CHAPTER VII
A week later Doris Lancaster was sitting alone by the drawing-room fire,a book on her lap. It was not so often that she had an evening to spendin quietness; one of her mother's great aims in life was to have"something on" at least six nights out of the seven. At the presentmoment Mrs. Lancaster was in her boudoir, accepting and sending outinvitations for comparatively distant dates.
Sweetly the clock on the mantel struck nine, and Doris told herself thatnow no one was likely to call. She lay back in the chair, a gracefulfigure in pale green, stretched her pretty ankles to the glow, and soughtto escape certain gnawing thoughts in the pages of a novel which had wonfrom the reviewers such adjectives as "entrancing," "compelling,""intensely interesting."
And just then a servant announced "Mr. France."
Well, after all, she was not sorry to see Mr. France--or Teddy, as shehad called him for a good many years. He was a frequent visitor,despite the fact that Mrs. Lancaster suffered him only becauseeverybody else seemed to like him. He was fair, tall, and lanky, and sopleasant of countenance that it would not be worth while enumeratinghis defective features.
Mrs. Lancaster disapproved of him for three reasons: first, he had onlytwo hundred a year plus a pittance from the insurance company that putup, as he expressed it, with his services; second, he had been AlanCraig's close friend; third, she suspected that he saw through heraffectations. That he had been openly in love with Doris since the daysof pigtails and short frocks troubled her not at all: he was toohopelessly ineligible. And it had not troubled Doris for a long time--notsince Alan Craig had gone away. Since then Teddy had seemed to becomemore of a friend and less of an admirer than ever.
"This is great luck," he remarked, seating himself in the opposite easychair with an enforced extension of immaculate pumps and silken sox.(People often wondered how Teddy "did it" on the money.) "It's so seldomone can find you alone nowadays. Well, how's things generally?"
"Pretty much the same, Teddy," she answered, with the smile that hurthim. "Mother's busy as usual--"
"Out?"
"No; writing, I think."
"How's your father? I haven't seen him for an age."
"I wish he were fitter. He has had to stay in bed for a few days--he camedown for dinner to-night for the first time. Last week he had threenights and a day in the train--with Mr. Bullard."
"Oh, I say! Bad enough without Bullard, but--"
"Oh, I'm so glad," she cried softly. "You don't like Mr. Bullard, Teddy.I'm beginning to abhor the man."
"Keep on abhorring!"
Swiftly she looked at him. "You know something?"
He shook his head. "Not a thing, Doris. Merely my instinctive dislike.I'm a sort of bow-wow, you know. Still, your mother approves of him, andhe is your father's friend."
"I sometimes feel it has been an unlucky friendship for father," shesaid in a low voice, "and yet I have nothing to go on. I suppose I'mhorribly unjust, but I'd give anything to learn something positiveagainst the man."
"And yet," said the young man slowly and heavily, "sooner or later Mr.Francis Bullard will ask you to marry him."
Doris threw up her head. "I'd sooner marry--" She paused.
"Me, for instance?"
"Don't be absurd, Teddy." She flushed slightly.
"Absurd, but serious," he quietly returned. "Doris, I came to-night toask you. It wouldn't keep any longer. One moment, please. Two thingshappened yesterday. My father won the big law suit that has been ournightmare for years; and I got a move-up in the office. Never was moreshocked in all my life. Mighty little to offer you, Doris--"
"Oh, don't speak about it."
"Well, I'll cut that bit out; but please let me finish. You know I'vebeen in love with you for ages, though I did my best to get it under whena better man appeared; and I think you'll admit I haven't worried youmuch since. And I'm perfectly aware that you can't give me what you gavehim.... Still, Doris, I'm not a bad fellow, and you could make me a finerone, and--well, I'd hope not to bore you with my devotion and all that,but, of course, you'd have to take that risk as well as your parents'disapproval. Perhaps I ought to have waited longer, dear, but I didn'timagine my chances would be any greater a year hence, and it has seemedto me lately that--that you needed some one who would care for you beforeand above everything else.... Doris, remembering how long I've loved you,can't you trust me and take me for--for want of a better?"
His words had moved her, and moments passed before she could answer."Dear Teddy, it is true that I want to be cared for--no need to denyit to you--but it wouldn't be right to take all you could give andgive nothing."
"You would give much without knowing it," he pleaded. "And you were notmade to be sorry all your life."
"I'm not going to make you sorry, Teddy."
"You're doing it as hard as you can!"
She smiled in spite of herself. "No," she said presently, "I've nointention of shunning all joys and abandoning all hopes, but I can't dowhat you ask, Teddy. I will tell you just one thing that you may notknow. Almost at the last moment before Alan went away I promised him Iwould wait."
Teddy cleared his throat. "I didn't know, though I may have guessed....But I do know, Doris--I felt it on my way here to-night--that Alan, if hecould look into my heart now, would give me his blessing. I'm not askingto fill his place, you know."
"Oh, you make it very hard for me! You--you've been such afaithful friend."
"Give in, Doris, give in to me!" He rose and stood looking down on herbowed head. "Dear, I'd bring Alan back to you if I could. Don't youbelieve that?"
"Oh, yes!"
"With all your heart?"
"With all my heart, Teddy."
"Then--" He stopped and took her hand. "Doris!" ...
He straightened up sharply. The door was opening. The servant announced--
"Mr. Bullard."
It was an awkward enough situation, but neither the girl nor the youngman was heavy-witted. Doris rose slowly, languidly, it seemed, and thoughaware that her eyes must betray her, turned and greeted Bullard in cool,even tones. The two men exchanged perfunctory nods.
"Thanks, but I won't sit down," said Bullard. "I called to enquire foryour father, and to see him, if at all possible. Is he feeling betterto-night?"
"I think he is in the library at present," she replied, "but he has notyet got over his fatigue."
"Yes," he replied sympathetically, "he and I had too much trailing lastweek, but business must not be shirked, Miss Doris."
She was a little startled by hearing her name from his lips; until now hehad addressed her with full formality. She was not to know that the sightof her eyes when she had turned to meet him had informed him of somethingunlooked for, and had put a period to his long-lived irresolutionregarding her. Francis Bullard, in fact, had suddenly realised that if hewished to secure a wife in the only woman of whom he had ever thoughttwice in that respect, he would have to act promptly, not to say firmly.Accordingly, as though forgetting the stated purpose of his visit, hedropped into a chair and chatted entertainingly enough until Mrs.Lancaster made her appearance.
She offered to conduct him to her husband, and he allowed her to do so asfar as the hall. There he halted and said--
"You will do me a great favour by getting rid of Mr. France and remainingwith Miss Doris in the drawing-room until I return." In response to herlook of enquiry he added--"Then you will do me a further favour byretiring."
"Really, Mr. Bullard, I must ask you to explain!"
"Your daughter is not going to marry a title--to begin with, at anyrate." He smiled and passed on.
She overtook him. "Have you something unpleasant to say to my husband?"she demanded.
"I am going to return him some money he thought lost."
"How much?"
"Five hundred pounds."
"Is that all?"
"Patience!" he answered, and made his escape.
Lancaster, pencil in hand, was seated at his writing-table. On hisretira
l from his business in South Africa he had indulged dreams of aquiet room at home and the peaceful companionship of books, and he hadgot the length of providing the nucleus of a library. But his income,though large, had never been equal to the varied demands upon it, and theroom had become simply a chamber wherein he escaped the irritations ofsociety only to suffer the torments of secret anxieties, building upfutile schemes for his salvation, striving to extract hope from vaincalculations.
At the entrance of Bullard he lifted his head with a start, and intohis eyes came the question--"What new terror are you going to springupon me now?"
"Glad to see you are better," Bullard remarked, drawing a chair to thetable and seating himself. "I didn't intend to trouble you to-night, butsomething arrived by the late afternoon delivery which I thought wouldinterest you. No need to be nervy. It's nothing to upset you." He threw abundle of notes and a registered envelope on the table. "Your fivehundred comes back to you, after all."
Lancaster eyed the notes, then took up the envelope and drew out a sheetof paper of poor quality, bearing a few lines in a school-boyish hand.
"GREY HOUSE, LOCH LONG.
"3/11/13.
"_Sir,_--Herewith the sum of L990 which I acceptedfrom you the other night owing to a misunderstanding.Without apologies for doubtingyour honesty--Yours truly,
"J. CAW."
Lancaster drew a long breath. "So he was fooling us, Bullard."
"Not at all! Some one was fooling him!--only he has managed--I'mconvinced of that--to regain possession of the green box. As I impressedon you just after the fiasco, there was some one in one of the presses,and now it is evident that Caw captured that person after we had left.Unfortunately, it means that a fourth person has knowledge of thediamonds. Still, my friend, we have another chance."
"What? You don't mean to say--"
"Certainly, we shall try again,--we must! And the sooner the better! Thatis, unless we find we can settle amicably with the invaluable Caw. Hisnote suggests that possibility, doesn't it? His impertinence gives meencouragement."
"It is the letter," said Lancaster heavily, "of an honest man--"
"Up to the tune of a thousand pounds. A wise man, if you like, whoforesaw the possibility of the notes being stopped."
"You would not have dared do that."
"I had already written off my share as a bad debt," said Bullard, with asmile, "but Caw was not to know that."
The older man rested his head upon his hand. "You cannot be certain," hesaid slowly, "that the green box is still in the house."
"True. Otherwise I'd be tempted to produce Alan Craig's will and finishthe business. All the nonsense about the clock and the postponed divisioncould not prevent our taking possession of the house and everything init. Why, even that absurdly costly clock would be ours.... And yetthere's always the risk of--"
"Bullard, let us produce the will and dare the risk of losing thediamonds. From the bottom of my heart I tell you, I will be contentwith L25,000."
"So you think at the moment. But apart from your own feelings--not tomention mine--what about Mrs. Lancaster's?"
"I--I have already told her we cannot go on living as we are doing."
"Yes? And her reply?"
Lancaster was mute.
"Have you, by any chance, mentioned to her the matter ofthe!--a--debt to the--"
"For God's sake, don't torture!"
"I have no wish to do that," said Bullard quietly. "Let us change thesubject, which is not really urgent at present, for one which, I trust,may be less disagreeable to you."
The host wiped his forehead. "What is it about?" he asked wearily.
"Your daughter."