Mr. Dalrymple was not angry with his great-nephew—not nearly so angry as was Marjory Fitzalan. It did not come upon him as a matter for displeasure. That which had so grieved Marjory—the slight conveyed to himself in Harvey's silence—scarcely weighed at all, for it was lost in the sharper trouble of his slain desire. Westford never could belong to Hermione! There lay the real grief.
It was not anger with Harvey which kept him silent and pale. Rather he was displeased with himself, distressed at the strength and stiffness of his own will shown by this test. He was used to take all that came to him in life direct from Above, ignoring second causes; and the disappointment which had now fallen came thus like everything else. Yet Gilbert Dalrymple's whole being rose in protest against it, because he craved his own way in life for his darling, not God's way.
Seventy-six years old, and his will not yet subdued! Shame, shame! he told himself. This it was which bent the silver head and silenced speech, which kept him from even hearing Harvey's lame excuses. It did not trouble him, as Harvey had expected, that the wife brought no money with her. He was thinking other thoughts.
Harvey made no further attempt to gain his attention, and prolonged silence effected that which words had failed to effect. Mr. Dalrymple came back from the contemplation of his ruined dream to the consciousness of the present. He looked at Harvey, then at his watch, and stood up slowly, laying a hand on the mantelpiece, as if for support. The healthy hue had not returned to his face; it was pallid and shrunken still. Harvey could not help thinking how the old man had aged in these few years. Yet he had not thought so on his first entrance.
"Past tea-time. Hermione will be waiting for us," Mr. Dalrymple said absently.
"I shall not be sorry for a cup of tea after my walk from the station," remarked Harvey, rising also.
"True—yes—I had forgotten." Mr. Dalrymple spoke vaguely, his hand on the mantelpiece still. "Yes, we will go. There was something else which I had to say; but—"
"Time enough, isn't there?" Harvey asked, in a cheerful manner. He did not wish to have it supposed that he knew or guessed aught of what had been passing in the other's mind. "I want to make Hermione's acquaintance. She must have grown out of all knowledge."
Mr. Dalrymple's eyes were fixed upon Harvey.
"Yes; it is about Hermione," he said with earnestness. "Things have been deferred too long. It has seemed to me—perhaps—that there might be no occasion to—but I will have no more delay. I should wish to look into certain business matters with you."