As he had passed through the hall, with its varnished wall-paper, to the drawing-room in which he waited, the portrait of old Mr. Jacobite had gazed fiercely down. Quite evidently the old gentleman disapproved of the use being made of his night-shirt.
Peter didn’t seat himself; it would have been impossible to do so without causing havoc. Every chair had its antimacassar, spread at its correct old-maidish angle. He stood by the window, looking out into the cool little garden—a green, shy sanctuary for birds, across which the July sunlight fell. Overhead was the room in which Uncle Waffles had slept—he hoped he had behaved himself. The chandelier shook; several people were very industrious up there. And Peter wondered. Old Mr. Jacobite—had he always disapproved of men where his daughters were concerned? Had he kept them from marriage? Had the tall and reserved Miss Florence ever been kissed by a man? In the light of his own romantic experience he pitied all people who hadn’t been kissed and married. Life was wasted if that hadn’t happened; it was meant for that.
The handle turned. It was Miss Effie, the little and talkative Miss Jacobite, who entered. She was smiling and lifted to Peter a face all a-flutter, thanking him with her eyes, as though he had given her a present.
“How is he?” Peter asked. “I oughtn’t to have brought him here at all—let alone at such an hour. Only you see—you see there was nowhere else to bring him.”
She seated herself on the edge of a chair, patting out her dress. “He’s tired.” She spoke with an air of concern. “He wasn’t very well. We made him stay in bed. We’re going to keep him there; he needs feeding.”
She was flustered. Her hands kept clasping and unclasping. She seemed afraid of being accused of immodesty. She raised her eyes shyly. “It’s so nice to have a man in the house. Not since poor dear father——. I wonder what he’d have said.”
Peter didn’t wonder. He thought it was high time that he made matters clearer. “Of course, I’m not going to leave him on your hands. I only brought him for a night because——”
She interrupted anxiously. “Oh, please, until he’s better. He’s so run down. They made him work so hard in—in there.”
So he had brought his derelict uncle to the one spot on earth where he was regarded as a treasure! He was so amazed at Miss Effie’s attitude that he doubted whether she was in full possession of the facts.
“But—but,” he faltered, “didn’t Miss Florence tell you where he’s come from—where it was that he had to work?”