"I should have thought you'd have been rather pleased with that."

"Why? Because she's the daughter of a Duke? I shouldn't have thought _you_ would have taken that line."

He looked pained. "I don't, really," said Pam soothingly. "Did they?"

"Oh, not in any way that you could object to. I mean they wouldn't have thought I was making up to her because of that. But--well, the long and the short of it is that I seemed to present myself to their minds as the son of a man who's so rich that I can afford to make up to anybody.

That's what's disturbing me."

She bent her mind to it. "Really, I don't quite see," she said, with sympathy. "If it does come to that--that you want to marry her--wouldn't it make it easier?"

"I suppose I should be glad that money didn't stand in the way. But I don't quite like it, all the same. Dad seems to be quite well known, as a man who has made pots of money, and may be made a peer himself, or anything he likes--not because of his money--I don't mean that exactly--but because he has made himself so useful to them. What I didn't like was the sort of suggestion that he made a pot during the war. I know he didn't, and I told them so. Of course they said that they had never imagined anything of that kind--seemed shocked at the very idea. But I'm pretty certain that the idea is going about, and I don't like it a bit. Anyhow, _I'm_ not going to exhibit myself as a joyous young bounder who thinks he can do anything he likes because he's the son of a rich man. I don't believe Dad _is_ as rich as all that, and I told them so. I said I supposed they were leading up to asking me to back bills for them. We left it on that note. But it's rather disturbing, isn't it?"

"Not very, Norman dear. I shouldn't let it worry you. _I_ know perfectly well that you'd be just the same if Uncle Bill were as poor as a church mouse; and everybody would be just as pleased to see you."

"Dear old girl! _You_ know that I shouldn't found myself on money; but everybody doesn't. I shall have to be a bit careful, if it's really like that. I think I shall put it to Dad myself. He's not like that, either.

He likes work, and he's made a big success of it because he's so clever, and sound. It's hard luck if people have got hold of a wrong idea of him."

"You're always telling me that I know nothing; but I do know as much as that--that rich people are apt to be misunderstood. Still, _we_ know him, so what does it matter? What is the bearing of it all upon Margaret?"

"The bearing of it on Margaret--name that melts my very heart-strings--is that I shall go slow for a time, and see how things turn out. If she weren't a Duke's daughter, I should let myself rip. As it is, I'm not so sure."

CHAPTER XIII

DISCUSSION

Lady Eldridge was as direct in her speech and her ways as any woman could be. Yet it did not seem possible to her to embark directly upon the subject of which her mind was full, when Norman and Pamela had gone off, and she and her sister-in-law were left alone together. Clothes were the topic which Mrs. Eldridge seemed eager to discuss, and as if it were the one upon which she had only been waiting to unburden herself.

Lady Eldridge allowed herself to drift with the stream, until some landing-place should appear upon which she could set her foot. She was used to humouring Cynthia in this way, who was not easily diverted from any subject in which she was interested, though she would pursue it with many amusing twists and turns, and never made her longest speeches tiresome to listen to. She seemed to be full of spirit this afternoon, and made Lady Eldridge laugh more than once, though she was increasingly anxious to come to terms with her upon the question which must surely be disturbing them both equally.

For nothing had been heard from Hayslope in answer to William's letter.

Coombe had written to say that he had paid off the labour, according to instructions, and that was all. She had summoned him that morning on her arrival at the Grange, about plants and flowers for the house, and he had volunteered the information that most of the men who had been working at the garden had been taken on by Colonel Eldridge. This had given her an unpleasant shock, but she had made no comment upon it to him, nor encouraged him to any further disclosures. She had divined from his manner that he was hostile to her brother-in-law, and did not want to hear about what had been happening from him first; nor to let him see that she knew nothing.

At last she found an opening. "Cynthia dear," she said, "I must talk to you about the garden. You must remember that I know nothing yet of what has happened since William wrote."

Mrs. Eldridge did not lay aside the light manner in which she had been carrying on the conversation. "Well, dear," she said, "if you must talk about it I suppose you must. But it's such a tiresome business altogether that I should have thought it would have been better to leave it to the two men. If they are going to fall out about such a thing, I'm sure you and I needn't; and of course they will come together again."

Lady Eldridge thought for a moment. "Of _course_ you and I shan't fall out about it," she said with decision. "But it must have gone a good deal farther than it ought to have done for you to think of such a thing. Why didn't Edmund answer William's letter?"

"Well, there's no difficulty in answering that. His first letter to William seemed to have been so misunderstood that he thought it better not to write any more, but to wait till he came down. Of course he didn't know that he wasn't coming down this week, or perhaps he _would_ have written. I think he was quite right, you know. I advised him myself, when he wrote first of all, not to show irritation. I'm afraid the poor old darling must have done so, and unfortunately he didn't show me what he had written before he sent it. Oh, I think it's so much better _not_ to write letters which may be misunderstood. I didn't answer yours for the same reason, though I know _you_ wouldn't misunderstand. Well, perhaps that wasn't _quite_ the reason. I didn't want to mix myself up in it."

Lady Eldridge's spirits had lightened during the course of this speech.

"I'm so glad it was like that," she said. "I thought it must have been something of the sort. But do you mean that Edmund didn't want William to give up making the garden?"

"Of course he didn't. He only thought he ought to have been consulted first. I'm bound to say I thought he had been, and I told him so. I was as much in it as you were, in a sort of way. I was interested in the scheme, as you know. _I_ certainly didn't want it given up, and I was disappointed when William threw it all over."

"But--Edmund did object, you know; and pretty strongly. I saw his letter. William felt that he couldn't go on, in the face of that."

"Ye--es. But Edmund would have told him that he hadn't meant him to stop, if he had been given the chance. Men do act hastily when they are a little upset with one another; but it was a pity that William took up the att.i.tude he did, I think. With just a _little_ consideration for Edmund's feelings the trouble would have blown over entirely. Now I'm afraid there is quite a lot to put straight, and it has tried Edmund very much."

"I don't understand it, Cynthia. William wired at once to have the work stopped, according to what he thought were Edmund's wishes. It was a good deal to do under the circ.u.mstances, and what could he have done more? Surely, Edmund could easily have put it all straight by firing back that William had misunderstood him, and then--"

"Wiring back, dear! William didn't wire to Edmund. He took no notice of Edmund at all. The first Edmund knew was that Coombe came to tell him that he had dismissed the men. After that what _could_ he do?"

"What he seems to have done was to take the men on himself."

"I'm rather sorry he did do that, because of course he can't afford it, and it will only add to his worries, poor dear! Still, there they were dismissed at a moment's notice, in a fit of temper, you might say, and--"

"Oh, _no_, Cynthia. It wasn't so. You mustn't say that."

"My dear child, we must be reasonable on both sides if we are to talk it over at all. I've admitted quite frankly on my part that Edmund was hasty in what he first wrote to William, and you ought to admit on yours that William acted in the same way."

"But, Cynthia dear, I _know_. William _was_ annoyed, but after he had talked it all over he got rid of his annoyance. I _know_ that it had pa.s.sed when he wrote."

"Very well, then. But if that is so you must admit that he took an unfortunate way of showing it. To dismiss the men off-hand by wire, to let Edmund hear of it first from Coombe, and then--"

"I do admit that that was unfortunate. I'm quite sure that it never occurred to him--it didn't to me--that it would look as if--"

"And then his letter the next morning! That put Edmund's back up more than anything."

Lady Eldridge threw out her hands in a gesture of despair. "Oh, I give it up," she said. "Everything seems to have been taken in the wrong way.

I did think that two brothers who have been so much to each other as Edmund and William ought to be able to settle an absurd dispute of this sort without all this misunderstanding."

"That's exactly what I think. And if you and I are to mix ourselves up in it at all, we ought to try to clear up the misunderstandings."

"Yes, I want to do that. Tell me _why_ William's letter should have put Edmund's back up more than anything."

"It's rather difficult, you see. You mustn't be impatient with me. You know that I am very fond of William, but you can't expect me to see him in quite the same light as you do, any more than you can see Edmund in the same light as I do. And you must remember that I'm trying to make peace all the time. Still, I see things with Edmund's eyes to some extent, and after what had happened the day before I don't think it was unreasonable of him to object to being told in so many words that William couldn't be expected to take seriously things that _he_ thought so important, especially Hayslope, which was only a very small corner of the world."

"Oh, Cynthia, what an absurd coil it all is! William _can't_ have written that. I know the mood he was in when he went away to write."

"Well, dear, he did write it, and you must forgive me for saying that that att.i.tude in him is continually coming out. This bother about the garden is only a symptom of it. It is the att.i.tude itself that so annoys Edmund. I know that William is much higher up in the world now than my poor old man. But he ought not to want to rub it in, Eleanor. After all, Edmund _is_ the older brother, and the head of the family. You can't defend William telling _him_ that Hayslope is of very little importance.

It's all he has in the world. Poor dear, he did his duty as a soldier during the war. I'm not saying he did _more_ than William; but just look at the difference in the rewards they have got! Edmund will be a poor man for the rest of his life, because of the war, while William is rich and honoured."

"He isn't rich _because_ of the war."

"Oh, no! I don't mean that at all. I should never say such a thing, or think it. And as for his knighthood, one knows that honours are given to the men who do the sort of work that he did, while a soldier's work is just taken as a matter of course. _You_ know that it would never occur to me to feel jealousy on that score, which is why I can put it quite plainly. Edmund doesn't feel it either, and he is proud of William's success; he has often said so. But still, _here_, Edmund ought not to be considered of less account than William. There! I have said it quite plainly, and you mustn't be offended."

"No, I'm not offended; though it makes me rather sad that all that should have to be said, because it is practically the same as William says himself, and tries to act upon. He did so in this very matter of the garden; but see how it has turned out! Edmund takes it as an offence that he should instantly have carried out what he thought were his wishes."

"But did he really mean to give up the garden, Eleanor? I will tell you frankly now, as we have gone so far, that Edmund's idea is that he hoped he would beg him not to. _You_ wrote to me, you know, asking me to influence Edmund to do that."

"Not quite, Cynthia. At least--well--"

"You did, dear; and I should have tried to make the peace in that way, if it hadn't gone so far. I'm afraid you must admit that William acted hastily--I don't say more than that--and if he _did_ expect Edmund to climb down, as Edmund believes--well, that's just exactly the spirit that I've been trying to point out to you is so objectionable to Edmund."