Chapter Eighteen.
It was the wisest thing which Edward Morgan could have done to go away and leave what he had it in his mind to say unsaid. Prudence missed him after he left, missed his kindly attentions, the quick thought for her comfort which forestalled her wishes, his pleasant companionship. He was a man who, if somewhat earnest, perhaps because of this earnestness, talked well on most subjects. He was neither brilliant nor very ready of speech. The quality Prudence liked best in him was his habit of treating her as an equal; he did not pursue the tactic of talking down to her. The latter was one of William’s unamiable eccentricities, and it annoyed Prudence the more because William at his wisest was never so profound as to be beyond the comprehension of the most ordinary intelligence.
In Mr Morgan’s presence William’s attitude towards her changed considerably; following Mr Morgan’s departure the increased deference of his manner moderated slightly since no definite proposal had resulted. William suspected that his sister’s chances were not so secure as he had believed. She was foolish enough, he decided, to lose this excellent opportunity of making a brilliant marriage. William was not so anxious to see his sister married as he was desirous of forming an alliance with the house of Morgan Bros. If she brought the matter off she would win his approbation and his unbounded respect. Something of what he felt on this head he managed to convey to her in an indirect manner which he considered tactful. He felt that his approval would have considerable weight with her.
“Morgan appears to have enjoyed his visit,” he remarked to her; “he was sorry to go. He is an uncommonly good fellow. I like him.”
“He’s a kind old thing,” said Prudence with a gleam of mischief in her eyes.
“Old! Nonsense!” William squared his heavy shoulders and regarded himself complacently in the overmantel. “He’s a younger man than I.”
“Well, yes.” Prudence surveyed William’s grey hairs with uncomplimentary attentiveness, surveyed his corpulent figure, and smiled. “He’s forty-two. I have his own word for that.”
“A man isn’t old at forty-two,” he said.
“He looks old though.”
“When a man has passed his first youth,” William observed sententiously, “he is—ahem!—more interesting, more reliable. He knows what he wants. I confess that Morgan inspires in me both confidence and liking. One can respect a man who has proved his worth.”
“He has proved an aptitude for making money,” Prudence allowed.
“Isn’t that proof of worth?”
“It suggests sound business acumen.”
“With industry and perseverance,” he insisted.
“Generosity is finer than these qualities.” She was thinking of the unfortunate confidence relating to Steele.
“You at least have not found him lacking in that quality,” he said, surprised. “He has showered gifts on you.”
“He has been very generous to me,” she admitted, and laughed with a ring of scorn in the mirth. “There is small merit in being generous when it pleases one to be so.”
He stared at her in amazement.
“I think you are strangely wanting in gratitude,” he said. “Few people with the very sufficient grounds which you have for recognising a man’s generosity would display so grudging an acknowledgment. Morgan was most appreciative in his praise of you. He revealed a very deep—regard for you.”
William surveyed his half-sister with the doubtful scrutiny of a man who failed to discover what it was in her which attracted other men: beyond her looks he could discern no particular charm; and her looks were not in his opinion remarkable.
“I have heard more impassioned avowals,” she returned.
“From whom?” he demanded instantly.
“Perhaps I have only imagined them,—or,” and she patted the cover of one of Mr Morgan’s gifts and laughed, “met with them in books.”
“There is a lot of pernicious trash written,” observed William. “It puts ideas in girls’ heads.”
“You wouldn’t wish even a girl’s head empty of ideas, would you?”
“I would wish it empty of nonsense,” he answered sharply. “A woman should be satisfied to look after her home, and—all that.”
This being non-committal and liberal of interpretation, Prudence let it pass unchallenged. She was so familiar with William’s ideas about woman and her place in the scheme of things, and appreciated his opinion so little that she was satisfied to leave him to the undisputed enjoyment of his views. It was William’s own misfortune that he could never emerge from the rut into which he had floundered. He had long ago persuaded himself into the belief that his rut was the open road.
Feeling that he had said sufficient to add the weight of his approval to the balance in favour of Mr Morgan, William left his sister to digest his words; and subsequently informed his father that he entertained small doubt that if Edward Morgan did Prudence the honour of asking her to be his wife she would accept him. He believed she would appreciate the compliment of such an offer.
Prudence herself was less confident. She was indeed so undecided that the respite allowed her came as a relief. It gave her time for consideration of the matter. She did not love Edward Morgan; but he held open the door of freedom, and she feared that if she missed this opportunity of passing through, it might never open for her again.
There followed a period of waiting and uncertainty and general boredom, during which the ankle grew well and she was able to leave the sofa and walk in the garden. It was then that the loss of her cycle became once more a source of acute annoyance.
“You had no right to sell it, daddy,” she complained; “it was mine. You’ll have to buy me a new one.”
“I hoped you wouldn’t care to ride any more, Prue,” he returned evasively. “It isn’t safe. You may break your neck next time.”
“I may, of course. I stand a greater chance of doing so if you won’t buy me a machine, because I shall hire; and hired cycles aren’t reliable. Of course I shall ride again. Your advice is as preposterous as telling a child who has learnt to walk that it must revert to sedentary habits. It wouldn’t, you know, however nice a child it might be.”
She drew him towards her by the lapels of his coat and kissed him on either cheek.
“You’ll get me a new cycle, daddy?—just like the last?”
Mr Graynor yielded. When Prudence coaxed, looking at him with that light in her blue eyes, she recalled her mother so vividly to his mind that he could not resist her. It were easier to vex Agatha than to disappoint Prue.