lots."
"When will he come to the scratch?"
"Pretty soon, if you and your pals don't mess things."
The gallant captain's brow lowered.
"None of your lip, my girl!" he remarked. "What do you mean—mess things?"
"I mean that you'll have to play carefully if you aren't going to scare him away."
"Scare him? How?"
"Well, you and the others are a bit out of your depth in this affair. I'll do you the justice, Dad, to admit that in the ordinary way of business you are a hard nut to crack; but coming the country gentleman over a man who, though he's a mug, is a country gentleman, is rather more of a job than your lot can manage comfortably. Look at Jerry!"
"What's wrong with Jerry?"
"Him? It's the first time he's played at being a gamekeeper, and he doesn't know the rules, that's all."
"How do you know?"
"The Honourable told me. Said it wasn't his business, of course, but he was afraid my father had got hold of a thoroughly incompetent keeper, and perhaps he ought to be told so—haw!"
The captain snorted.
"What did you say?" he asked.
"I advised him," replied his daughter, smiling indulgently, "not to mention it. I said you were rather fond of your own judgment in some things, and might be offended."
"Well, Jerry does his best," said Lottingar; "but you are right, Lottie, for all that. He'll muck things. You must keep the young fool out of his way. Can't you take him out for walks, or something?"
"Walks? What excitement!" Miss Lottingar cast up her eyes pathetically.
"Well, you can go motoring with him as soon as we get a chauffeur. That's what I wanted to see you about."
"Who is the chauffeur? One of the—one of your friends?"
"No, worse luck! Every man I can trust is in this business already. We must make shift with some absolutely straight fool."
"That'll be a pleasant change," remarked Miss Lottingar.
"It will be all right in the long run," continued her father. "He need never suspect anything. We can keep him mowing the grass or something during his spare time. And if you can't bring off that proposal within a week, my girl," he concluded, throwing his cigarette into the grate, "you're not the sort I took you for."
"Give me the motor; I'll do the rest," said Miss Lottie, quite undisturbed by this direct reference to her virgin affections.
"And for the Lord's sake be quick about it! The expense of all this flummery is something cruel. There'll be nothing left to divide when it's all over if you can't—"
"There's somebody coming up the drive," said Lottie, who was gazing indifferently out of the window.
A few minutes later the door was opened by the captain's butler, an elderly gentleman of benevolent appearance. A student of physiognomy would have put him down as a rather eccentric and easily-imposed-upon philanthropist. (He had made his living almost exclusively out of this fact for the past thirty years.)
"Young feller to see you, Cap," he announced, having first satisfied himself that, saving the presence of the Principal Boy, his employer was alone.
"About the motor?"
"Yes."
"Show him in."
The butler retired, and presently returned, ushering a young man, squarely built and black of hair, with serious blue eyes and a healthy brown face.
"I came to see if you were still in want of a chauffeur, sir," he said in reply to the captain's interrogation. "I have been employed at the Gresley works."
"I do want a chauffeur" replied the warrior on the hearthrug; "but how am I to know that you will do, my man?"
"If you care to go and put any part of the machinery out of order, I will undertake to put it right again; and after that I could take you for a run in the car."
This sounded direct and business-like, and pleased the captain, and, incidentally, the captain's daughter.
"Well, that's fair enough. Go and have something to eat now, and after that you can take Miss Lottingar and myself for a spin. By the way, what's your name?"
"John Armstrong—sir!" said Pip. (He was always forgetting that word.)
"Have you any references?"
"No."
"Could you get any?"
"I might, but I'd rather not."
The captain regarded this blunt young man curiously. He possessed no references himself, and he moved in a class of society where such things were regarded with pious horror. Pip rather attracted him.
"Never mind them at present," he said, ringing the bell. "If you can handle the car you will suit me. If you can't, you are worth nothing, and you'll get nothing. Would you be willing to do odd jobs as well?"
"Certainly."
The butler appeared.
"Howard," said the captain, "take this man and give him something to eat in the steward's room, and let me see him again at three o'clock."
Mr. Howard, looking particularly benevolent, led Pip away, and Captain Lottingar was left alone with his daughter.
"He'll do, Lottie, I think," he said carelessly.
"M' yes—he'll do," said Lottie.
Her father turned round.
"You don't seem quite sure. What is it?"
"Nothing. I'm sure enough. Take him."
So the bargain was concluded, and Pip found himself engaged as chauffeur to Captain Cuthbert Lottingar (regiment unknown), of Broadoak Manor, Great Stileborough, Herts.
But Lottie was not sure. She had observed one fact which had escaped her usually astute parent, and that was that the new chauffeur was a gentleman—and, as such, a suspicious character. An ordinary mechanical mechanic would have been harmless; but a gentleman was a superfluity, and therefore a source of danger. But Lottie hesitated to comment on the fact. Wisdom said, "Take no risks"; feminine curiosity said, "Chance it!" Lottie chanced it, not for the first time in the history of womankind.
II
However dubious the impression which the new chauffeur had made upon Miss Lottingar, it is only fair to state that the impression made by Miss Lottingar and her gallant papa upon the new chauffeur was more dubious still. Pip, who was not an expert where women were concerned,—only an enthusiastic amateur,—made a mental note that Lottie "looked a good sort, and was a rare pretty girl." Being less biassed and more experienced in regard to his own sex, he was nearer the mark in his estimate of her father. The fact that Lottie's complexion was not entirely her own was unrevealed to him, but he did not fail to write down Captain Lottingar as a "bounder." He observed that his employer, though he carefully pronounced "here" "heah," not infrequently called "nothing" "nothink"; and Pip still possessed enough regard for the fetishes of his youth to be conscious of a thrill of positive horror at the spectacle of a man who wore brown boots with a top-hat on Sunday.
Various guests visited Broadoak,—gentlemen with waxed mustaches and loud garments,—most of whom appeared to be intimate friends of Lottie's. They shot Captain Lottingar's rabbits by day, with indifferent success, and played cards most of the night. Much the most interesting of the guests, however, was the gentleman heretofore referred to as "the Honourable." He was more than a guest at Broadoak,—he was almost one of the family. Captain Lottingar slapped him on the back and called him "my boy"; Captain Lottingar's friends addressed him with admiring deference and borrowed money from him; and Miss Lottingar behaved to him in a manner which left no doubt in the minds of casual observers as to the state of her affections.
The Honourable himself was a pleasant but dissipated-looking youth of about two-and-twenty. His stature was small, and his attainments, beyond those indigenous to every well-born and well-bred young Englishman, insignificant; but his appreciation of the pleasures of life was great. He was a good specimen of that type of young man but for whom chorus-girls would be compelled to pay for their own diamonds. Pending the arrival of the time when he would be called upon to assume the office of an hereditary legislator, he was engaged in what he called "seeing life." He did not see much, though he thought he did, for his field of vision was limited; but what he saw he saw thoroughly. He entertained a great admiration for Captain Lottingar, whom he had encountered at a flashy club in town; and any fleeting doubts, derived from the hints of experienced and officious friends, which he might have entertained as to the genuineness of that warrior's pretensions to gentility were at once set at rest when he arrived, in response to a pressing invitation, on a visit to "my old place in Hertfordshire." A ripening friendship with the Principal Boy was now turning his admiration for the name of Lottingar into positive infatuation; and altogether the Honourable Reginald Fitznorton was in that condition usually described as "ready for plucking."
Pip, who did not as a rule concern himself overmuch with his neighbours' affairs, soon became conscious of a distinct feeling of curiosity in regard to his present surroundings. Captain Lottingar one day mentioned to the Honourable in his hearing that the family of Lottingar had inhabited Broadoak Manor, without intermission, from the days of Queen Elizabeth,—a statement which Pip found rather hard to reconcile with the fact that there lay in the garage at the back of the house a notice-board, showing every sign of having been recently uprooted from the grassplot by the front gate, inscribed with the simple legend "To Let." Moreover, one afternoon, while exploring the numerous passages in the house in search of the Principal Boy's fox-terrier, which he had been bidden to catch and wash, Pip made the discovery that, with the exception of the dining-room, library, kitchens, hall and a few bedrooms, Broadoak Manor was a warren of empty rooms destitute of furniture, though a few of the more conspicuous windows were furnished with curtains.
His fellow-menials also were a curiosity-inspiring crew. The establishment, besides Howard, consisted of a not unattractive middle-aged female who cooked; a beetle-browed individual named Briggs, the keeper, who, though inclined to be reticent on matters connected with that exotic biped, the pheasant, was a mine of information on worldly topics, and a perfect encyclopædia of reference in regard to horse-racing; and a pretty but pert maid, who made eyes at Pip, and once, in a moment of inadvertence, addressed the saintly Howard as "Pa." All were on the best of terms, and sat down to poker in the evening with a regularity and cheerfulness which convinced the inexperienced Pip either that servants' halls were not what he had imagined them to be, or that adversity had landed him in a very shady establishment.
However, he discovered one refreshing and self-evident truth in this home of mystery. There was no doubting the fact that the Honourable's courtship of Miss Lottingar (or Miss Lottingar's courtship of the Honourable, if you happened to live on the other side of the curtain) was fast maturing to a definite conclusion. On numerous motor excursions Pip found himself compelled to combine with his duties as chauffeur the highly necessary but embarrassing rôle of gooseberry. Occasionally Miss Lottingar attempted to drive the car herself, but as a rule Pip had entire charge, the young people sitting together in close companionship in the tonneau behind. Occasionally the car would be stopped, and Pip would be kindly bidden to smoke his pipe, what time the Honourable escorted Miss Lottingar into a neighbouring plantation, to watch hypothetical pheasants feeding; or Miss Lottingar took the Honourable up a by-path, to show him a view which had sprung into existence within the last five minutes.
Pip, simple soul, knew nothing and cared less about the gentle art of husband-hunting. He felt himself irresistibly drawn towards this young couple. He abandoned himself to sentimental sympathy, and drove his car or smoked his pipe with his eyes fixed resolutely before him, thinking of Elsie and wondering if his own turn would ever come.
One day, as they were returning from a long afternoon's spin, the car suddenly slowed down to a stop, and with the complete and maddening finality of its kind refused to move another inch. Pip divested himself of his coat and disappeared beneath the vehicle, emerging after a brief supine scrutiny to announce that the necessary repairs would involve the assistance of a blacksmith and take an hour and a half to execute. The couple received this announcement with marked composure, and left Pip to wrestle with the car, merely bidding him call for them at the "George" at Lindley, two miles ahead, on his way home.
It was dark by the time that the united efforts of Pip and the blacksmith restored the car to a state of kinetic energy, and it was more than two hours before Pip called at the "George" for his passengers. They climbed swiftly into the tonneau, and the car proceeded on its way. His charges were unusually silent, and Pip, turning suddenly to ask for a direction, surprised the Honourable in the act of kissing the Principal Boy's hands.
The Honourable departed next morning for London. In the afternoon the car was ordered round, and Miss Lottie announced her intention of receiving a driving-lesson. Pip instructed her to the best of his ability, and by constant vigilance and the occasional intervention of Providence succeeded in indefinitely prolonging the span of life of two old women, one cow, seven children, and innumerable cocks and hens.
Presently it began to rain.
"Never mind about putting up the hood, Armstrong," said Lottie. "It's a rotten affair—keeps no rain out. Let's run under those thick trees over there."
Pip took the wheel, and the car slid up a narrow lane and came to anchor under the thickest part of an arching grove of chestnuts.
"There," said the Principal Boy, removing her gloves, "I feel regularly done up. My hands are all of a shake after that beastly wheel. Am I improving?"
"You are a good deal steadier than you were—Miss," said Pip.
"That's all right. Much obliged for your help. You're a good sort, Armstrong."
"Armstrong" turned extremely pink.
"Look here," continued Lottie breezily, "I'm tired of calling you Armstrong. What's your name?"
"Er—John."
"Right-o! I shall call you Jack. And now, Jack, I want to ask you something. What are you doing driving a motor-car?"
"Jack" regarded his mistress with some apprehension.
"Why shouldn't I drive a motor-car?" he asked, rather defiantly.
"Why? Because you're a gentleman. Bless you, dear boy, do you think I didn't spot that long ago? What was it—debts?"
"Debts" seemed to meet the requirements of the situation without unduly straining the truth, so Pip nodded.
"Ah!" said Miss Lottingar sympathetically; "I know. We have been that way all our lives in our family."
Pip thought of Broadoak Manor and its present proprietor, and felt no surprise.
"Dad has lived on his wits ever since I can remember," continued Miss Lottingar. "I suppose you see what sort of a customer he is?" she added, in a sudden burst of candour.
Pip nodded again. "I think I do," he said.
"He's a game old chap, is Dad," continued the dutiful daughter, "but he's on the lowest peg at present. However, I landed the Honourable last night, so things ought to look up now."
Pip, who regarded the love of a man for a maid as something rather more sacred than honour itself, fairly gasped at this offhand remark.
"You mean—you are engaged to him?"
"Yes," said the Principal Boy in a matter-of-fact tone. "He asked me last night at the 'George,' when you were tinkering at the car."
"Oh! Congratulations!" said Pip awkwardly.
"Thanks. But all the hard work has to come yet."
"What do you mean?"
"We've landed him. Now we have to skin him!"
After this somewhat unfeeling reference to her intended, Miss Lottie sat silent, evidently wondering whether her sudden liking for the quiet chauffeur had not caused her to be a little indiscreet.
Presently Pip said—
"I suppose he has gone to London to tell his father?"
"The Earl? Not much. I made Fitz promise to avoid the old man till I gave him leave. He has gone up to town for the engagement ring. When he gets back to-morrow he is going to write and tell him everything. That will bring his lordship down here double-quick, and we'll settle everything in one fair, square, up-and-down scrap." Miss Lottingar almost smacked her lips.
"Will the Earl object, then?"
"Object? My dear boy, look at me!"
Pip looked. He saw a pair of bold black eyes, a very red and entrancing mouth, a retroussé nose, an alluringly dimpled chin, and a good deal of glinting coppery hair. Individually these features were distinctly attractive, but there was something about the tout ensemble that supplied an immediate answer to the owner's extremely frank question.
"You'll know me again," said Miss Lottingar, rather faintly.
"Beg your pardon," said Pip, ungluing his gaze with a jerk. "Bad habit I've got. Yes, perhaps he will object."
"I should think so. 'Fast girl—shady father—with all their goods in the shop window!' That's what the old man will see, if he's the least bit less of a fool than his son."
"But," said Pip, "won't he consent if he sees that you really—care for each other?"
"Afraid he won't see that," said Miss Lottingar composedly.
Pip stared.
"You mean you don't really care for Fitznorton at all?" he said.
"My dear boy, have you seen him?" inquired Lottie plaintively.
"Yes. But—why on earth are you going to marry him?"
"I'm not quite certain that I am," said the Principal Boy coolly.
"But you said you were."
"I said I was engaged to him."
"Sorry! I had an idea it was the same thing," said Pip.
Lottie gazed at him, not without a certain admiration.
"Not quite," she said. "You're a simple old chap, Jack, but I like you for it; so I'll tell you what we are going to do. When the Earl comes down here—the day after to-morrow, I expect—Dad and I will interview him. Fitz won't be there: I shall send him out into the woods to chase rabbits. Then we shall point out to the old dear that if the engagement is not permitted my heart will be broken."
"Oh!"
"You see?"
"I begin to. What will it cost to repair it?"
"A hundred thousand pounds."
"You value your heart at rather a high figure."
"He can afford the money: it's a mere fleabite to him. He is one of the richest men in England."
"Well?"
"If he agrees, I sign a paper renouncing all claim to Fitz. The Earl writes a cheque, takes Fitz home in a bandbox, and Dad is on his legs again. That's all."
"Suppose the Earl doesn't agree?"
"He will. It will be a pill for him, but he doesn't want the family name dragged through the law courts."
"But suppose?"
"Well, if he does, we are ready for him. If he ab-so-lute-ly refuses, I go to the front door, whistle up Fitz, pop him into this motor, skim off to Lindley, and get married by special licence. Fitz has agreed, and has the licence in his pocket now. Then I shall have an even stronger card to play—do you see?"
"Afraid not. Too deep for me."
"Well, once we're legally married, the old chap will find that as a real wife I am far more expensive to get rid of than before."
"Get rid of?"
"Yes. He wouldn't think of admitting me to his almighty family circle. He would have to ask now what I would take to live apart from Fitz."
"Live apart?"
"Yes."
"And you'd agree?"
"For two hundred thousand—yes."
"My word! You'd leave your husband?"
"Yes. You don't suppose I want to spend all my days with an image like Fitz, do you?"
Lottie threw herself back petulantly in her seat. Presently Pip laid his hand on her arm.
"Don't!" said he.
"Don't what?"
"Don't be drawn into this affair."
"Why not? Seems to me I'm in it pretty thick already."
"You could break it off—at once. It would be the kindest thing to do."
"It would be a blamed silly thing to do," said Miss Lottingar frankly.
"Do you care for him at all?"
"Fitz? Not a rap."
"But—do you like him?"
"Oh, yes! He's a decent little sort."
"Well, just think what it would mean to him if he married you, and then—found out."
"Um!" said Miss Lottie thoughtfully.
"Besides," continued Pip, following up his advantage, "think of yourself."
"I usually do," said Lottie.
"Women were never meant for that low-down sort of game," said Pip, getting to the heart of his subject.
Suddenly Lottie blazed out.
"There you go! Women, women, women! I wonder if there was ever a man in this world that could treat a woman sensibly. Some men—most men—look upon women as fair game, and treat them accordingly. The others—men like you—look on them as little pot angels, and shudder when they show they are made of flesh and blood. Women are human beings, no better and no worse than men, only they don't get the chances men do, Jack. That's all—human beings! Remember that."
"It's a hard world for women, I know," said Pip, rather staggered by this outburst. "But some good chap is bound to come along and—er—make you happy, and all that. Hasn't there ever been—anybody of that kind?"
"Lots."
"None you cared about, perhaps?"
"Not one. Well, there was one. Jim Lister is his name. He is assistant stage-manager at the Crown Theatre."
"Well?" said Pip hopefully.
"I—I liked him well enough, but we should always have been poor—awfully poor—and—"
"If a couple are really fond of each other, nothing else matters a damn," said Pip, with conviction. "Sorry! I mean you might do worse."
Lottie rounded on him.
"There you go again. 'Might do worse!' 'Be thankful for small mercies!' It's a rotten game being a woman, Jack. You are a man and can't understand. But if you'd had as hard a time as I have,—yes, and if you'd seen half as much of this world as I have,—you'd be gentler with me, Jack."
Certainly the conversation was taking an unexpected turn. Pip was completely out of his depth. Ten minutes ago he had been a respectful chauffeur, teaching a rather flamboyant young mistress how to drive a car. Now he was sitting by the selfsame young mistress, holding her arm in a friendly fashion, and talking to her as an elder brother might talk to a petulant child.
The irregularity of the situation apparently struck Miss Lottingar at the same moment, for, with one of those swift and characteristically feminine changes of mood which leave mere man toiling helplessly behind in the trammels of logical consistency, she abruptly released her arm, observed brightly that the rain had ceased, wondered if it wouldn't turn out a fine evening after all, and bade Armstrong drive home as fast as possible.
III
The Honourable Reginald Fitznorton was due back at four o'clock next afternoon. The motor was ordered round, and Pip drove Lottie to the station to meet him. Lottie, who was looking pale and not quite herself, declined to sit in the tonneau, and accompanied Pip on the front seat. In spite of the facilities for conversation afforded by this position she said little; and Pip, whose repertory of conversational openings was not extensive, said nothing at all. Besides, he was not certain whether he was to be treated to-day as a big brother or as a chauffeur.
Had he been a more observant big brother or a less diligent chauffeur he might have noticed that from time to time he was being favoured by his mistress with a sidelong scrutiny of some intensity. Being Pip, he saw nothing. One act of hers might have afforded him a good deal of information had he desired it. When the car, which had started late, rounded the last corner on the way to the station, there appeared in the offing no less a person than the Honourable himself, bag in hand, and diffusing happiness around him. Suddenly Pip became conscious of something. The girl at his side seemed to shrink up to him, and for a moment her hand travelled towards his as if for protection. An instant later she was leaning back in her seat, smilingly dipping an answering pennant to the frenzied signals of her rapidly approaching swain.
The car slowed down to a stop. Miss Lottingar stepped out, and was received by her enraptured lover, regardless of Pip's presence, with a smacking salute that fairly drowned the noise of the engine. After that the happy couple entered the tonneau, and Pip, with eyes rigidly turned to the front, heard little and saw nothing of them throughout the drive home.
As the Principal Boy had confidently predicted, the Right Honourable the Earl of Cartavon arrived at Broadoak Manor at lunch-time next day. The inmates of that venerable pile were ready for him. Howard, looking like a retired archbishop, received him at the door, and Captain Lottingar, in tweeds and gaiters, greeted him in the library. His lordship was affably informed that, in consequence of recent surprising and joyful disclosures by the young folk, his visit was not altogether unexpected; and that if he would join the house-party at luncheon, the business on which he had come down might be comfortably discussed over a cigar in the library afterwards.
This much was retailed in the servants' hall by Howard, whose well-formed ears had missed little or nothing of the dialogue in the library, even in a filtered form. Mr. Briggs opined, amid general approval, that "the Captain and the gal between them could bleed the old toff proper."
After lunch the Honourable emerged from the front door, armed only with a walking-stick, and set out briskly, apparently on a country walk. At the same time word was sent to Pip that the motor would be required at three.
Punctually to time he ran the car up the broad avenue, passing the library windows on the way. He was conscious of a group of three round the fire,—it was a chilly day in late September,—and he wondered how the process of bleeding was getting on.
The car and its driver stood before the front door for more than an hour. It was after four when the front door suddenly opened, and Lottie, banging it behind her, hurriedly descended the steps. She slipped up beside Pip.
"Start off," she said—"quick!"
Pip got down and set the engine going.
"Where to?" he inquired.
"Anywhere!" said Lottie in a choking voice, "anywhere! But get started."
Pip sprang up into his place and took the wheel. The great car ceased vibrating and began to creep forward. Suddenly it gave a mighty plunge, and sped down the avenue.
At the same moment Captain Lottingar, looking anything but a country gentleman, and furiously angry, threw open the library window and bawled to Pip to stop. But the louder he bawled and the more thoroughly he blasphemed the faster the car shot down the drive.
Lord Cartavon sat stiffly in a high-backed chair by the fire.
"I shouldn't trouble if I were you, Captain—er—Lottingar," he said. "She won't come back."
Captain Lottingar banged down the window, and, returning to his favourite position on the hearthrug, summed up his daughter's character in terms which would have been excessive if applied to Jezebel herself.
The Earl stood up.
"Sir," he said, "I am obliged to you for your hospitality. I will walk to the station now, and catch the five-thirty train back to town. I presume, after what has just happened, that we may regard this incident as closed. And let me tell you, Mr. Lottingar," the old gentleman added, turning on his heel as he opened the door, "that Miss Lottingar is a d——d sight too good a daughter for such a shark as yourself."
After he had gone, Captain Lottingar kicked a valuable Japanese fire-screen (for which he had not paid) round the room.
IV
On clearing the lodge-gates Pip turned the car to the left, and they spun down the London road. For an hour they travelled, sometimes slowing through a village or changing gear up a hill, but usually running at top speed, rolling up the miles like shavings under a jack-plane. Pip sat gripping his wheel, intent on his work. Lottie, rigid and upright beside him, looked straight before her, with her hands clasped tightly together under the rug. Occasionally she cast a sidelong glance at her silent companion.
At last, when they had covered nearly thirty miles, Lottie spoke.
"Jack, I want to talk to you. Stop this machine in some quiet place. That beastly engine makes too much noise for me."
Pip, who was getting used to these wayside halts, ran the car up the next opening and stopped.
Then the two turned and regarded each other. A glance apprised Pip of the fact that he was to be big brother again.
"Well?" he said.
"Jack, I've done it this time."
"Done what?"
"Upset the apple-cart. Poor old Dad! But I'd do it again!"
"How did you do it the first time?" said Pip patiently.
"Well, I'll tell you. After lunch, Dad and I and his lordship went into the library. We all sat down, the old gentleman very stiff and upright. He had hardly given me a glance so far, but now he turned and looked at me. I felt pretty small, Jack. I can hold my own in a staring match with most people, but that proud old man fairly beat me. He simply looked right through me at the cushion my head was leaning against. By the way, you can do that a bit, too, Jack. It's a trick some men have. That's what first made me think that you—where was I?"
"In the library."
"Oh, yes. Well, at last the old man turned to Dad, and looked at him. Dad didn't half like it, I could see. The old man said—
"'I understand that my son proposes to ally himself with—er,—this young lady?'
"'Yes,' said Dad, 'he does.'
"'And you have given your consent to the match?'
"'Yes', says Dad, as solemn as a judge; 'after due consideration, I have.'
"'Then I may as well tell you at once,' says his lordship, quite briskly, 'that I am utterly and entirely opposed to the match, and will never give my consent to it.'
"There was a little silence, and we all three settled down in our chairs as much as to say, 'Now we are really getting to business.' Presently Dad said,—
"'I am afraid, my lord, that solemn agreements of this kind are not so easily broken. Consider my daughter's feelings.'
"'I am perfectly willing to consider her feelings, sir,' says the old gentleman, with a little odd bow. Then he turned to me and said,—
"'May I ask a direct question? Are you genuinely attached to my son?'
"I wished he wouldn't keep on at me like that. However, I had to keep my end up, so I said, in a sort of soft voice, 'Yes.'
"'Ah,' said he, as if he was thinking. Then Dad, evidently considering we were wasting time, put in,—
"'If this match is broken off, my daughter's susceptibilities must be solaced in a very substantial manner.'
"Then the old gentleman turned and looked Dad through and through, and said, 'Ah!' again, as much as to say, 'I thought so.'
"'Well,' he said at last, 'how much do you want?'
"'I?' says Dad, still playing the game—'nothing. I am not the injured party. It is for my poor girl to say.'
"The Earl looked at me. I took a big breath, and said, 'A hundred thousand pounds.'
"'You value your heart at rather a high figure, madam,' says he. (Do you remember, those were the very words you used to me, Jack?) Then he swings round to Dad, and says,—
"'Of course this is preposterous. I am willing to pay you five thousand pounds, to extricate my son from the trap, the carefully baited trap'—he looked all round the room, and I knew he knew everything in it had been got on the nod—'into which he has fallen. That is more than you would get out of the most impressionable jury, and I advise you to take it, Mr.—er—Lottingar.'
"'Quite true, my lord,' says Dad. 'But you know you'd give more than a hundred thousand to keep the family name out of the courts. You don't want the papers to get hold of it. "A Cabinet Minister's son sued for Breach-of-Promise"—you know the sort of stuff—and Lottie's portrait in "The Sketch."'
"'I am afraid we are wasting time, Mr. Lottingar,' says his lordship. 'If your daughter will sign a document, which I will draw up for her, renouncing all claims to my son, and undertaking not to molest him for the future, I will give her a cheque for five thousand pounds. If not, I must bid you good-afternoon.'
"'A hundred thousand!' says Dad.
"'I think you are acting foolishly,' says the old man, getting up. 'If you refuse my offer I shall go up to town now, and call on my solicitor to-morrow morning; and I think it highly probable, from what I see of your surroundings here, and from what I know of your antecedents already, that I shall be able to make it exceedingly risky for you to face the publicity of the law courts in any capacity whatsoever. In fact, I should not be surprised if you had to leave the country.'
"My word, Jack, he was fine! He dropped each word out of his mouth like a little lump of ice. But old Dad stood up to him. He simply chuckled.
"'No, no, my lord, it won't do,' he said. 'I have laid my plans farther ahead than you think. Now, look here. If you don't sign that little cheque I'm asking for, Lottie here will walk straight out of this house, take her motor, pick up your son, who is waiting for her at the roadside this minute, and drive straight to Lindley, where they will be married by special licence this very afternoon. Your son has got that licence in his pocket now. And when the two are firmly tied up, you'll realise two things, my lord,—first, that it's hardly the thing to rake up the past life of your daughter-in-law's father; and secondly, that a wife is a deal more expensive to buy off than a fiancée.'
"After that there was a very long pause. Dad was top dog again, and the old Earl was thinking it out. Suddenly he turned to me. He said,—
"'You say my son has a special licence in his pocket?'
"'Yes,' I said.
"'And you have asked him to wait by the roadside for you this afternoon, in case of—contingencies?'
"'Yes.'
"'You must possess great influence over him.'
"'She does,' says Dad, before any one else could speak.
"The old man took not the slightest notice, but went on talking to me.
"'If you married my son you would demand a large sum—'
"'Two hundred thousand quid,' says Dad.
"'You would demand a large sum,' goes on the Earl, acting as if he and I were alone together, 'as a condition of your living apart from him and refraining from molesting him. Would you?'
"The words began to stick in my throat a bit, but I said, 'Yes.'
"'I think,' he went on, 'that you told me just now that you were deeply attached to my son?'
"This time I just nodded.
"'Then you mean to say,' he says, looking at me in a way that simply made me feel faint, 'that you would marry a young man whom you profess to love, and, having blackmailed him to the fullest possible extent, would readily consent to live apart from him, leaving him prevented by the law of the land from ever taking a wife of his own station and fulfilling his duty to society and posterity, so long as you remained alive? For the sake of a sum of money you would deliberately wreck the life of a foolish but good-hearted young man, who has paid you the highest honour that a man can pay a woman; and with his life you would wreck the fortunes of an ancient and honourable house? Would you do that?"
"His face was like iron, Jack, but there were tears in his eyes. I sat gripping the arms of my chair. Suddenly Dad struck in,—
"'Come, come, my lord! you are simply wasting words. Which is it to be? Will you settle this matter, or must Lottie take the final step?'
"The old man said nothing, but looked at me. And then suddenly I found my voice. I boiled over, for I had realised at last what an awful thing I was going to do—awful for him, and awful for me. Somehow I didn't feel as if I could back Dad any longer. It flashed across me what I had been trying to do—sell myself! I'm not a great saint, Jack, but, thank God! I realised in time that there are things in this world that money can't buy. I just stood up and said,—
"'Dad, it's no good. I simply won't do this. I can't think why I ever consented. I'm sorry. I've always backed you up to now; but I'm a decent girl after all, and I won't do this—I won't, I won't.'
"Then I sat down and cried a bit. Dad looked perfectly flummoxed. In a minute I had dried my eyes, and I said to the old lord,—
"'Lord Cartavon, I wouldn't marry your son if you begged me on your knees. I won't marry a man I don't love, so I won't marry him. Keep your cheque-book in your pocket. I renounce all claims to him—there!'"
Lottie's voice broke at last.
"Oh, well done!" said Pip softly.
"That's just what the old lord said," exclaimed the girl, turning a surprised look upon him. "You both seem to have the same feelings."
"Well, what happened next?" inquired Pip.
"Things were a bit mixed after that," said Lottie, not without relish. "There was a great roar like thunder, and Dad dashed across the room at me. He was in an awful passion. He nearly killed me once, when he—never mind that. But the old Earl just stepped in front of him and said, 'Gently, sir, gently! there is a lady present.' Then he went quickly to the door and opened it, and gave me a little nod to go. All the time he was holding Dad's arm with his other hand. I walked out, and the old man bowed to me as I passed, and said, very gently, 'God bless you, young lady!' He said that—to me!" she reiterated proudly, turning a pair of shining eyes on Pip. "Then he closed it behind me just as Dad broke into another roar. I rushed out of the house, hopped on to the car, and here we are!"
V
"And what are you going to do now?" inquired practical Pip.
"I don't know, I daren't go back. Dad would kill me."
The girl shuddered, and turned to Pip appealingly, as a woman, however strong her will may be, always turns to a man she knows she can trust.
Pip reflected in his deliberate fashion.
"You had better go to London," he said at last. "You know your way about there, I expect. I think you should go on the stage again. You like it, and it will make you independent. I suppose you can get an engagement?"
"Yes, I can manage that," said the Principal Boy. "Drive on now, Jack, and take me to Hunsford Station. It can't be more than a mile or two from here."
Once more the car sped through the gathering darkness.
"I'll go round to the 'Crown,'" continued Lottie more briskly, "first thing to-morrow morning. Jim Lister will get me a shop of some sort, if it's only in the chorus. That'll do to go on with."
"He must be a good chap," said Pip.
"He is," said Lottie warmly.
Presently they reached the little station. Inquiries elicited the news that there would be a train for London in half an hour.
"I'll stay with you till it starts," said Pip.
He ran the car under a wall out of the wind, and continued talking. He was in an unusually communicative mood, for him.
"I was wondering," he said, "why your feelings changed so suddenly in that interview, after you had quite made up your mind to—for the other thing."
"Don't know, I'm sure," said Lottie. "I can't think now what made me agree to the idea, even for a moment. Jack, would you have thought very badly of me if—"
"I think I know what it was," continued Pip, who had been following his own train of thought; "you must have been kee—fond of somebody else all the time, fonder than you really knew, and when the critical moment came, the thought of—of him, though you didn't know it, prevented you from making yourself cheap. Is that it? Don't answer if it isn't a fair question."
"Yes, Jack, it's a fair question."
"And am I right?"
There was a silence. Pip saw a rather strange look settle on the girl's face. Presently she answered, in a low voice,—
"I believe you are."
"Then why not—go to him?"
"Perhaps—perhaps he doesn't want me."
"Are you sure? Is it Jim Lister?"
"No. He's a good boy, but it's not him."
"Ah! That's a pity."
Another pause. Lottie sat very still. She understood now why the idea of marrying the Honourable had become suddenly repugnant to her. The reason was sitting beside her, wondering what the reason could be. Lottie excelled in woman's favourite pastime—playing with fire—but this time she had burnt her fingers.
Pip talked to her a good deal during the next half-hour. Once he said,—
"I wonder what made you confide in me about all this. I expect it was because you spotted that I was a kindred spirit—in the same state as yourself."
"What state?"
"In love," said Pip simply.
"In love? Who with?" asked Lottie, ungrammatically but earnestly.
"I'll tell you if you like," said Pip. He launched into a description of Elsie, reciting his hopes and fears with all the complete abandon of the reticent man when once he lets himself go.
"It isn't often," he concluded, descending to earth again, "that I reveal my feelings to anybody. But I suppose things are rather out of the common to-day."
"Does she care for you?"
"I don't see how she possibly can," said Pip, with absolute sincerity. "But I'm going to ask her for all that."
"When?"
"As soon as I get on my legs again—financially."
"Ah, but when will that be? Debts are awful millstones, Jack."
"Debts? What? Oh, I forgot. Well, they are off."
"How?"
"This morning," said Pip, "I got a letter. It was from old Gresley, the head of the Motor Works where I am employed. His son used to be a friend of mine at Cambridge. The old man's letter is the most astonishing affair. He offers to take me into partnership! He seems to—to have taken a sort of liking for me," he added apologetically. "Isn't it like a fairy tale?"
(What old Gresley had said was this: "Partly because you have always been a good friend to my son, but chiefly because you combine first-class mechanical ability with sound common sense and the power of managing men, I write to ask if you will enter the firm as a partner, on equal terms with Harry. He has brains and you have ballast. Between you, you should sweep the board. I am getting old. Once the business is fairly gripped by you, I shall retire and leave you to run the show together. Give up your present post and come here at once, so that we may discuss matters more fully and settle details.")
"Then you'll be rich again?" said Lottie wonderingly.
"Well enough off, at any rate," said Pip, "to go and have it out—"
"With her?"
"Yes. Here's your train. I'll get your ticket."
Pip put the Principal Boy into an empty first-class carriage, and having shut the door conversed with her through the open window. The engine gave an impatient whistle, but the line was not clear, and the starting-signal remained obstinately red.
"Got any money?" said Pip awkwardly.
"Yes, thanks. Enough to keep me going."
The train still delayed, and Pip said,—
"I say, will you take my advice?"
"Depends on what it is."
"Go to Jim Lister."
"Well—I'll see," said the girl rather brokenly. She had borne up bravely till now, but the prospect of parting from her protector and the coming plunge into the unknown were telling their tale. Suddenly she looked up.
"Jack," she whispered, "come with me!"
The two gazed at each other steadily. Never was there a more direct invitation, and no man knows what thoughts passed through Pip's heart, or how great the battle that was fought and won during that brief minute. At length he spoke.
"I am still your father's paid servant, and until I have seen him and thrown up my billet I must stay here."
Lottie bowed her head submissively. She knew her man.
"But I'll tell you what," continued Pip. "To-morrow I shall be in town. If you still want help, send a line to me at the Oxford and Cambridge Club, and I'll come to you."
"You promise?"
"I promise. But you must promise not to write unless you really need me."
Lottie, a little mystified, agreed.
Suddenly the red signal-light turned to green. The guard at the rear of the train broke off an engrossing conversation with the only porter, and waved his lantern. The engine gave a preliminary quiver.
Lottie and Pip shook hands. The girl's eyes were full of tears. Poor Principal Boy! Kindness which asked for nothing in return had been a rarity in her life. Suddenly she said,—
"Give us a kiss, Jack!"
Pip complied, with a satisfactory thoroughness that elicited a humorous expostulation from the only porter, who was passing by.
"Good-bye!" he said. "You'll be all right when you get to King's Cross."
Which cryptic remark was the last he ever addressed to the Principal Boy, for the train glided out of the station, and he never saw her again.
Before leaving the station Pip despatched the following telegram:—
Lister, Crown Theatre, Strand, London.
Arriving King's Cross 7.30. Can you meet me? Want help badly.
Lottie.
The following morning, having discarded his chauffeur's attire and departed from Broadoak Manor, after listening to an eloquent and most enjoyable valedictory address from its tenant, Pip returned to London. At the end of a highly satisfactory interview with the Gresleys he turned his steps in the direction of the Oxford and Cambridge Club, which he had not entered for three years.
He made himself known to those in authority, and announced that he had now returned from "abroad." He then asked if there was any letter for "Armstrong," which, he explained rather lamely, had been sent him under that name, "by mistake."
Yes, there was a note left by a messenger that afternoon. He opened it. It contained a single line—
All's well; and we thank you—both of us!
Lottie Lister.