Mr. Fentolin’s long finger shot suddenly out. He was leaning a little from his chair. His expression of gentle immobility had passed away. His face was stern, almost stony.
“You have spoken the truth, Gerald,” he said. “There are other things in the world besides games. There is the real, the tragical side of life, the duties one takes up, the obligations of honour. You have not forgotten, young man, the burden you carry?”
The boy was paler, but he had drawn himself to his full height.
“I have not forgotten, sir,” he answered bitterly. “Do I show any signs of forgetting? Haven’t I done your bidding year by year? Aren’t I here now to do it?”
“Then do it!” Mr. Fentolin retorted sharply. “When I am ready for you to leave here, you shall leave. Until then, you are mine. Remember that. Ah! this is Doctor Sarson who comes, I believe. That must mean that it is five o’clock. Come in, Doctor. I am not engaged. You see, I am alone with my dear niece and nephew. We have been having a little pleasant conversation.”
Doctor Sarson bowed to Esther, who scarcely glanced at him. He remained in the background, quietly waiting.
“A very delightful little conversation,” Mr. Fentolin concluded. “I have been congratulating my nephew, Doctor, upon his wisdom in preferring the quiet country life down here to the wearisome routine of a profession. He escapes the embarrassing choice of a career by preferring to devote his life to my comfort. I shall not forget it. I shall not be ungrateful. I may have my faults, but I am not ungrateful. Run away now, both of you. Dear children you are, but one wearies, you know, of everything. I am going out. You see, the twilight is coming. The tide is changing. I am going down to meet the sea.”
His little carriage moved towards the door. The brother and sister passed out. Esther led Gerald into the great dining-room, and from there, through the open windows, out on to the terrace. She gripped his shoulder and pointed down to the Tower.
“Something,” she whispered in his ear, “is going to happen there.”