"But, my dear, you didn't know anything about it this afternoon."

"Oh, yes, I did. I knew there was something amiss. It was as much as I could do to be civil to Colonel Eldridge; he is so obstinate and wrong-headed. She backs him up, too, though she pretends to be all sweetness and reasonableness. I'm sorry for her though, for I'm afraid they have very little money now, and are going through a bad time. I was a good deal more friendly to her this afternoon than I felt like, because of that; and I must keep in with her because of Pamela."

"Why because of Pamela?"

"Well, I hadn't meant to say anything to you yet, but I don't seem to be able to keep anything to myself. Jim is in love with Pamela. She's a very sweet girl, though her parents are rather tiresome. I don't see any reason to object. Jim might marry somebody of higher rank or with more money, but we're not worldly, as I told Mrs. Eldridge, and if he has set his heart on Pamela I'm not sorry for it."

"You told Mrs. Eldridge? You talked that over together?"

"Well, and why not? Of course _she_ would like it. As she said, with four daughters and two of them grown up, it was time to think about marriage for them."

"Did she really say that?"

"Not in so many words, perhaps, but that was what she meant. You wouldn't object to Jim marrying Pamela, would you?"

"No, I shouldn't object," said Lord Crowborough, after a pause of consideration. "I think I should be rather glad. Pamela is a very charming girl. But I doubt if there's anything in it all the same. I happened to notice that Jim wasn't much with her this afternoon. He was much more with little Judith, and they seemed to be getting on extraordinarily well together. Oddly enough, it did cross my mind that something might come out of that by and by."

"It's curious you should say so, because that is what Mrs. Eldridge seemed to be hinting at. She never says anything straight out. However, we shall see. She was very anxious that we should get up a picnic. I think her idea was to help matters on, though she wouldn't have acknowledged that. I shouldn't have taken to the suggestion if I had seen any reason why matters shouldn't be helped on. I should be rather disappointed if it is Judith and not Pamela. But we shall see. I shall let Mrs. Eldridge have her picnic, and we shall see what comes of it.

Then we shall know what to do."

Lord Crowborough met Lord Eldridge in London by appointment. He went up for the day, on purpose to do so. It was a little unfortunate that Lord Eldridge's engagements prevented his accepting an invitation to lunch, for a more leisured conversation in a mellower atmosphere than that of his office in the City might have led to more satisfactory results.

For the mission was a failure. "I shan't take any further steps," said Lord Eldridge; firmly. "It's very kind of you to want to bring us together again, and as far as I'm concerned I'm not going to keep up a feud. You can tell Edmund that, if you like. But it's he who has created the feud, and if he wants it ended it's for him to make the advance.

I've done every mortal thing that he has wanted me to do, unreasonable as well as reasonable, and it has been of no use. There's nothing more left for me to do."

"Well, there was something--he didn't tell me what it was--that he thought you might have done. But he said he didn't mind now whether you did it or not."

"Yes, exactly. That's how it goes all the time. I don't wonder he didn't tell you what it was. _I_ don't mind telling you. I was to dismiss my head gardener, out of hand, at a word from him. I didn't see any reason to do it, when I had looked into the complaint, which I did do. But I have taken the man away from Hayslope, and got him another job, solely and entirely to remove that cause of complaint. And now I'm told he doesn't mind whether I do it or not. Why, he made it the final cause of the split between us! He wouldn't come to my house again as long as that man was there. I haven't seen him since, and really, Crowborough, I don't want to see him. I don't know what has come over him, but there's nothing one can do to placate him. I'm not going to take any more trouble about it." He turned sharply round in his chair. "What the devil _is_ it that he complains of?" he asked in a tone of strong irritation.

"I'm just what I've always been to him. We've always got on well together up till now."

"Well, he says that you're _not_ just the same," said Lord Crowborough, with weighty insistence. "And I'm not sure that you are, you know, William. Of course you've got a deal more money than most of us, and that seems to be complicating things at Hayslope."

"Complicating things! I'll tell you this, that Edmund will find things a good deal more complicated without my money to help him along. He's got no head for business, not even estate business, which he thinks he knows all about. I don't think he has the least idea what a help I've been to him over that. I've been rather keen that he shouldn't know. But now that it will all be on his own shoulders I think he'll find his troubles increasing on him pretty heavily."

"Well, do you want that, William? Do you want that?"

Lord Crowborough had scored there. "No, I don't want it," said Lord Eldridge in a tone that was almost sulky. "At least, I don't want him to be pushed up into a corner. I don't think it will do him any harm to get some idea of what I've really done for him during these last few years, all the same."

"I know how generous you have been, my dear fellow. I know that we were never to mention what you did over that unpleasant business of Hugo's with Horsham, but _I_ shall never forget it."

"I saved Edmund trouble and disgrace over that, didn't I? I'd have done anything to prevent his knowing what a young scoundrel Hugo really was.

I was going to say, what a lot of thanks I get for it; but of course he doesn't know. I haven't told you, because I haven't seen you since, that I had a reminder of that business the other day. I tried to warn Edmund of what might be coming, but he wouldn't even listen to me. Apparently nothing _has_ happened yet, and I hope nothing will."

"What is it? I thought that was all over and done with."

"So did I. But do you remember young Barrett, who was one of them that evening, and was killed at the same time as Hugo?"

"I remember his name."

"His mother wrote and asked me to go and see her. She thought Hugo was my son, as it turned out, fortunately for Edmund, or he would have had the story. She had found among his papers an I. O. U. of Hugo's for four hundred pounds, and a statement written by himself of exactly what had happened on that night. It was a pretty damaging indictment. Although I had known it all through, it made me ashamed to read it."

"What kind of a woman can she be to want to show that to the boy's father, after he had been killed?"

"Oh, I ought to have told you that she didn't show me the paper until she knew that I wasn't his father. It was the I. O. U. that she wanted to talk about. She's an emotional, I should say rather hysterical sort of woman. It's possible she might have shown Edmund the paper, if he had been there instead of me; but she hadn't meant to do so when she wrote.

She didn't know what to do about the I. O. U. She had thought of destroying it, but couldn't make up her mind what to do. I offered to settle it then and there, but she wouldn't let me. She has plenty of money, and when it came to the point I think she was rather ashamed at the idea of taking it. I suppose she really wanted the luxury of a little fuss, and if she was going to behave generously about it, to let it be known, at any rate to Hugo's people. I couldn't do anything with her except that I think I made her understand that it wouldn't do her son's name any good to have it known. So I suppose she'll keep quiet. I tried to make her see that it would be a cruel thing, as you said just now, to trouble Hugo's father. I told her that he didn't know the worst, though I did, and you did, and that I had settled it, as far as it could be settled. She seemed to accept it all, and to be glad that her mistake had prevented her from doing something she might have regretted. But I can't feel sure about her. He was her only son; she wants to keep him alive in some way. I saw that she sent a subscription of a hundred pounds to some charity, in his name, only a few days ago. You never know where you are with a woman like that. I've done all that I can."

"Poor old Edmund! It would be a sad thing if he had to know about it after all."

"Yes; I don't think it will happen. I don't in the least think it will happen. She'll let me know if she wants the money. She practically promised me that. I'm rather glad now that Edmund did prevent my warning him about it. I had just come from her, and I felt doubtful as to what she would do. I shouldn't have told him everything--only something that would have broken the shock to him if it had come. But it's weeks ago now. She's apparently decided not to do anything. I think the danger is past."

"It looks like it; and I'm very glad of it. Poor Edmund! He clings to that boy's memory, though I'm afraid he'd have given him nothing but trouble if he'd lived. You've been very good, William, in keeping the worst of it from him. You've done it even since you quarrelled with him.

Now look here--can't you carry it a bit further and make friends with him again?"

"Oh, I'm quite ready to make friends with him if he wants it. I've told you so. But as for taking the first step, which I suppose is what you want me to do, I tell you I'm tired of taking first steps. When this absurd dispute began, I put aside one offence after the other from him, and acted on what I thought was beneath it all--I mean the very thing you rely on--our always having got on well together as brothers and all that. _He_ didn't rely on that. Every step I took was made the basis of further offence. No, I'm not going out on that road again. If he wants me he knows well enough how to get me."

"My dear fellow, I dare say you're in the right and he's in the wrong--all the way through if you like. But it's a question of acting generously."

"I've tried to do that. But when your generosity is thrown back in your face time after time--! No, it's no good, Crowborough. I'm ready to put it all aside and begin again; but I'm not going to make any more advances."

With this Lord Crowborough had to be content. He made the most of it to Colonel Eldridge. William was quite ready to return to their former relations, but he was still sore about the way in which his efforts at reconciliation had been rejected, as he considered. Couldn't Edmund himself write something that would put it right? He felt sure that William would respond.

"I'll think about it," said Colonel Eldridge. "I'm not going to do anything in a hurry."

He thought about it very carefully. He wanted to have it over. William had said he was ready to have it over; but did he really want it, in the same way, or didn't he much care? His whole att.i.tude now seemed to show that he hardly cared at all. He was leaving Hayslope and all his interests there, which had been much to him. Now, besides all the other interests of his successful life, they counted for very little, and he, his brother, was just part of them. If he were to put aside his resentments, which still caused him acute annoyance when he remembered their successive occasions, and to make some advance towards reconciliation, wouldn't it be taken as just an indication that he had found himself unable to do without William's a.s.sistance and was ready to eat humble pie in order to get it again?

No, he couldn't do it. William would no doubt respond effusively. He would pretend that nothing had ever happened, and behave with that excessive brotherliness which he had always found it difficult to respond to, though he had valued it as expressing the feeling which he had also cherished. With the memory of all that would have to be ignored still fresh in his mind, he knew that he could not meet that att.i.tude graciously--not for some time to come. It would be a false intimacy to which he would be immediately invited; not false, perhaps, on William's part, because with all his late offences endorsed, and the excitements of his life taking up most of his attention, he would be relieved to be able to give his impulses play; but certainly false on his part, who must have time in which to get back to the old terms.

What he would do--and it would be a great concession--would be to write directly to William upon some subject with which they had been dealing through their lawyers. That would be a beginning, from which they could gradually proceed to something more; and in time the past would be forgotten. It was the only way. Neither of them would be climbing down, and there would be no chance of still further misunderstandings, from a correspondence about a dispute upon which they would never agree.

Yes, he would do that without delay. Perhaps the process towards complete reconciliation would not be too protracted. His spirits rose when he thought of that.

CHAPTER XXIV

ALMOST

They had just finished lunch at the Hall. Pamela was wondering rather disconsolately what she should do with herself for the afternoon. The times seemed out of gear. There was the Grange half a mile away, to which she was accustomed to repair if there seemed to be nothing particular to do at home. Aunt Eleanor was there. She had come over this morning, but Pamela had not seen her, and she had made no suggestions for meeting later in the day. Norman was there, with his two friends. He might bring them over some time during the afternoon; she had half expected that he would do so during the morning; but perhaps they had been reading, as they called it. Eric Blundell, the one who had talked to her most the afternoon before at Persh.o.r.e Castle had told her that they intended to read very hard during their stay at the Grange. Norman had been excessively annoyed with her when she had last seen him, but his annoyance seldom lasted long. He would surely want to have it out with her! She would rather enjoy that. Anything to escape from this deadly blight which seemed to be settling down on them all!

She had stepped out of the window of the dining-room after lunch, and was standing there, when she saw Norman coming towards her from among the trees. He was alone. He must have hurried over his lunch, and left his friends upon some pretext. Perhaps he had done that so as to have it out with her. She brightened, but did not go forward to meet him.

He waved his stick to her, in his usual manner, when he saw her, and there was no sign of annoyance on his face as he approached. That was one thing that was rather nice about Norman. If he ever lost his temper, as he did occasionally, he recovered it very quickly.

"We're going off for a joy-ride," he called out, as he came up to her.

"I've come to fetch you."

"Who is going?" she asked, "and where?"