XI
There was a motor-car in front of the house; its blinding lightsilluminated the windows at the other end of the square.
Mrs. Farquharson met them at the door.
"He's upstairs in your room. Sir Peter Oglebay--your uncle," she said,in an excited whisper. "Three times he has called this day; once ateleven, once at two; and now again at six. 'Sit down and wait,' I saysto him, the last time; 'they will surely be home for dinner; never havethey missed since first they came,' says I; and sit down he did--andthere he sits; and doesn't he look noble, sitting there! Genevieve'sthat nervous she drops everything she touches."
John and Phyllis exchanged looks. He smiled as easily as he could.
"Would you like it if I walked about a bit--or dropped in on oldRowlandson, while you talk with your uncle?" he asked.
"I want you with me, John. I need you," said Phyllis.
"Together's the word," he replied, and they mounted the stairs.
So far as Phyllis was concerned, it was all over in a moment.
Sir Peter rose when they entered. She gave one look at his sad, whiteface, and drawn mouth.
"Oh, Uncle Peter!" she cried; and was in his arms.
He tried to say the words he had humbly learned.
"I have your pardon to ask, my dear--"
That was as far as he got. She put both hands over his mouth; andwithdrew them only to kiss him and whispered--
"It is I who should ask your pardon, Uncle Peter. I have been very, verynaughty, And I am very, very sorry."
Now, when Sir Peter heard that childish formula, he seemed to hold inhis arms the little girl who had repeated it, many times, under theinstructions of Mrs. Burbage. The years slipped away. He held her close;the wounds were healed.
When two men have a disagreeable interview before them, each maneuversfor position. The one who gets the fireplace back of him has anadvantage. It isn't impregnable, but the other fellow must force thefighting. The place may be carried by storm; but it takes a spiritedaction. John executed a flank movement, while his ally engaged theenemy. He got the fireplace; it was a small one, but it was his own.
One wishes John well out of this scene; our hopes are high for him; buthe is a queer chap; you never know how to take him, nor what he willsay, or do. We can only wish him well; and observe that he carries hischin high.
Sir Peter released Phyllis, and then turned to John.
"I wish to apologize to you, Landless," said Sir Peter, and crossed theroom; he offered his hand; John took it and they stood for a moment so,neither speaking.
"I hope you can forgive what I said," Sir Peter concluded.
"I did that before we left your house--that morning," said John. "Don'tsay anything more about it, sir, please. I should have been as angry asyou were--under the same circumstances. I am sure there is need offorbearance on both sides."
Sir Peter dropped John's hand, and strode to the window. In a moment hefaced about again.
"I can't have it that way," said he. "It was unspeakable----"
John stopped him.
"I beg you to say no more, sir. I assure you there is not an unkindthought in my heart. Let the dead past bury its dead." John hesitated;then stammered out--"Fine weather we are having, sir."
Sir Peter offered his hand again; their grasp was cordial. Each lookedstraight into the other's eyes.
"Oh, dear," said Phyllis, pushing the big armchair nearer the fire."Isn't everything lovely!"
She coaxed her uncle into the chair with a pretty gesture, and seatedherself in a smaller one, with a happy little sigh.
There was a tap at the door.
John opened to Mrs. Farquharson; she curtseyed.
"You were wishful to see me, my d----ma'am?" she asked.
Phyllis laughed gayly. "You are wonderful, Farquharson," she said. "Ihave been thinking for five minutes how nice it would be if my uncledined with us; if it were quite convenient for you."
"As ever could be," said Mrs. Farquharson. "I sent Genevieve for anotherchicken as soon as ever he was in this room. You never saw a plumper."
"Isn't she wonderful?" Phyllis turned to her uncle. "Uncle Peter, youmust be formally presented to my dear Farquharson, my old nurse.Farquharson--Sir Peter Oglebay, my uncle."
Mrs. Farquharson curtseyed again; Sir Peter rose and bowed gravely.
"A great many years ago I heard how wonderful you were, Farquharson,"he said, "from a little girl, who is now grown,--and married,--but is ofthe same opinion still. It was a piece of good fortune, indeed thatbrought these children of mine to your house."
"Thank you, sir. Thank you, Sir Peter," replied Mrs. Farquharson, hergray eyes very large. "I should have made your acquaintance years ago ifthat Mrs.--Well, least said, soonest mended. But sorry I am that neverdid those advertisements meet my eye if ever they were printed. Theexpense of them, too, sir, in every paper in London, every day for threemonths. Not that you minded that!" Mrs. Farquharson had told the storyto the first-floor front; the first-floor front who had been instocks--and seen better days; it had not lost in the telling.
"If you are certain--" said Sir Peter to Mrs. Farquharson. "Very well,I shall be glad to dine."
On the way to the lower regions, Mrs. Farquharson dropped in on thefirst floor.
"Sir Peter Oglebay's dining with us tonight," she said. "I wasfrightened of him at first, but, pooh! he's as easy as an old shoe."
John still held the fireplace; he knew the worst was yet to come.
"There are great preparations at home, my dear," said Sir Peter toPhyllis. "Your little study-room has been polished till it shines, andthe two adjoining rooms have been rearranged three times since thismorning." He looked at John. "Burbage has been told that I hope to haveboth of you home again. Her efforts are Herculean to anticipate everywish Phyllis may have."
"I hope you won't be hurt, sir," said John, "but I fear that is out ofthe question I ask you to believe there isn't an iota of unfriendlinessin it, but--you see, sir, Phyllis and I must live within our own income;and independence is as necessary to me as air. I am sorry if you aredisappointed."
"I appreciate your point of view perfectly," said Sir Peter. "I amcoming to that. But first I ask you to sympathize with mine, a little.My house is so large that I am lost in it, unless there are othersthere. And as one grows older there are so few who care to come. The oldfriends have new interests; children about them; and the wider circlethat means. The house has never seemed so large and so lonely as duringthe past month. For many years my brother Robert, Phyllis's father,lived with me there. It will be hard for you to believe I was ever gay,but it was really a gay house then. His friends were a light-heartedlot, and they were as welcome there as my own; mine were few bycomparison. We talked pictures most of the time; his friends werepainters. What dreams for the future I heard from them! The best of themloved Robert--and believed in him. No one could help loving him. Iremember a remark Thorburg, the sculptor, made one night, at a dinner inhis honor. Thorburg had just done some extraordinary thing--I haveforgotten what; his 'Grief,' perhaps. 'Oglebay,' said he to Robert,'there isn't a man in this room who doesn't envy you. We all havetalent; but yours touches the highest mark. I will not say it is genius,but it is near it; we shall bare our heads before one of your pictures,some day.' Little Singleton spoke up then. 'The great god Thor hath saidit, Oglebay, but we all think it.' They were all there that night;there must have been twenty of us at the table. I can see their facesnow, clearly, and hear little Singleton's piping voice. Singleton,Knowles, and Leonard--the inseparable trio, they called them."
Sir Peter paused.
"As I said, the house was gay then. The Oglebay Prize was the result ofjust such a dinner. Robert suggested it. Thorburg was one of thetrustees until he died; it has helped many a lad through his days in theLatin Quarter. I have had some fine letters from those lads. One or twoof them have turned out really good work; good enough to have satisfiedRobert that the prize was worth while. Yes,--the Oglebay Prize is one oft
he few things I look back upon with unalloyed pleasure; my bridge inNatal is another."
Phyllis had moved her chair nearer to her uncle; while he spoke of herfather, he held her hand, on the arm of his chair. Now she spokequickly, with that pretty catch in her breath.
"Oh, Uncle Peter. Tell John about the Natal bridge. It is moreinteresting and more exciting than the best novel you ever read."
"I should like to hear the story, sir," said John; it was pleasant tosee the sincerity of his interest.
"I will tell it to you some day, John," replied Sir Peter. He smiled."You will probably hear it a great many times. We all have our failings;that story is mine. My cronies at the club tell me I lead up to it soskillfully they cannot always stop me in time."
"Do tell it, Uncle Peter," said Phyllis.
Sir Peter thought for a moment.
"Some time I will, my dear," he said. "But not now. My mind is onsomething else." He addressed his remarks to John again. "We weretalking about the days when there was overflowing life in my old house."
John stood with his back to the fire; his face was attentive, serious,considering; but every line in it expressed determination.
"Those days ended when Robert married," Sir Peter continued. "Iquarreled with him and we parted. I never saw him again. And for tenyears my house was a mausoleum, haunted by memories; a torture-house ofvain regrets and useless longings."
His voice broke; he rose suddenly and walked to the window again. Theywere silent until he returned to his chair. Phyllis seated herself onthe broad arm of it, and laid a caressing hand on his shoulder. He tookthe hand and held it.
"Then came the news from the North--that my little girl wasmotherless--and fatherless; and then came my little girl herself. Shewas a very little girl then; a sad and lonely little girl; but"--SirPeter cleared his throat, and spoke huskily and slowly--"but she broughtcomfort to me. There was something in life for me again--besides mywork. My work I always had. I thanked God for that. I need not tell you,John, how this little girl crept into my heart, nor how her smallfingers smoothed away the wrinkles from my gloomy old face." Sir Peterlooked up at her and pressed the hand he held. "And so the years rolledon--and she grew, and grew, and grew, until she became a young woman.A--a passably good-looking young woman--eh, John? Wouldn't you sayso--passably good-looking?"
John smiled.
"I might say so to you, sir--privately," he admitted.
"And when she was certain of her conquest of me," continued Sir Peter,"she looked about, as it were, for other worlds to conquer. And alongcame a--er--h'm--along came a young prince. Precisely so--along came ayoung prince upon whom the fairies had bestowed marvelous gifts." SirPeter fairly chuckled as he completed this unusual imaginative flight."Marvelous gifts," he repeated. "Eh, Phyllis? Would you say he hadmarvelous gifts?"
"If we were quite alone, Uncle Peter, I might say so," confessedPhyllis.
"And this passably good-looking young woman and this prince of themarvelous gifts proceeded to fall in love with each other in the mostnatural way in the world," Sir Peter went on. "Precisely so. In the mostnatural way in the world; as any one but a grumpy old fellow would haveforeseen they would. And having fallen in love with each other, what inthe world was there for them to do but to be married at once--eh? Andyet, will you believe it?--there was a grumpy old fellow who wished toprevent it. Now, what could you say to an old fellow as grumpy as that?"Sir Peter adjusted his eyeglass and looked first at John, and then atPhyllis, quizzically.
"I should say no one could blame him," said John promptly.
"I shouldn't say anything. I should just hug him," said Phyllis, andcarried out the threat with spirit.
"And now we come to the point of this long story," resumed Sir Peter,readjusting his eyeglass, which had fallen during Phyllis'sdemonstration, "These two having married have no other duty before themthan to--er--eh? Of course. Precisely! No other duty than to livehappily ever afterward--eh? As they always do in stories. But thequestion is--where? Precisely! Where shall they live happily everafterward? Shall they live all by themselves? Or shall they share theirhappiness--a little of it--with the grumpy old fellow aforesaid? He doesnot like to base his plea to them on his need of the little girl he hasloved so many years; nor on his need of the marvelous gifts of the youngprince, though they are especially needed just at this time, as I shalltell you. Now, John," said Sir Peter, in his most engaging way, "adviseme about this. What ground should he base his petition upon in order towin his case? Because he is more anxious to win this case than he was tofinish the Natal bridge,--and he was terribly anxious about that,--asyou will hear, one of these days."
John glanced toward Phyllis; she instantly turned her head, and lookedresolutely in the opposite direction. She felt that the answer to SirPeter's question belonged to John. Sir Peter saw John waver; he caughthis glance at Phyllis; and, like a good campaigner, followed up theattack.
"I need your assistance just now, John, very badly," said Sir Peter."For years my friends in the British Engineering Society have beenurging me to prepare and publish my recollections. Some of them went toAllan Robertson's Sons, the publishers, about it and they have given meno peace since I was weak enough to make a promise that they should havethe book. 'Recollections of an Engineer, 1874-1910,' it is to be called.Now,--if you would help me I could do it easily. And we would have somegood times over it, I hope."
John glanced at Phyllis again; but she would not look at him. It wasvery hard not to at the time; but Phyllis was so glad afterward that shedidn't.
Sir Peter got up from his chair, and stood in front of John, both handson his shoulders.
"Dear lad," he said. "In a few years you and Phyllis will have all thatis mine in the world. You can't prevent that--with all your pride--forwhich I honor you. In a few years it will all be yours. For those fewyears will you not share it with me--and let them be peaceful and happyyears?"
John turned his face away.
"Very well, sir," he said. "We will go to your home--to-morrow. Thatis--if Phyllis says so, too."
Phyllis flashed him a radiant look.
"But you must let me contribute my little pittance to the generalfund," added John. "It isn't much--but it is all I have."
"With all my heart!" said Sir Peter.
The white tablecloth was laid; the coffee percolator hummed itscontented little song. The broiled chicken was delicious; and thebrowned potatoes. There was a grape jelly; Sir Peter was helped twice tothis.
"Do you make it yourself?" he asked Mrs. Farquharson.
"Whoever else?" she answered.
"But you should taste her marmalade at breakfast!" exclaimed John.
"I like a good marmalade; we have the 'Dundee'; which is yours?" askedSir Peter. He fell into their informal ways so easily.
"We make our own," said Mrs. Farquharson proudly.
"Upon my word," said Sir Peter, as he stirred his coffee with a tinyspoon, and accepted a match for his cigar--"upon my word, I haven'teaten such a dinner in years. So--er--companionable--you know."
At eleven, when they went with him to the door, Mrs. Farquharson metthem in the hall.
"Good-night, Farquharson," said Sir Peter.
"Good-night, sir," said Mrs. Farquharson, and handed him a parcel."Would you please to slip these glasses into your greatcoat pocket: twoof the jelly, and two of the marmalade. Here are the recipes, written onthis paper; Genevieve has copied them out very plain and large. ThatMrs. Burbage can read them--with her spectacles."