Of High Descent Part 97

"Ah! you may grin and wink at George," grumbled Uncle Luke, "but times are getting hard."

"They are, old fellow, and we shall be having you in the workhouse, if we can't manage to get you to the Victoria Park place."

"Here, come away, George," snarled Uncle Luke. "He's better. Beginning to sneer. Temper's getting very bad now, I suppose, my dear?" he added to Madelaine.

"Terrible. Leads me a dreadful life, Uncle Luke," she said, putting her arm round Van Heldre's neck to lay her cheek against his brow for a moment or two before turning to leave the room.

"Cant and carny," said Uncle Luke. "Don't you believe her, John Van; she'll be coming to you for money to-morrow--bless her," he added _sotto voce_; then aloud, "What now?"

For Madelaine had gone behind his chair, and placed her hands upon his shoulders.

"It's all waste of breath, Uncle Luke," she said gently. "We found you out a long time ago, Louise and I."

"What do you mean?"

"All this pretended cynicism. It's a mere disguise."

"An a.s.s in the lion's skin, eh?"

"No, Uncle Luke," she whispered, with her lips close to his ear, so that the others should not catch the words, "that is the wrong way, sir.

Reverse the fable."

"What do you mean, hussy?"

"The dear old lion in the a.s.s's skin," she whispered; "and whenever you try to bray it is always a good honest roar."

"Well, of all--"

He did not finish, for Madelaine had hurried from the room, but a grim smile came over his cynical countenance, and he rubbed his hands softly as if he was pleased. Then, drawing his chair nearer to the bed, he joined in the conversation at rare intervals, the subjects chosen being all as foreign as possible from the past troubles, till Mrs Van Heldre came softly into the room.

"I am Doctor Knatchbull's deputy," she said; "and my orders are not to let John excite himself."

"All nonsense, my dear," said Van Heldre.

"She is quite right, John," said George Vine, rising.

"Quite right," said Uncle Luke, following his brother's example. "Keep him quiet. Make haste and get well. Good-night. Come, George."

He was at the door by the time he had finished his speech, and without pausing to shake hands began to descend.

Madelaine came out of the drawing-room as the old man reached the hail.

"What do you think of him?" she said eagerly.

"Going backwards--dying fast," he said shortly. "Oh!"

"Don't be a little goose," he cried, catching her in his arms as she reeled. "We all are; especially people over fifty. Bonny little nurse.

You've done wonders. Good-night, my dear; G.o.d bless you!"

She returned his loving fatherly kiss, given hastily, as if he were ashamed of his weakness, and then he strode out into the dark night.

"Poor Uncle Luke!" she said softly. "I was right. He must have had some shock to change his life like this. Good-night, dear Mr Vine. My dearest love to Louie."

"Good-night, my darling," he whispered huskily, and the next minute he was walking slowly away beside his brother in the direction of the turning up to the granite house.

"Good-night, Luke," said George Vine. "It is of no use to say come up."

"Yes, it is," said Uncle Luke snappishly. "I want to see Louie, and have a decent cup of tea."

"I am very glad," said his brother warmly. "Hah! that's right. Come more often, Luke. We are getting old men now, and it's pleasant to talk of the days when we were boys."

"And be driven from the place by Madge with her pounce-box and her civet-cat airs. You kick her out, and I'll come often."

"Poor Marguerite!"

"There you go; encouraging the silly French notions. Why can't you call her Margaret, like a British Christian?"

"Let her finish her span in peace, brother," said George Vine, whose visit to his old friend seemed to have brightened him, and made voice and step elastic. "We are crotchety and strange too, I with my mollusc hobby, you with your fishing."

"If you want to quarrel, I'm not coming up."

"Yes you are, Luke. There, come often, and let poor Margaret say what she likes. We shall have done our duty by her, so that will be enough for us."

"Hang duty! I'm getting sick of duty. No matter what one does, or how one tries to live in peace and be left alone, there is always duty flying in one's face."

"Confession of failure, Luke," said his brother, taking his arm. "You had given up ordinary social life, invested your property, sent your plate to your banker's, and settled down to the life of the humblest cottager, to, as you say, escape the troubles of every-day life."

"Yes, and I've escaped 'em--roguish tradespeople, household anxieties, worries out of number."

"In other words," said Vine, smiling, "done everything you could to avoid doing your duty, and for result you have found that trouble comes to your cottage in some form or another as frequently as it does to my big house."

Uncle Luke stopped short, and gave his stick a thump on the path.

"I have done, Luke," said Vine quietly. "Come along; Louise will think we are very long."

"Louise will be very glad to have had an hour or two to herself without you pottering about her. Hah! what idiots we men are, fancying that the women are looking out for us from our point of view when they are looking out from theirs for fear of being surprised, and--"

"Here we are, Luke. Come in, my clear boy."

Uncle Luke grunted.

"Oh, I don't know," he said, "it's getting late. Perhaps I had better not come in now."

"The tea will be waiting," said his brother, holding his arm lightly as he rang.

"Horribly dark for my walk back afterwards," grumbled Uncle Luke.

"Really dangerous place all along there by the cliff. No business to be out at night. Ought to be at home."