'Mentor has no objection to be catechised, but he wishes to put one question first. Are you quite content and happy, Audrey?'

'Indeed I am!' turning to him one of the brightest faces he had ever seen.

'Then, my dear, I am satisfied, too.'

'Oh, but that will not do! You must tell me your own private opinion. I know you like Cyril--you have always spoken well of him; but are you sure that in your heart you thoroughly approve my choice?'

She was pressing him close, but he did not flinch; he only turned to her rather gravely.

'My dear Audrey, there are limits even to Mentor's privileges. When two people make up their minds to take each other for better, for worse, no third person has a right to give an opinion. I know little of Mr. Blake, but I have already a respect for him. I am perfectly sure that in time we shall be good friends.'

'I hope so--I hope so from my heart!' she returned earnestly. 'You are very guarded, Michael; and, though you are too kind to say so, I know you think I have acted rather hastily. Perhaps you would rather I had waited a little longer; but Cyril was so unhappy, and I--well, I was not quite comfortable myself. It is so much nicer to have it all settled.'

'Yes, I see.'

'And now everything is just perfect. Oh, Michael, you must not go away for a long time! I cannot do without you.'

'I hope you don't expect me to believe that?'

'But it is perfectly true, I a.s.sure you. Actually, Cyril pretended to be jealous to-day, because I could think of nothing but your coming home.

He was only teasing me; for of course he understands what we feel for each other. If you were my own brother, Michael, I could not want you more. But that is the best of Cyril; he is really so unselfish--almost as unselfish as you.'

'My dear child,' returned Michael lazily, 'did you ever hear of a certain philosopher named Diogenes, and how he set off one day, lamp in hand, to search through the city for an honest man? Really, your remark makes me inclined to light my own private farthing dip, and look for this curious anomaly, an unselfish man.'

'You would not have to go far,' she returned innocently. 'There are two of them in Rutherford at the present moment.'

But he only shook his head and laughed at this guileless flattery, and at that moment, to his relief, Dr. Ross came into the room.

But as he took his place at the dinner-table he had a curious sensation, as though he had been racked; and, though he laughed and talked, he had an odd feeling all the time as though he were not quite sure of his own ident.i.ty; and all that evening a few words that Audrey had said haunted him like a refrain:

'If you were my own brother, Michael, I could not want you more--if you were my own brother I could not want you more!'

CHAPTER XXVIII

MICHAEL TURNS OVER A NEW LEAF

'My privilege is to be the spectator of my own life-drama, to be fully conscious of the tragi-comedy of my own destiny; and, more than that, to be in the secret of the tragi-comic itself.

'Without grief, which is the string of this venturesome kite, man would soar too quickly and too high, and the chosen souls would be lost for the race, like balloons, which, but for gravitation, would never return from the empyrean.'--AMIEL.

Michael's return had greatly added to Audrey's happiness. In spite of her lover's society and her natural joyousness of disposition, she had been conscious that something had been lacking to her complete contentment.

'No one but Michael could take Michael's place,' as she told him a little pathetically that first evening.

But when a few days had elapsed she became aware that things were not quite the same between them--that the Michael who had come back to her was not exactly the old Michael.

The old Michael had been somewhat of an autocrat--a good-natured autocrat, certainly, who tyrannised over her for her own good, and who a.s.sumed the brotherly right of inquiring into all her movements and small daily plans. They had always been much together, especially since Geraldine's marriage had deprived her of sisterly companionship; and it had been an understood thing in the Ross family that where Audrey was, Michael was generally not far off.

Under these circ.u.mstances, it was therefore quite natural that Audrey should expect her cousin to resume his usual habits. She had counted on his companionship during the hours Cyril was engaged in his schoolroom duties. In old times Michael had often accompanied her on her visits to her various _protegees_; he had always been her escort to the garden-parties that were greatly in vogue at Rutherford, or he would drive her to Brail or some of the outlying towns or villages where she had business.

It was somewhat of a disappointment, then, to find that Michael had suddenly turned over a new leaf, and was far too occupied to be at her beck and call. Kester came to him almost daily, and it became his custom to spend the remainder of the morning in Dr. Ross's study. He had a habit, too, of writing his letters after luncheon; in fact, he was seldom disengaged until the evening, when he was always ready to take his place in the family circle.

Audrey accused herself of selfishness. Of course she ought to be glad that Michael's health had so much improved. Her father was always remarking on the change in a tone of satisfaction.

'He is like the old Mike,' he said once; 'he has taken a new departure, and has shaken off his listlessness. Why, he works quite steadily now for hours without knocking up. He is a different man. He takes a cla.s.s for me every morning; it does me good to see him with half a dozen boys round him. Blake will have to look out for himself; he is hardly as popular as the Captain.'

Audrey took herself to task severely when her father said this. It was evident that Michael had spoilt her. She was determined not to monopolise him so selfishly; but, somehow, when it came to the point, she was always forgetting these good resolutions.

And another thing puzzled Audrey: Michael was certainly quieter than he used to be; when they were alone--which was a rare occurrence now--he seemed to have so little to say to her. Sometimes he would take up his book and read out a few pa.s.sages, but if she begged him to put it down and talk to her instead, he would dispute the point in the most tiresome fashion.

'I think people talk too much, nowadays,' he would say in his lazy way; 'it is all lip-service now. If women would only cultivate their minds a little more, and learn to hold their tongues until they have something worth saying, the world would not be flooded with all this muddy small-talk. Now, for example, if you would allow me to read you this fine pa.s.sage from Emerson.'

But if Audrey would allow nothing of the kind, and if, on the contrary, she manifested an obstinate determination to talk, he would argue with her in the same playful fashion; but she could never draw him into one of their old confidential talks.

But when they were all together of an evening, Michael would be more like his old self. He would sit beside the piano when she sang, and turn over the leaves for her, or he would coax her to be his partner in a game of whist, and lecture her in his old fashion; but all the time he would be looking at her so kindly that his lectures never troubled her in the least.

But when Cyril spent the evening at Woodcote, which was generally once or twice a week, Michael never seemed to think that they wanted him: he would bury himself in his book or paper, or challenge Dr. Ross to a game of chess. He never took any notice of Audrey's appealing looks, and her kindly attempts to draw him into conversation with her and Cyril were all disregarded.

Audrey bore this for some time, and then she made up her mind that she must speak to him. She was a little shy of approaching the subject--Michael never seemed to give her any opening now--but she felt she must have it out with him.

One evening, when she and Cyril had exchanged their parting words in the hall, she went back to the drawing-room and found Michael standing alone before the fire. She went up to him at once, but as he turned to her she was struck with his air of weariness and depression.

'Oh, Michael, how tired you look!' she observed, laying her hand on his arm. 'Have you neuralgia again?' And as he shook his head, she continued anxiously: 'Are you sure you are quite well--that nothing is troubling you? You have been so very quiet this evening. Michael'--and here she blushed a little--'I want to say something to you, and yet I hardly know how to put it--it is just like your thoughtfulness--but, indeed, there is no need: you are never in the way.'

'Is this an enigma? If so, I may as well tell you I give it up at once.

I never could guess conundrums;' and Michael twirled his moustache in a most provoking way; but, all the same, he perfectly understood her. 'I give it up,' he repeated.

Audrey pretended to frown.

'Michael, I never knew you so tiresome before. It is impossible to speak seriously to you--and I really am serious.' And then her tone changed, and she looked at him very gently. 'You mean it so kindly, but indeed it is not necessary. Neither Cyril nor I could ever find you in the way.'

He looked down at the rug as she spoke, and there was a moment's silence before he answered her. She had come straight to him from her lover to say this thing to him. It was so like Audrey to tell him this.

An odd thought occurred to him as he listened to her--one of those sudden flashes of memory that sometimes dart across the mind: he remembered that once in his life he had kissed her.

It had been half a lifetime ago. She was only a child. They were staying in London, and he had come to see them on his way from some review. He remembered how Audrey had stood and looked at him. She had the same clear gray eyes then.

'How grand you look, Mike!' she exclaimed in an awestruck tone, for as a child she had always called him 'Mike.' 'I wish you would always wear that beautiful scarlet coat; and I think, if you did not mind, I should like you to kiss me just for once.'

Michael remembered how he had felt as she made that innocent request, and how Dr. Ross had laughed; and then, when he kissed her cheek, she thanked him quite gravely, and slipped back to her father.

'Why don't you ask for a kiss, too, Gage?' Dr. Ross observed in a joking way.