“Well, take yourself off!” recommended Julian, as flushed as Laurence was pale. “You only came here to nose out what you might, and you’ve done that! And if you think you’re at liberty to insult Waldo under any roof of mine I’ll have you know you’re much mistaken!”

“Make yourself easy: I’m going, toad-eater!” Laurence flung at him. “And you need not put yourself to the trouble of escorting me downstairs! Ma’am, your very obedient servant!”

“Tragedy Jack!” remarked George, as the door slammed behind the outraged dandy. “Well-done, young ’un!” he added, with a grin that suddenly lightened his rather heavy countenance: “You and your roofs! Try telling me I came to nose out what I might—and see what I’ll do to you!”

Julian laughed, relaxing. “Well, you did, but that’s different! You don’t grudge Cousin Joseph’s property to Waldo any more than I do!”

“No, but that ain’t to say I don’t grudge it to those curst brats of his!” said George frankly. He was himself a man of substance, but he was also the father of a large and hopeful family, and although he would have repudiated with indignation any suggestion that he was not very well able to provide for his children, he had for years been unable to consider his unknown and remote cousin’s problematical fortune without thinking that it would furnish him with a useful addition to his own estate. He was neither an unkindly nor an ungenerous man; he subscribed what was proper to Charity; but he did feel that Waldo carried the thing to excess. That, of course, was largely the fault of his upbringing: his father, the late Sir Thurstan Hawkridge, had been a considerable philanthropist; but George could not remember that he had ever gone to such absurd lengths as to succour and educate the lord only knew how many of the nameless and gallows-born waifs with which every city was ridden.

He looked up, to find that Waldo was watching him, the faintest hint of a question in his eyes. He reddened, saying roughly: “No, I don’t want Broom Hall, and I hope I know better than to waste my time recommending you not to drop your blunt providing for a parcel of paupers who won’t thank you for it, and, you may depend upon it, won’t grow up to be the respectable citizens you think they will, either! But I must say I do wonder what made that old miser leave his money to you!”

Sir Waldo could have enlightened him, but thought it more tactful to refrain from divulging that he figured in his eccentric relative’s Will as “the only member of my family who has paid no more heed to me than I have to him.”

“Well, for my part I think it very unsatisfactory,” said Lady Lindeth. “And not at all what poor Cousin Joseph would have wished!”

“You do mean to do that, Waldo?” Julian asked.

“Yes, I think so, if I find the place at all suitable. It may not be—and in any event I don’t want it prattled about, so just you keep your tongue, young man!”

“Well, of all the abominable injustices—! I didn’t prattle about your horrid brats: it was George! Waldo, if you mean to go north, may I go with you?”

“Why, yes, if you wish, but you’ll find it a dead bore, you know. There will be a good deal of business to be settled with Cousin Joseph’s attorney, which will keep me busy in Leeds; and whatever I decide to do with Broom Hall I must look into things there, and set about putting them in order. Dull work! In the middle of the Season, too!”

“Much I care! That’s what I think a dead bore: going from one horrible squeeze to another; doing the pretty to people I’d as lief never see again; showing-off in the Grand Strut—”

“You know, you’re spoilt, Julian!” interrupted George severely.

“No, I’m not. I never did like going to parties, and I never shall—not these insipid ton parties, at all events. I like living in the country. I say, Waldo, I wonder if there’s any fishing to be had near Broom Hall?” He saw that Sir Waldo was looking at Lady Lindeth, and added: “Oh, Mama don’t object! Do you, Mama?”

“No,” she answered. “You must do as you please—though it seems a pity you should go out of town just now. There’s the Aveburys’ Dress-party, and—However, if you prefer to go to Yorkshire with Waldo I am sure I have nothing to say!”

There was a good deal of reluctance in her voice, which one at least of her audience recognized and appreciated. She was a devoted but not a foolish parent; and while, on the one hand, she was bent on thrusting her son into the heart of the ton, and (if possible) arranging an advantageous marriage for him; on the other, she had far too much wisdom either to try to drive him against his inclination, or to cast the least rub in the way of his allegiance to his cousin Waldo. It stood greatly to her credit that almost from the hour of her widowhood she had made up her mind that she must never keep Julian tied to her apron-strings. But although she had adhered strictly to this resolve she had suffered many qualms, fearing that the very sweetness of his disposition might be his undoing. He was a handsome boy, and one who had come into the world hosed and shod, as the saying was; and her dread was that he might be flattered and coaxed into such company as Laurence kept, with disastrous results. With Waldo he was not only safe but fortunate as well, since Waldo, taking him into his own circle, was introducing him to men of the first rank and character. That most of these gentlemen were addicted to the more dangerous, and (in her view) more degrading forms of sport, she did not allow to weigh with her. It was incomprehensible to her why any man should wish to risk his neck in the hunting field, or in a curricle race: or should derive the smallest satisfaction from planting a flush hit in the face of some unoffending acquaintance, encountered in Jackson’s Boxing Saloon; but she was fortified in her acceptance of these peculiar activities by the knowledge that no female was fitted to be a judge of such matters; and by the realization that nothing was farther from her ambition than to see her son joining the ranks of those who abjured violent sports. Furthermore, however many pangs of jealousy she might have been made to suffer when, having failed to turn Julian from some adolescent and ill-judged start, she had seen Waldo blight it by the mere lifting of an eyebrow, she could still be thankful to him. His ideas might not coincide with hers; she might resent Julian’s devotion to him; but while she knew his influence over her darling to be strong no maternal apprehensions seriously troubled her.

She met his eyes, and saw the understanding smile in them. He said: “I know, ma’am—but where’s the use? I’ll take good care of him!”

The annoying thing about him was that he did know, though never had she confided in him her ambition to see Julian achieve the social success to which his birth, his looks, and his fortune entitled him. She responded tartly: “He is of age, and very well able, I trust, to take care of himself! A very odd idea of me you must have, my dear Waldo, if you think he is obliged to ask my permission for anything he may wish to do!”

The smile touched his lips; he murmured: “No! The only idea I have of you, ma’am, is that you are a woman of great good sense.”

As he turned away from her, Julian, whose attention had been diverted by a question addressed to him by Mr Wingham, demanded gaily: “Are you talking secrets? When do you mean to go Yorkshire?”

“I haven’t decided the precise date, but sometime next week. I shall be travelling post, of course.”

The expression of disappointment on Julian’s face was ludicrous enough to make even his ruffled mother smile. He exclaimed impulsively: “Oh, no! You can’t wish to be shut up in a stuffy chaise for—Oh, you’re trying to gammon me, are you? Waldo, you’re a—you’re a—”

“Gull-catcher,” supplied George, on the broad grin.

Julian accepted this blithely. “Yes, and a regular dryboots! Curricle, Waldo, or phaeton?”

“I don’t see how we can go by either when I’ve no horses stabled on the Great North Road.” objected Waldo.

But Julian was not to be hoaxed twice. He retorted that if his cousin was such a nip-farthing as to grudge the expense of sending his cattle forward they would either hire job-horses, or proceed by such easy stages as could be managed by one team.

“I like young Lindeth,” said George, when, presently, he walked with his cousin in the direction of Bond Street. “A very good sort of a boy: nothing of the rum ’un about him! But as for Laurence—! Upon my word, Waldo, I wonder that you should bear with him as you do! Well, I was used to think him more flash than foolish, but after listening to his damned insolence today I think him the most buffleheaded clunch I ever saw in my life! If there’s one person anybody but a sapskull would have taken precious care not to rub against, it’s you! Good God, where does he think he’d be, if you was to abandon him? Don’t you tell me he hasn’t cost you a small fortune, because I’m not a gapeseed! Why you didn’t lose your temper and tell him he’d had his last groat from you I shall never know!”

“Yes, you will,” responded Sir Waldo calmly. “I didn’t lose my temper because that is precisely what I had told him.”

George was so much surprised that he halted in his tracks. “You had? Waldo, you don’t mean it!”

“No, probably not, but today’s outburst shows that Laurie thinks I do. So now you know why I hadn’t the smallest inclination to lose my temper. For how much longer do you mean to stand like a stock, attracting the attention of the vulgar? Do come out of your trance, George!”

Thus adjured, Mr.Wingham fell into step again beside his tall cousin, saying earnestly: “I was never more glad of anything in my life! Now, don’t waver from it, I beg of you! Damme if I wouldn’t prefer to see you wasting the ready on a pack of ragged brats than on that young once-a-week man!”

“Oh, George, no!” expostulated Sir Waldo. “Coming it too strong!”

“Oh, no, I ain’t!” said George obstinately. “When I think of the things he said today, and the gratitude he owes you—”

“He owes me none.”

“What?”George gasped, once more coming to a sudden halt.

His cousin’s hand, gripping his arm, forced him onward. “No, George: not again!” said Sir Waldo firmly. “I’ve done very badly by Laurie. If you don’t know that, I do.”

“Well, I don’t!” George declared. “From the time he was at Harrow you’ve positively lavished money on him! You never did so for Julian!”

“Oh, I’ve never done more for Julian than send him a guinea under the seal, when he was a schoolboy!” said Sir Waldo, laughing.

“So I knew! Of course, you may say he was pretty well-breeched, but—”

“I shan’t say anything of the sort. I should have done no more for him whatever his circumstances might have been. By the time he went to Harrow I wasn’t such a cawker as I was when Laurie was a boy.” He paused, slightly frowning, and then said abruptly: “You know, George, when my father died, I was too young for my inheritance!”

“Well, I own we all thought so—made sure you’d play ducks and drakes with it!—but you never did so, and—”

“No, I did worse: I ruined Laurie.”

“Oh, come now, Waldo—” George protested, adding after a moment’s reflection: “Encouraged him to depend on you, you mean. I suppose you did—and I’m damned if I know why, for you never liked him above half, did you?”

“I didn’t. But when I was—what did he call it?—swimming in riches,and my uncle was possessed of no more than an independence—besides being as big a screw as our cousin Joseph, and keeping Laurie devilish short—ft seemed so hard-fisted not to come to Laurie’s rescue!”

“Yes, I see,” said George slowly. “And having once begun to frank him you couldn’t stop.”

“I might have done so, but I didn’t. What, after all, did it signify to me? By the time I’d acquired enough sense to know what it signified to him,the mischief had been done.”

“Oh!” George turned this over in his mind. “Ay, very likely! But if you think the fault is yours, all I can say is that it ain’t like you to leave him to sink or swim now! What’s more, I don’t believe you would!”

“No, I was afraid he wouldn’t believe it either,” admitted Sir Waldo. “He seems to have done so, however, which makes me hopeful that the mischief has not gone beyond repair.”

George uttered a bark of sceptical laugher. “He’ll be gapped in some hell before the week’s out—and don’t tell me you’ve tied him up, because he ain’t such a bottlehead that he don’t know you’d never compel him to pay the forfeit!”