Roger Ingleton, Minor Part 18

"Oh, of course, dear father, I don't mean that, but--"

"But it sounds extremely as if you did mean it."

"I do hope you won't ask any one here," said she doggedly.

"Rosalind, you offend me. You are incapable, as I have told you before, of appreciating your duty either to me or yourself. Oblige me by going."

"Papa, dear, I am only anxious--"

"Go!" said the Captain brusquely.

She obeyed. Mr Armstrong, as he met her in the hall and marked the bright colour in her cheeks and the light in her eyes, thought to himself how uncommonly well she was looking this morning. He might have thought otherwise had he seen her in her studio half an hour later, with the colour all faded, striving miserably to resume her painting at the point where she had left it off.

Her good father, meanwhile, naturally put out, continued his meditations.

"A most vexing child--no support to me at all. On the contrary, an embarra.s.sment. I might have guessed she would cut up rough. Yet I do so long for a little sympathy. Wonder if I shall get any from my dear cousin Eva some fine day? Hum. I more and more incline to that venture. It would suit my book, to say nothing of my being really almost in love with the dear creature. But I'm so abominably shy.

Let's see, Ratman is due first week in October--a month hence. I shall have to keep him quiet some how. He won't be satisfied with things as they are, I'm afraid. All very well to be heir-presumptive when there's little prospect of presuming. Dear Roger is certainly not robust--not at all, poor boy. Still he seems tenacious of what would be very much more useful to me than to him. Yes, it would strengthen my hands vastly if my dear cousin Eva were to give me the right to regard the lad as a father. There would be something definite in that. It would solve the Armstrong question, for one thing, I flatter myself; and as for Rosalind--yes by the way--"

He took out the letter again and read the postscript carefully.

"Yes--tut, tut--how oddly things do work out sometimes. Evidently it is my duty all round, for the sake of everybody, to cast aside my natural bashfulness and use the opportunities Providence gives me."

With which reflection he lit a cigar, and had a pleasant ramble in the park with little Miss Jill, who had rarely seen her papa more lively or amusing.

His spirits were destined to be still further cheered by an occurrence which took place on the following day.

Roger, despite his delicate health, had managed to get through a creditable amount of work during the summer under Mr Armstrong's guidance. He was shortly to go up for his first B.A. in London, and, with that ordeal in view, had been tempted to tax his strength even more than was good for him.

At last the tutor put down his foot.

"No, old fellow," said he; "if you work any move you will go backwards instead of forward. You must take this week easy, and go up fresh for the exam. Depend on it, you will do far better than if you tried to keep it up till the last moment."

In vain Roger pleaded, threatened, mutinied. The tutor was inexorable, and, fortified by the joint authority of Mrs Ingleton and Dr Brandram, carried the day. He had also an unexpected ally in Miss Rosalind.

"Don't be obstinate, Roger," said she. "The three Fates are too many for you; and don't sulk, whatever you do, there's a dear boy, but make yourself nice and propose to take Tom and Jill and me across to Pulpit Island to-morrow. If you are so wedded to lessons, you and Tom shall have your art cla.s.s for once in a way on the Pelican's Rock instead of my room."

Roger could hardly hold out after this; and Mr Armstrong, a little envious, set the seal of his approval to the programme.

"I wish you'd come too," said Tom; "can't you?"

"Oh, do," said Jill; "it would be twice as nice."

"Mr Armstrong has enough of all of us on working-days," said Rosalind rather cruelly, "to forego a chance of being rid of us on a holiday."

"Quite so," said the tutor, trying to enjoy the situation; "when the mice are away the cat will play--on the piano."

The next day promised well for the picnic; and Roger had sufficiently warmed up to the proposed expedition to be able to enter eagerly into the preparations.

The Pulpit Island, a desolate cavernous rock three miles from the coast, dominated by a lighthouse, was a familiar hunting-ground of his in days gone by, and he decidedly enjoyed the prospect of doing the honours of the place to his cousins now--particularly one of them.

As not a breath of air was stirring, they decided not to enc.u.mber the small boat with mast or sail, but to row leisurely across with just as much energy as suited their holiday humour. The channel was on the whole free from currents, and, as Roger knew the landing-places as well as the oldest sailor in the place, any precaution in the way of a pilot was needless.

Armstrong, as he watched the little craft slowly glide over the gla.s.sy water, dwindling smaller and smaller, but sending back the sound of voices and laughter long after it itself had become an indistinguishable speck in the gleaming water, wished himself one of the crew. But as fate had ordained otherwise he retreated to his piano, and succeeded in irritating Captain Oliphant considerably by his brilliant execution, vocal and instrumental, of some of his favourite pieces.

The day, however, was too hot even for music, and after an hour's practice Mr Armstrong gave it up and took a book.

But that was dull, and he tried to write some letters. Worse and worse.

The place was stifling, and the pen almost melted in his hand.

What was the matter with him? Why did he feel so down, so lonely.

Surely he could exist a day without his pupil, whatever the temperature.

Perhaps he had his doubts about the boy's success in the coming examination. No; he fancied that would be all right. He would try a stroll in the park. It could not at least be hotter under the trees than in the house.

Across the pa.s.sage a door stood wide open--a familiar door, through which he caught sight of a familiar easel on the floor, and over the fireplace one or two familiar Indian knick-knacks. He couldn't help stopping a moment to peep in. It seemed cooler in there. What was the picture on the easel? Might he not just look? A view of the park, with the sea beyond-pretty, but--no, not as good as it might be. Landscape was not this artist's strong point. Ah, there was a portrait on the mantelpiece. That promised better. Why, it was the identical boy's portrait that had once hung in the old squire's library. No--it was a copy, but an extraordinary copy, as if the original had suddenly lived while it was being made. Mr Armstrong had rarely seen a portrait which looked so like speaking and breathing. The original in Roger's room was weak compared with this. And in front of it stood a gla.s.s with a rose, whose petals leaned over and just touched the canvas--

Mr Armstrong, feeling very guilty, beat a hasty retreat into the hot pa.s.sage and made his way down-stairs. He was a little jealous of that portrait, perched there in that cool room, with the sweet rose in front of it.

"Going out?" said Captain Oliphant in the hall. The Captain, by the way, had taken to being civil to his co-trustee, much to Mr Armstrong's annoyance, "Warm, isn't it?"

"Yes," said he.

"Beautiful day for those young people."

"Beautiful," said the tutor.

As he spoke, he casually tapped the barometer at the hall-door, as was his habit. To his surprise, the dial gave a great leap downward.

Something was wrong with it evidently, for the sky was as monotonously blue as it had been all day, and not a leaf stirred in the trees.

However, Mr Armstrong took the precaution to return to his own room for a moment to consult the barometer there. It, too, answered him with a downward plunge.

The tutor screwed his gla.s.s rather excitedly into his eye, and looked at the clock. Half-past three. He touched the bell.

"Tell the groom to saddle 'Pomona' for me, Raffles. I will come to the stables in a minute or two and mount there."

"You need a bit of exercise this weather, you do," remarked Raffles to himself, as he retired, "to keep warm."

A few minutes later the tutor was riding smartly to Yeld. During the half-hour occupied by that journey the signs of the approaching storm became manifest. The blue of the sky took a leaden hue, and out at sea an ominous cloud-bank lifted its head on the horizon, while the sultry air seemed to breathe hot on the rider's cheek.

He pulled up short at Dr Brandram's door.

"What's the matter now?" asked the doctor. "I hate to see you on horseback. It always means bad news. Is Mrs Ingleton poorly? I am not at all comfortable about her."

"No; n.o.body's ill. But I want you for all that. There's a storm coming on."

"So the gla.s.s says. All the more reason for staying indoors."

"The youngsters from the Hall are out in it."

"Well, can I lend you an umbrella?"