Part 14

"If you will accept me as your lover, yes," Paul answered. He was all aglow with happiness. It is true that she was timid, shrinking, only now half conscious of what he meant, of what he offered. Yet through it all, nay, because of that very timidity, he felt that she cared for him--a little, and a great yearning filled his soul to make that little much. As yet he must be content that she had not repelled him; for, child as she was, Paul felt assured that the sweet, strong woman-being within her would have rejected his love with none of the uncertainty with which she had half accepted it; would have rejected it finally and with decision--for the time being, at all events. How utterly adorable she was, this queen among girls, this innocent, but half awake, maiden! How could he ever deserve her--how make himself worthy? What an inestimable privilege was his: to teach her love. An intense, an infinite tenderness was astir in the young fellow's strong, manly nature. Ah, how patient, how gentle he must be! Nor could he ever be patient and gentle enough. He would bear that in mind, always.

"Hazel, my little love," he murmured. "Look in my eyes and tell me once more that you love me--a little. Say: 'Paul, I love you, and presently I shall love you more.'"

Hazel raised her eyes obediently, but only to his collar stud. "I--I love you a little," she stammered.

"You won't look at me?" he pleaded.

"I _am_ looking, hard," she averred, blinking at his chin.

"And you won't say, 'Paul'?"

"It would be too silly," she objected, "when you are here, attending to me."

He longed to seal the compact between them with a kiss, a solemn, sacred kiss; but he felt the time was not yet. She had given him so much! Just now he must not ask for more. He must respect her sweet delicacy; he must not dismay or trouble her. He would be patient, gentle, all unselfish. In this wise he might grow to be worthy of her love, and, worthy, might gain it.

*CHAPTER XVII*

To return to the day of Hazel's visit to her brother's lodgings, Teddie's incredulous delight, when he came home to the rooms in Baker Street, and had toiled up to the little top chamber, somewhat dispirited, to find the bank-note upon his dressing-table, may be imagined. He eagerly seized upon and read the few lines that Hazel had written in explanation. They did not tell him much; only that he might spend the money with an easy mind; asking him to try to keep free from debt in the future, as next time she would find it far more difficult to help him.

Although Teddie knew of his sister's visit to their great-uncle, the thought never entered his head that he could possibly owe this very opportune aid to that circumstance. After much silent puzzling--for he was not going to confide in Gerald on the subject--he came to the conclusion that Hazel had, probably through the medium of Miles, sold her gold bangle, and so provided her distressed brother with pecuniary assistance. Mentally dubbing her a little brick, Teddie proceeded to make his toilet for the evening, with more zest than he had pursued any other of the day's duties. He poured a plentiful supply of water into the basin with the plain red band around its girth, from the ewer that was besprinkled with blue flowers. Removing his coat and collar, and thrusting his hands into his trousers pockets, he plunged his hot face into its cool depths, whilst with wide-open eyes he glared glassily at the bottom of the basin, some two inches from his nose, in seemingly futile wrath; then rolled them from side to side in fierce, yet vacant, contemplation of his environments, apparently much to his refreshment.

He emerged blowing like a grampus, and fell to rubbing his rosy countenance vigorously with the somewhat harsh little towel of Mrs. Walters's providing. He seemed to get an astonishing amount of satisfaction from these drastic measures, only desisting when his arms ached and his face was aglow with the friction. After belabouring his curly head severely with surprisingly stiff hair-brushes, he prized open the handleless little top drawer of the chest, which had been pushed injudiciously far in the shutting, with his pocket-knife--a broken, rusty, and blunt implement, long since dedicated to such uses--and supplied himself with a fresh collar and a change of tie. He would have liked to make a more complete toilet, for the Le Mesurier boys religiously dressed for the evening; but dressing meant a fresh shirt, and it frequently fell out that toward the end of the week clean shirts were scarce. To-day was Friday; the linen would be home to-morrow, and Teddie knew without looking that the first long drawer, boasting two knobs and devoted to the warding of his underclothing, was devoid of this particular article of wearing-apparel; for he had recklessly indulged himself this week.

So, perforce content with his hardy ablutions and slight changes of attire, he descended to the little sitting-room, to find Gerald already ensconced in his easy-chair, his slippered feet duly in place against the mantelshelf, luxuriously smoking an attenuated cigarette. He, too, had regulated his toilet with skill and sagacity, in accordance with the day of the week; but, more favoured than Teddie--for Gerald was never in arrear with his half of the rent--he had used a pint milk-jug of hot water sent up from the kitchen from the landlady, by Caroline the hand-maid.

"By Jove, you look pink!" Gerald remarked lazily, as his brother seated himself in the opposite chair and settled his feet in position. "Cold water, I suppose?"

"I prefer it," Teddie answered, briefly but good-humouredly. "Whew, I am peckish! I hope dinner will be punctual."

The cloth was already spread, and in a few minutes Caroline entered the room with a loaded tray, somewhat short of breath.

Gerald carved the mutton, Teddie served the vegetables.

"Oh, if you please, sir," Caroline said before retiring, "missis says will you please to knock on the floor with yer 'eel when ye're ready for the sweet. It is my evening out, and missis says as 'ow I can get ready now and she'll answer yer."

She addressed herself to Gerald, but looked the while deprecatingly at Teddie, who, though perhaps the more severe of the two young gentlemen, and more particular to have things to his liking, was her favourite, even while she stood in greater awe of him.

"Very well," Gerald returned; "but why doesn't she--Mrs. Walters--ask us to ring as usual?"

"She's a-sitting in the cool, sir--she's in the first-floor front sitting-room." Caroline almost whispered this solemn circumstance; for the first-floor front sitting-room was a marvel of shining lustres, hunting scenes, and crimson and gold furniture. "She mightn't 'ear the _bell_, but she's just under yer 'eel."

"All right," Gerald rejoined, and nodded dismissal. "We will make her hear."

"Don't be late home, Caroline," Teddie put in, warningly. "Back by ten sharp, mind."

"Yes, sir," Caroline answered docilely.

"And tell your young man from me that you are a good enough sort," he continued; "and I would say more, but I don't want to make you vain." He began to attack his dinner with youthful ardour and interest.

"Thank you, sir," the girl answered deferentially. She left the room, quite overwhelmed with Mr. Edward's compliment, a broad smile of pleasure pervading her countenance.

"You are very genial to-night," remarked Gerald presently.

The two had by this time made considerable inroad on their somewhat astonishing platefuls, and were at leisure to take matters a little more easily.

"Am I?" asked Teddie, gratified. "I feel genial." And he beamed about the room.

Without further comment the two finished with the mutton, and began a solemn tattoo upon the floor with their heels; becoming so interested in the martial sounds produced with military precision and kettledrum-like effect, that they only desisted on becoming aware that Mrs. Walters was calling desperately from below, "I'm comin'."

The "sweet" of which Caroline had spoken proved to be baked sago. When the landlady reappeared to remove this dish, Teddie, with well-assumed carelessness, addressed her.

"By the way, Mrs. Walters," he said, "I believe I have an account to settle with you." He drew from his pocket the five-pound note, and handed it to the mollified woman. "Give me the change at your convenience," he added; "don't trouble now."

Gerald, from his armchair, turned and regarded his brother in speechless amazement. Recovering somewhat, he glanced with apprehensive interest at Teddie's waistcoat pocket, trying to ascertain whether the huge Waterbury watch--which, by the way, if sold, might bring the owner half-a-crown--was still there. The silver chain was in its place, and he fancied he heard the tick of that strong and renowned piece of mechanism.

"Where the deuce----" he began, but Teddie frowned at him warningly.

"And I wanted to tell you that I wish to give a dinner to two or three friends one day next week," he went on, quite informally. "I think it would be more homelike to give it here, and less expensive. You could get in some cooked things, so as not to have too much to do: a meat pie, for instance. You could manage soup, fish, and a joint, could not you? One entree would do, game or something. There only remain the sweets and the savoury, cheese and dessert, and, of course, coffee."

"I should have to get in help," Mrs. Walters announced; "me and Caroline could never manage alone."

"No?" Teddie asked. "Not a simple little dinner like that? However, that is your look-out. Get all the help you want; and, by the way, have you another table that we could shove up against this, and cover the two with one cloth?"

When Mrs. Walters withdrew Teddie sat him down to write his invitations.

"It is only old Hugh," he told his brother, who was puffing at his pipe in silence and in seeming insouciance, but was in truth very anxious to know the meaning of Teddie's sudden affluence. "It has bothered me all along that the old fellow left us without our giving any farewell ceremony."

Gerald grunted. "Who is to meet him?" he asked.

"Well, I thought old Hamilton might like to come," Teddie answered. "He has seen Hugh once or twice, and has taken a liking to him."

Gerald nodded. "Any one else?" he asked.

"What do you say to having Charteris? He does run up to town for a dinner occasionally."

The notes of invitation were written and posted, and, before going down to Hazelhurst next day, Teddie had another interview with Mrs. Walters.

"It is settled for Monday night," he told her. "I don't like to have these things hanging on. As far as I know at present, there will be three guests. You have got about two pounds in hand--refund yourself from that if the stuff makes you out of pocket. Anything over and above you can mention in the bill."

But once more at home, Teddie got the whole truth out of Hazel, and dire was his wrath. He partially forgave his repentant little sister on hearing the history of her first visit to her uncle, and the fate of the former note.

"And we are such good friends now," Hazel told him, "that, although I could not possibly take anything for myself, I felt I could ask for you, Teddie: I was so miserable about you."

Teddie was mollified, when he learned that his sister had informed her uncle, that she should endeavour to keep secret how she came by the money. But Monday afternoon found him seated in the library of the house in Lancaster Gate, in conversation with that august relative.

Mr. Desborough's surprise was extreme when the curly-headed youth was announced, and, truth to tell, he was very much interested and amused in the subsequent conversation.

"I never expected to be sitting _here_," Teddie declared ingenuously. "But as I believe there is some talk of your visiting us at Hazelhurst, I don't mind meeting you half-way."

"Thank you," Mr. Desborough said drily.

"As to what has brought me here," Teddie went on, "you may perhaps guess. I have only just learned from my sister, that she actually asked you for money with which to help me in my--in my private affairs."

"What then?" Uncle Percival asked gruffly as Teddie paused.

"What then?" his nephew repeated hotly. "You don't suppose for a moment that I can sit down in that knowledge without making a protest, do you?" He regarded his uncle fiercely, and awaited an answer.

"I don't know, I am sure," Mr. Desborough replied at length. "I have forgotten how I should have felt at your age. I think I should have taken anything I could get."

"I don't believe you," Teddie rejoined warmly. "You may be a cantankerous old man, but I wouldn't make myself out worse than I am if I were you."

Mr. Desborough was about to expostulate angrily with Teddie on this somewhat intemperate expression, but when he had recovered sufficient breath for the purpose Teddie was, with bland indifference to his feelings, pursuing the conversation.

"I shall, of course, pay it back with all the speed in my power," he said. "Unfortunately it is already spent, or you should have the very note back. But I won't leave this house more in your debt than I can help." He rose, and, ransacking his pockets, produced four shillings and fivepence halfpenny, which he proceeded to place beside his uncle.

Mr. Desborough had much ado not to break into a hearty laugh. He began to think that the young fellow was as pleasing in his way as his little favourite, Hazel.

"Look you here, my boy," he returned, bent upon pacifying his irate nephew, "give an old man the pleasure of feeling he is of some use to his young relatives."

"I can't do it," Teddie declared, with, however, a softened mien, for he was touched by the unmistakable note of appeal in the old man's voice; "but I am forced to accept what is already spent on the rent and on to-night's dinner."

"Ah!" Mr. Desborough exclaimed. "To-night's dinner, eh? What are you going to have?"

Teddie rehearsed the menu, then began to explain matters further, as he became conscious of his uncle's extreme surprise.

"Oh, we don't fare like that every evening, simple though it is," he said in self-justification. "This is an entertainment long owed to my brother Hugh, and a couple of friends are asked to meet him."

Silence fell between them. Once the old man cleared his throat and was about to speak, but checked himself. When he did speak, he had evidently put something of moment aside.

"What shall you give them to drink?" he asked, in kindly interest.

"Whisky and soda or bottled beer," Teddie told him with prompt decision. "I did hope to give them a glass of decent claret, but that is off, of course."

Again a silence.

"Look you here, my boy." Uncle Desborough seemed bent upon having it out. Fear of rebuff had caused him to hesitate, and a strange sense of the unwonted good-fellowship of what he was about to propose made him awkward. "What do you say to asking me to your dinner? Would not that square matters?"

"We shall be delighted," Teddie made answer, very stiffly. "But, of course, we cannot let one of our guests pay for his dinner."

"An old fellow like myself won't be in the way?" Mr. Desborough asked.

The half-wistful tone of the question, meant to be brusque, was not lost upon his nephew.

"Not at all," he replied, more genially. "We shall be glad of your company. A quarter to eight, then, to-night."

A few hours later Gerald and Teddie were receiving their four guests with hearty welcome. The amazement of Gerald and Hugh when Mr. Desborough was announced can hardly be conceived, for Teddie had mischievously kept dark the circumstance of his coming. Their innate good-breeding and natural courtesy prompted them quickly to overcome the tendency to stand petrified with open mouths; for after only a momentary pause they were shaking hands warmly, as if their uncle's condescension were the most natural thing in the world.

"You are Paul Charteris, of whom my niece Hazel spoke?" Mr. Desborough asked of the latest arrival.

Paul flushed at the sudden mention of that name.

"Yes," he returned, "I have the good fortune to be a near neighbour of the Le Mesuriers."

It was marvellous to witness the little party being chivied about by the bustling landlady and her handmaid, till at length, finding it impossible to congregate about the hearth or by the window, the expedience began to dawn upon the group of dispersing singly. Thus they sat in formidable array round the walls of the room, whilst Hugh and Mr. Desborough conversed amicably together, seated side by side upon the horsehair sofa.

Presently Mrs. Walters, very red and important, beckoned Gerald out of the room to discuss with him the subject of chairs; for, beside the two miscalled easy-chairs, there were but two others in the boys' sitting-room, and under no circumstances could the landlady of the Baker Street rooms be induced to lend any of the gold and crimson furniture of the "first-floor front." She always said it would be "robbing Peter to pay Paul," but it was natural that her tenants should not see the connection, or, seeing, bring themselves to regard the matter in that light. This evening she was willing to make a great concession. Mr. Gerald might have the music-stool from the "first-floor front." It was against her rules, as he knew, but the company must be seated somehow, and the music-stool did not belong to a suite, so that it could be replaced readily, should any mischance overtake it.

The boys were, of course, at liberty to use their bedroom chairs as they pleased; so that when the guests were finally seated, Mr. Desborough and Mr. Hamilton occupied the two chairs of the sitting-room; Paul Charteris was accommodated with the cane chair from Gerald's bedroom, its somewhat low stature being at once remedied and rendered easy by a pillow; Hugh was perched upon the music-stool, whilst Gerald and Teddie affably dispensed hospitality, seated side by side on the sofa, which had been drawn up for that occasion.

"I am awfully sorry," Gerald said, "there is nothing much to offer in the way of drink." He glanced apologetically at the little sideboard, where bottled beer, whisky, and syphons of soda-water were arranged.

Uncle Percival cleared his throat.

"I--er--took the liberty," he said--and he glanced deprecatingly at Teddie--"I took the liberty--I hope an old uncle may be excused--of bringing some wine with me. My servant is still below, if you like him to bring up some sherry for the soup."

"Uncle Percival, you are a brick!" Hugh exclaimed, whilst Teddie gave his august relative an approving nod.

Thomas answered the bell, with decanter and glasses. A well-trained servant was he; for nothing could exceed his grave and deferential respect as his eyes lighted upon his master, seated upon the left hand--for Hugh was the guest of the evening--of the two flushed and eager young hosts upon the sofa. Yet the scene must of a surety have put a severe strain upon the risible muscles of any human being, necessitating a strong curb upon his sense of humour. Burgundy was handed round with the joint, and presently a suggestive "pop" from the region of the sideboard brought Mr. Desborough's eyes to meet Teddie's guiltily.

"Uncle, you are a trump," declared Teddie, slapping his uncle upon the shoulder.

Gerald rose and, leaning over Teddie, solemnly and in silence gripped his uncle's hand.

"I thought it might help with the evening's joviality," murmured the recipient of these attentions. "My dear fellows, what an excellent dinner you have provided--my compliments to your cook."

Which was tactful of Uncle Desborough.

Presently Paul Charteris rose and asked whether he had permission to propose a toast to the guest of the evening. Hugh modestly cast down his eyes as the company responded to the call with enthusiasm; Teddie meekly petitioning Providence that his shadow might never grow less.

Hugh rose to return thanks. He made a short speech, to the effect that, though happy in the capacity of Charteris's private secretary, he could never cease to regret that he had broken up the happy trefoil. He was half sorry that his brothers had not asked _his_ whilom boss to this festive gathering, but that, perhaps after all, they had done rightly: Mr. Hooper might not have cared to come. He and Hugh had never had the luck to hit it off together as his brother Edward and _his_ superior, Mr. Hamilton, had always done. Mr. Hooper was one of those men who did not appreciate the earnest endeavours and well-spent energy of the best years--or rather of a best year--at all events nine or ten months of a fellow's life. He had never liked or encouraged his, Hugh's, taste for drawing. He concluded by expressing his pleasure at finding himself in such thoroughly genial and sympathetic company, and he heartily returned his brother Edward's wish concerning his shadow--might all their shadows expand, if there must be any change in them. He begged to propose the health of their uncle, Percival Desborough.

Mr. Desborough acknowledged the courtesy and begged to be excused from either rising or speaking. His gout troubled him somewhat, and he had no gift for putting choice words together. He could but say he was sincerely glad to be among them all that night.

Upon this Teddie rose and asked the company to drink to his superior, Mr. Hamilton, to whom he had, he feared, in times gone by, been somewhat of a trial in his wild days. That, however, was all over. He had grown steady and was better understood than of yore. Nothing could exceed the happiness of the relations now existing between them.

Mr. Hamilton rose, was about to speak, but instead he broke into a hearty laugh and slapped the steady young man on the back. He declared that he would not say more than that he heartily concurred with all that his young host had deposed, and that he sincerely reciprocated his young host's feeling towards himself.

Gerald rose and said that since no one seemed inclined to name him, he thought he would waive ceremony and drink to himself if they would all join him, which they did amidst shouts of laughter. Gerald proceeded to remark that if he might be permitted he toasted his fellow-host Edward, more generally known as Teddie, who had taken upon himself almost the entire trouble and responsibility of the little dinner they were now enjoying. The company responded with cheers, waxing so warm that at length Teddie felt it incumbent on him to rise modestly and bow, which he did, somewhat bashfully.

He was about to reseat himself when Gerald gave him a sharp dig in the ribs and murmured a word, lost to the company amid the general turmoil. Teddie nodded comprehendingly and, placing his hand on Gerald's shoulder, together they stood and awaited silence.

"Gentlemen, you may smoke," issued from their lips, as through one mouthpiece, so soon as quiet was attained; and the two proffered their dilapidated cases, containing the excessively lean cigarettes they were in the habit of smoking.

The glances of the two elderly men present had met more than once during this unique entertainment--they met again now, and each drew from his pocket a well-stocked cigar case, and offered in return their contents, the while, in perfect gravity, they courteously accepted of their hosts' store.

Paul also came to the fore well provided with cigars, at the sight of which the boys' eyes glistened.

"Smoke your own stuff, any one who would rather," Teddie said graciously. "Thanks, yes," he added, "I'll have a cigar."