You know him, don't you?"

"D'Arcy? Aye, I mind him fine. A fat yin, wi' a lum hat tied up wi'

string. A popish-lookin' body," commented Mr. Goble sorrowfully.

He retired downstairs, to ponder upon the dubiety of the company into which his employer appeared to be drifting, and Hughie returned to his letters.

The sight of the next caused him to glow suddenly, for on the back of the envelope he observed the address of Joan's flat. But he cooled when he turned it round and read the superscription. It was in the handwriting of the lady with whom Joan shared the flat.

"DEAR MR. MARRABLE [it said],--

"Joan and I are coming to call on you to-morrow about twelve--"

"They'd better stay to lunch." Hughie touched the bell and continued,--

"Dear Joan is very young in some ways, and she has no idea of the value of money; but since talking the matter over with _me_ recently, she would like to have a few words with you about her financial position.

"How delightful to see the leaves coming out again!--Believe me, yours sincerely,

"URSULA HARBORD."

"'Dear Joan would like'--_would_ she?" commented Hughie. "I'm afraid it's Ursula Harbord I'm going to have the few words with, though.

Hades!"

He rose and crossed the room to the fireplace, where he kicked the coals with unnecessary violence. Then he sighed heavily, and picked up a photograph which stood upon the mantelpiece.

Joan had spoken nothing but the truth when she told Hughie that he would discover his true feelings as soon as he found himself away from her.

For six or eight months he had gone about his day's work with the thoroughness and determination of his nature. He had administered the little estate of Manors, was beginning to dabble in politics, had taken up rowing again, and was trying to interest himself generally in the course of life to which he had looked forward so eagerly on his travels.

He had even tried conclusions with a few _debutantes_ who had been introduced to his notice by business-like Mammas. But whatever his course of life, his thoughts and desires persisted in centring round a single object,--a very disturbing and elusive object,--and try as he would, he failed to derive either pleasure or profit from his present existence.

In other words, he had made a mess of a love-affair.

Most men--and most women too, for that matter--undergo this experience at least once in their lives, and no two ever endure it in the same way.

One rants, another mopes, a third forgets, a fourth bides his time, a fifth seeks consolation elsewhere, a sixth buries himself in work or dissipation. Hughie, who cherished a theory that everything ultimately comes right in this world provided you hold on long enough, and that when in doubt a man should "stand by the Day's Work and await instructions," like Kipling's Bridge-Builders, had gone steadily on, because it was his nature so to do. It was uphill work at present,--a mechanical perfunctory business, with no reward or alleviation in sight,--but he was determined to go on doing his duty by Joan to the best of his ability, and combine so far as he was able the incompatible _roles_ of stern guardian, undesired suitor, and--to him most paradoxical of all--familiar friend.

For there was no doubt that Joan liked him. She trusted him, consulted him,--yea, obeyed him, even when he contradicted her most preposterous utterances and put down a heavy foot on her most cherished enterprises.

For this he did without flinching. The fact that he was a failure as a lover seemed to be no reason why he should fail as a guardian.

Not that Joan submitted readily to his _regime_. To Hughie's essentially masculine mind her changes of att.i.tude were a complete mystery. They seemed to have no logical sequence or connection. She would avoid him or seek him out with equal unexpectedness. She might be hopelessly obstinate or disarmingly docile. One day she would behave like a spoilt child; on another she would be a very grandmother to him. Sometimes she would blaze up and rail against her much-enduring guardian for a tyrant and a monster; at others she would take him under a most maternal wing, and steer him through a garden-party or a reception in a manner which made him feel like a lost child in the hands of a benevolent policeman.

On one occasion, which he particularly remembered, she had rounded on him and scolded him for a full half-hour for his stolid immobility and lack of _finesse_; the self-same afternoon he had overheard her hotly defending him against a charge of dulness brought by two frivolous damsels over the tea-table.

All this was very perplexing to a man who hated subtlety and liked his friends and foes marked in plain figures. It unsettled his own opinions, too. Joey's variegated behaviour prevented him from deciding in his own mind whether he really liked her or not. At present all he was certain of was that he loved her.

Meanwhile she was coming to see him--about her financial position. That did not promise romance. And Ursula Harbord was coming too. Help!

Certainly life was a rotten business at present. And it had been so full and glorious before he had forsaken the wide world and taken to this sort of thing. It might have been so different too, if only--

Poor Hughie replaced Joan's photograph, sighed again--and coughed confusedly. A funereal image appeared over his shoulder in the chimney-gla.s.s.

"Were you ringin'?" inquired a sepulchral voice.

"Yes, John. Miss Gaymer and a friend of hers are coming to see me this morning. They'll probably stay to lunch. You can clear away that food over there."

He returned to his letters. Only one remained unopened, and proved to be from a man with whom he had arranged to shoot in the autumn.

"This seems to promise a little relief from the present cheery state of affairs," he mused. "Four men on a nice bleak moor, with no women about!

Thank G.o.d! A hundred pounds a share. Well, Lord knows, trusteeing is an unprofitable business, but I think I can just do it. I'll accept at once."

He began to write a telegram. Bachelors have a habit of conducting their correspondence in this manner.

"Here's they twa whigmalearies," announced Mr. Goble dispa.s.sionately.

He ushered in Lance Gaymer and the histrionic Mr. Haliburton.

"After compliments," as they say in official circles, Lance came to the point.

"Marrable," he said, after an almost imperceptible exchange of glances with Haliburton, "aren't you keeping my sister rather short of money?"

Hughie turned and stared at him in blank astonishment.

Mr. Haliburton, exuding gentlemanly tact at every pore, rose instantly.

"You two fellows would like to be alone, no doubt," he said. "I must not intrude into family matters. I'll call for you in half an hour, Lance."

Hughie had risen too.

"You need not trouble, Mr. Haliburton," he said. "Lance is coming with you."

Mr. Gaymer was obviously unprepared for such prompt measures as these.

"But look here--I say--what the devil do you mean?" he spluttered.

"I mean," replied Hughie deliberately,--he had realised, almost exultantly, that here once more was a situation which need not be handled with kid gloves,--"that I am your sister's sole trustee and guardian, and that you have nothing whatever to do with the disposition of her property, and--"

"I think you forget," said Lance truculently, "that I am her brother."

"I do not forget it," said Hughie. "Neither did Jimmy Marrable. It was no oversight on his part which left Joan's inheritance and yours locked up in separate compartments, so to speak. He gave you an independent income long ago, Lance, because he was particularly anxious to give you no opportunity of interfering with Joan's affairs when the time came.

For some reason he had chosen me for the job, and he preferred that I should have a free hand. Therefore I am not going to allow you to cut into my department. I am sorry to have to put it so brutally, but, really, you have been infernally officious of late. This is the fourth reference which you have made to the subject during the past six weeks.

I don't know whether your enterprise is inspired by brotherly love or the desire to make a bit, but whichever it is I don't think you'll get much change out of me. I also object to your latest move--bringing in Mr. Haliburton, presumably as an accomplice, or a witness, or whatever you like to call him."

"Really, Mr. Marrable!" Mr. Haliburton's voice quivered with gentlemanly indignation.

Hughie rang the bell.

"Look here, Marrable," burst out Lance furiously, "you are getting yourself in a hole, I can tell you! We--I happen to know that Jimmy Marrable left thirty or forty thousand pounds at least for Joey's immediate use; and I am pretty certain he left something for mine too.

Now--"

"I'm sorry I can't ask you to stay to lunch," said Hughie, "but I have some friends coming. Show these gentlemen out, John."

The deputation was ruthlessly shepherded downstairs by the impa.s.sive Mr.

Goble, and Hughie was left to his own reflections. He filled a pipe meditatively.