The Knave of Diamonds Part 6

He frowned abruptly. "Good to him! Great Scot! Why, he's miles too good for any of us. Don't ever cla.s.s him with Nap or me! We're just ordinary sinners. But he--he's a king."

A queer little gleam that was not all mirth made Dot's eyes grow brighter. "I like you for saying that," she said.

"Why, of course I say it!" he protested. "It's true! He's the finest chap in the world, all true gold and not a grain of dross. That's how it is we all knock under to him. Even Nap does that, though he doesn't care a tinker's curse for anyone else on this muddy little planet."

"You are awfully fond of him, aren't you?" said Dot sympathetically.

"Fond of Lucas! I'd die for him!" the boy declared with feeling. "He's father and brother and friend to me. There isn't anything I wouldn't do for him. Did you ever hear how he came to be a cripple?"

"Never," said Dot.

"He was knocked down by an electric car," Bertie said, rushing through the story with headlong ardour, "trying to save his best girl's dog from being run over. He did save it, but he was frightfully hurt--paralysed for months. It's years ago now. I was only a little shaver at the time.

But I shall never forget it. He always was good to me, and I thought he was done for."

"And the girl?" asked Dot rather breathlessly.

"Married an English n.o.bleman," he rejoined, with a brevity that spoke volumes. "I say, what about those cakes? Hadn't we better begin?"

Dot turned her attention to the fire. "I should like to meet your brother," she remarked. "I've never spoken to a real flesh-and-blood hero in my life."

"Nothing easier," said Bertie promptly. "Come over and have tea. Come this afternoon, you and Ralph."

But Dot hesitated in evident doubt. "I don't know what Dad would say," she said.

"Oh, rats! He wouldn't mind. And my mother would be delighted. Come early and I'll show you the hunters. Nap has just bought a beauty. She's a blood mare, black as ink."

"Like Nap," said Dot absently; then in haste, "No, I didn't mean that. I wasn't thinking."

Bertie was looking at her shrewdly. "What do you know about Nap?" he said.

She coloured deeply. "Nothing, nothing whatever. I only know him by sight."

"And you don't like him?"

"I--I think he looks rather wicked," she stammered.

Bertie grunted. "Do you think I look wicked too?"

"Of course I don't. No one could."

He laughed. "That's all right. You can think what you like of Nap.

Everybody does. But even he is not all bad, you know."

"I'm sure he isn't. But--but--" Desperately Dot turned from the fire and faced him. "I've got to say it, Bertie," she said rather piteously.

"Please don't be offended. You know I--I'm young. I don't know many people. And--and--though I would like to know your eldest brother immensely, I think I won't come to Baronmead if Nap is there. My father doesn't want me to meet him--unless I am obliged."

She uttered the last words in evident distress. Bertie's face had grown quite serious, even stern. He was looking at her with a directness which for the first time in their acquaintance she found disconcerting.

He did not speak for several seconds. At length, "How old are you?" he said abruptly.

"Eighteen," she murmured.

He continued to look at her speculatively. "Well," he said at length, speaking with something of a tw.a.n.g, "I guess your father knows what he's about, but it beats me to understand why he has me here to study. I guess I'd better shunt."

"Oh, please don't!" she said quickly. "It isn't you at all. It's only Nap."

"d.a.m.n Nap!" said Bertie, with some fervour. "Oh, does that shock you? I forgot you were a parson's daughter. Well, it may be your father is right after all. Anyway, I shan't quarrel with him so long as he doesn't taboo me too."

"He won't do that," said Dot, with confidence. "He likes you."

Bertie's good-looking face began to smile again. "Well, I'm not a blackguard anyway," he said. "And I never shall be if you keep on being kind to me. That's understood, is it? Then shake!"

They shook, and Dot realised with relief that the difficult subject was dismissed.

CHAPTER V

THE FIRST ENCOUNTER

It was a week after the Hunt Ball that Anne Carfax, sitting alone at tea in her drawing-room before a blazing fire, was surprised by the sudden opening of the door, and the announcement of old Dimsdale the butler, "Mr. Nap Errol to see your ladyship!"

She rose to meet him, her surprise in her face, and he, entering with that light, half-stealthy tread of his, responded to it before his hand touched hers.

"I know my presence is unexpected, and my welcome precarious, but as none of my friends have been able to give me any news of you, I determined to chance my reception and come myself to inquire for your welfare."

"You are very good," said Anne, but she spoke with a certain stateliness notwithstanding. There was no pleasure in her eyes.

Nap, however, was sublimely self-a.s.sured. "I am beginning to think I must be," he said, "since you say so. For I know you to be strictly truthful."

Anne made no response. She did not even smile.

"I am in luck to find you alone," proceeded Nap, surveying her with bold dark eyes that were nothing daunted by her lack of cordiality.

"My husband will be in soon," she answered quietly.

"I shall be delighted to make his acquaintance," said Nap imperturbably.

"Has he been hunting?"

"Yes." Anne's tone was distant. She seemed to be unaware of the fact that her visitor was still on his feet.

But Nap knew no embarra.s.sment. He stood on the hearth with his back to the fire. "You ought to hunt," he said. "Why don't you?"

"I do--occasionally," Anne said.

"What's the good of that? You ought to regularly. There's nothing like it. Say, Lady Carfax, why don't you?" He smiled upon her disarmingly.