The Hall and the Grange Part 17

Fred seemed to be quite ready to talk, and he did not follow Pamela's lead in trying to bring Norman into the conversation. He talked about Hugo, in a way that aroused Norman's contemptuous disgust. Really, one would have thought that the two of them together had been models of sweet and innocent boyhood, and that the one who was dead lived enshrined in the heart of the other as a tender memory that would never fade. Poor little Pam liked it, of course, and there was no objection to having Hugo turned into a plaster saint for her benefit. But the fellow was obviously out to recommend himself through this beatification, and to share the halo. He was trying now to bring Pamela herself into the picture of the blameless past, representing the three of them as having taken part in the sacred idyll. This afforded Norman food for sardonic amus.e.m.e.nt, remembering as he did how little Pamela had been considered by the hulking brute that Fred had been then, or even by Hugo, when he had been in Fred's company. At the third or fourth "Do you remember?" he could stand it no longer, and turned back to join the children and Miss Baldwin, who were immediately behind them. This was intended as a protest, but neither Pamela nor Fred, in the interest of their conversation, seemed to notice it.

Fred did not stay to luncheon, although Norman heard his aunt invite him. He went off with his book, and Norman had his opportunity of talking to Pamela. It had been in his mind to begin upon the subject of Fred; but it was of no use just to repeat his warning of yesterday, and anything he might say about the conversation from which he had just retired in disgust would reflect upon Hugo. Hugo was becoming increasingly a subject not to be mentioned between him and Pamela.

Besides, he _had_ something he wanted to say to her.

She waited for him to speak first, as they turned towards the lawn, and possibly expected a rebuke, as before. "I say, Pam," he said. "This is a rotten business about the new garden."

"What new garden?" she asked in surprise, for her parents were old-fashioned in respect of not discussing all and everything before their children, and no echo of what had been disturbing them had reached her.

He was surprised in his turn. "What, don't you know?" he said. "Father had begun to make a garden in that field at the bottom of the wood, and Uncle Edmund stopped it."

Then he gave her the story, as it had been told him by Coombe that morning, when he had gone down to Barton's Close, and found him in his Sunday clothes, musing over the havoc he had wrought. The story had lost nothing in the way of incrimination of Colonel Eldridge, and complete exculpation of himself.

"I don't believe it," said Pam shortly. "If anything has happened, it wasn't like that."

"Well, something _has_ happened, because the digging was stopped a week ago, and the men who were doing it are working at the drive here."

"Yes, Dad did say, now I remember, that he had taken on some men, who had been working for Uncle Bill. What does Auntie Eleanor say about it?"

"I haven't said anything to her. It seems to me, anyhow, as if our respective, and respected, parents had fallen out, and I want to know what line _we_ are going to take about it."

"The line _I_ should take about it, if I had to take any, would be that if Dad and Uncle Bill disagreed about something, Dad would be in the right."

"I say, Pam! Are you annoyed about anything?"

"No."

"Well, you're rather terse, aren't you? It's a pity, because you're looking particularly seraphic this morning. I noticed it first in church."

"It was very sweet of you; and I believe it to be so. Everything seemed to go on right this morning. There _are_ days like that. You don't think that Dad and Uncle Bill have really quarrelled, do you? Of course I know the garden _was_ to be made, and it seems odd that it should have been left off like that."

"Yes, it is odd. I don't like to think of their having a row. It would be very unlike them. Still, according to Coombe--"

"_What_, according to Coombe? If he said what you say he did about Dad, you ought to have shut him up."

"I did, as a matter of fact. But there must be _something_ in it."

"I think we'd better wait and see what there is. If there's anything at all, it will blow over. I suppose you can't expect them always to agree about everything, and Uncle Bill is so much away, and so busy, that he might not always think enough of Dad's point of view, who is always here."

"It might be something of that sort. Anyhow, _we_ needn't take sides."

"Oh, _I_ should, if there was really a quarrel. I adore Uncle Bill, but if it was a question between him and Dad I should take Dad's side through thick and thin. And I should expect you to take Uncle Bill's. So I expect we should quarrel worse than they would."

He laughed lightly. "Not much fear of our quarrelling," he said. "I say, Pam, have you seen Sunny Jim lately? I'm told that he is in residence at Persh.o.r.e Castle, the seat of his father, the Earl of Crowborough, and a dull dog at that."

"Yes, he has been over here once or twice. I should think he might quite possibly come over this afternoon. Do you want to see him?"

"I don't know that I particularly want to; but I shall, no doubt. How is his affair progressing?"

"What affair?"

"His suit for the hand of Miss Eldridge, of Hayslope Hall. Is his ardour still undiminished, and has he had any encouragement yet?"

Pamela laughed. "I'll tell you something, if you'll promise to keep it to yourself," she said.

Norman promised.

"Well, I don't think he knows it yet, but he is beginning to fall in love with Judith. She doesn't know it either, of course; but it's the greatest fun in the world to watch them."

"Tell me about it. I shouldn't mind that at all. As a matter of fact, I think Jim ought to be kept in the family, dull as he is. As long as it isn't you!"

"Judith doesn't find him dull. And you make a great deal too much of his dulness. He isn't interested in the things that we like; but he does know a lot, and I should think he was very sound in what he does know."

"Let's hope he is. Oh, he's not a bad fellow, I like old Jim; and people liked him at school. It's only that one gets in the way of labelling a fellow. Judith's a funny bird; you never quite know how to take her.

She's extraordinarily pretty, though, and ought to be prettier still when she's quite fledged. I don't wonder that Jim is beginning to see it."

"Oh, but I don't think he is yet. As the danger is pa.s.sing, I don't mind admitting now that I _was_ the attraction, and perhaps he still thinks I am. He-- Well, he behaves like that. But it's Judith who really interests him--I suppose because he interests her. They talk over all sorts of things together, and he tells her everything about himself, and what he is going to do. At _present_ he doesn't in the least mind a third person a.s.sisting in their confabulations; and of course _she_ doesn't, except that--you know--she hates giving herself away. I keep quiet, and listen, putting in a word every now and then, so that I shan't appear to be just taking notes of them. It's awfully funny; and rather touching too, sometimes. I'm longing for the time to come when I shall be found _de trop_. When that happens, something else will happen very soon afterwards."

"Rather exciting, isn't it? Have the parents tumbled to it yet, do you think?"

"Not to Judith. Oh, look! There he is! I said he would be over to-day.

Now, if you keep your mouth shut and your ears open you'll see that I'm right."

Lord Horsham advanced across the lawn towards them, a smile of deprecation on his face. His apologies and explanations over having invited himself to lunch, delivered with looks directed straight at Pamela, seemed to furnish a contradiction to her late p.r.o.nouncement. But when he had made them, and addressed a few words to Norman, he drew from under his arm a large Blue Book, and asked: "Where's Judith? I said I would bring this over to show her. It's about Rural Housing. You know we were talking about it the other day."

"Yes," said Pam. "I know she wants to hear more about it. I think you'll find her in the library, Jim. I won't come in just now, because Norman and I have something to talk about."

"Oh, I'm sorry I disturbed you. Yes, I'll go and find her. You're _sure_ Mrs. Eldridge won't mind my inviting myself like this?"

He was once more rea.s.sured, and went off. "You see!" said Pam, in a low voice. "I took a bright part in that conversation, but it's with Judy he wants to go on with it."

"Oh, it's a cinch!" said Norman, with delight. "Dear old silly old solemn old Jim, and Judith with her golden hair a hanging down her back!

What a lark, Pam! But I say, old girl, I don't quite like the idea of you getting left in this way. If everything else had failed I did think you could fall back upon the Viscountess Horsham. Are you sure you don't mind? You're not hiding rampant jealousy under a mask of indifference, are you? It is sometimes done, I know."

"No, I'm not. It's an incubus lifted from me."

"Well, it _would_ have been rather rotten. You're made for better things. What I have thought of doing is to bring relays of bright young fellows down to stay, and let you run your eye over them. What do you think of that? I'm rather tired of running about, and I thought I'd stay here for a bit, and do some work, and play with you."

"Oh, I'm so glad, Norman. It is a little dull here sometimes without you. As for the bright young fellows, I shall be pleased to inspect them. I do enjoy a little male society occasionally."

CHAPTER XV

THE RIFT

Dusk was beginning to fall as Colonel Eldridge took a last stroll round the garden he loved, smoking the pipe to which he had taken when he had decided that cigars were too expensive for him any longer. The rest of the family were at the Grange, except the two children, who were supposed to be in bed. Whether they actually were so or not their father allowed himself to doubt, with a smile at the corners of his mouth. They had been keeping him company until summoned by Miss Baldwin, and his thoughts were still upon them. He had a great love for young children, but some stiff reserved trait in his character prevented him from showing it, even to his own, when there was anyone else by. What he liked was to have them to himself, and listen to their prattle, which was all music in his ears, though he affected to exercise some control over it. He would rather stay at home with the children, he had said, than dine at the Grange; but Mrs. Eldridge had understood that he would not go there until the dispute between him and his brother was settled.