That John Clithero was already raging and fuming over his son's growing notoriety, so much Mostyn already knew. He had seen Cicely on several occasions soon after his first return to London from Partinborough. These meetings had been a great pleasure to himself as well as to the girl, as long as they could be continued, but eventually, by some misfortune, John Clithero obtained an inkling of them, and summarily brought them to a conclusion by denying his daughter the liberty which she had till then enjoyed.
Poor Cicely! Mostyn thought her sadly changed in those days. She had always been a little shy and nervous in manner, not very strong physically, but now these peculiarities were so markedly increased that Mostyn had asked her anxiously, more than once, if she were sure that she were not ill?
She had replied that there was nothing amiss with her health, only that she was not happy. Could it be expected that she should be happy? Prevented from seeing her lover, she was always torturing herself as to what the end of it all would be. Her father was constantly telling her that she should never marry Pierce, that he would see her in her coffin first, and though Pierce had declared to her, taking all his gods to witness that he spoke the truth, that as soon as the year's probation imposed upon him by his father had passed, he would take her away from home and cheerfully set John Clithero at defiance; although over and over again Mostyn, inspired by Pierce himself, would repeat this statement to her, yet she always shook her fair head, nervously clasping and unclasping her fingers, a bright spot of colour rising ominously to the centre of each pale cheek.
"Who can say what will happen in a year's time?" she would murmur half under her breath. "Our father is a strong man, Mostyn, and he has always had his way. I feel that he will have his way with me."
No arguments that Mostyn could adduce had any effect upon her, nor would she consent to his suggestion that she should leave her home and settle with him. His idea was that he could easily have installed her at Partinborough Grange.
But again Cicely shook her head, though her eyes glistened and became wet with tears at her inability to accept. The truth was that she was afraid, and perhaps not without reason, for, if she were free from her father's yoke, living under her brother's care—her brother, who was so constantly in the company of Pierce—well, then, the temptation that both she herself and her lover would have to endure might be more than their strength could withstand. They might meet, the probability was that they would meet, and then Pierce would want to set not only Mr. Clithero but his own father as well at defiance. And to do this would mean his ruin: Cicely quite understood that, and she was not going to allow him to run the risk. It was wiser, far wiser, for her to endure her life at home, almost unbearable though it was becoming because of her father's ill-temper so often directed against herself, and because of the overbearing manner which both James and Charles had adopted towards her: it was better for her to put a brave face upon all this and to wait till the year's probation had expired, hoping against hope that all might be well in the end.
Mostyn, concerned as he was for his sister, had seen the reason of her arguments, and he had comforted her as best he could, assuring her of Pierce's fidelity, and pointing out, adopting a tone of levity that he did not feel, that some months of the year had already passed, and that the rest would go by quickly enough. But all the same, his heart bled for his sister, and he would have liked nothing better than to have had a few minutes uninterrupted conversation with those brothers of his, James the Prig and Charles the Sneak; it was against them that his animosity was chiefly directed, for he knew that his father acted rightly according to his lights; but as for the two younger men—well, Mostyn had good reason to mistrust them both.
He had explained to Cicely that his sudden accession to wealth was due to a legacy bequeathed to him by Anthony Royce; beyond this he had entered into no particulars. Let John Clithero believe, as undoubtedly he would believe, that his son had thrown himself into the world of sport by his own inclination; Mostyn did not care very much what interpretation might be put upon his acts. He had, indeed, been more amused than annoyed when he was approached by his father's solicitors with the request that, if he must go racing and squander good money, he should adopt another name for the purpose. This was only evidence of the fact that Anthony Royce's subtle revenge was already taking effect, and that John Clithero was raging impotently at the fancied degradation of his family honour. Yet what had happened so far was nothing to what might be expected in the future: so Mostyn, a little irritated by the tone adopted by the solicitors, had felt bound to tell them. His father had cast him off cruelly and unjustly, and now Mostyn was his own master, at liberty to face the world as seemed best to him.
When Pierce learnt that the meetings of Mostyn and Cicely had been prohibited he was furiously angry, and it was all that Mostyn could do to keep him from there and then proceeding to Bryanston Square and summarily carrying Cicely off. But he calmed down after a time, and admitted that the girl was right, that it was best not to precipitate matters, nor to incur the anger of old Mr. Trelawny.
"Although I must say," Pierce grumbled, "as I have said before, that I can't make my governor out. He was loud in his praises of you for having struck out your own course, but if I went and did the same thing—well"—Pierce shrugged his shoulders disconsolately—"I believe that Cicely and I might beg our bread for all that he'd care."