Because his conscience accused him of having misjudged the man, quite as much as in recognition of his valuable services, he determined to use his influence with the greater influence behind him in getting Lawless some honourable occupation that would give him a fresh start. There was use in the world for men like that. The idea grew in his mind and took definite shape. He decided to talk it over with Lawless when they met and then write home. Whatever his past, he merited some consideration for his present services. The impulse of the moment is no correct index to a man’s nature, and only a crude sense of justice assigns life-long punishment for the sins of youth. In Colonel Grey’s opinion Grit Lawless had expiated his crime.
He went to the Smythes’ that evening with his thoughts still revolving around Lawless’ future, which quite suddenly had become of immense importance to him. It was his liking for the man, that strange unaccountable feeling he had had for him at their first meeting which, despite prejudice and later distrust, he had never managed to conquer, that made him so extraordinarily anxious to hold out a helping hand. Simmonds, the man who was dead, had had a similar regard for him; and the boy, Tom Hayhurst, in a more exaggerated degree realised the magnetic attraction of his personality. Given a second chance. Colonel Grey was fully convinced that Lawless would carve out a future for himself of which no man need be ashamed. It remained for him to see that a suitable chance offered.
By an odd coincidence the first person he came across in the Smythes’ drawing-room after greeting his hostess was Mrs Lawless. He was, he discovered later, to take her in to dinner. He had not seen her to speak to since the evening he had called upon her at the time of Simmonds’ murder, and he was not quite sure until she turned and spoke to him how he stood in her regard.
She was looking very lovely, but older, he decided. He had never observed anyone age as she had within a few months. There were lines in her face that had not been there when he first knew her, and her eyes were sadder, her bearing altogether less confident. Some people might have considered her less attractive on this account; but to him, in the clouded expression of the thoughtful eyes, in the thin line that ran from nose to mouth, there was a pathetic appeal that was infinitely womanly, and therefore more alluring than the proud defiance of youth.
She held out her hand to him, and smiled a welcome.
“I began to think that you and I were not to meet again,” she said.
“That is a very gracious speech,” he answered, “for it permits me the belief that you were not unwilling for a meeting. But there is a grim suggestion underlying the words that pleases me less. Is it my speedy dissolution you anticipate?”
“No,” she answered quietly. “But—I thought you might have heard—I’m going Home.”
“Indeed!” he said, and looked at her with quickened interest. “That’s news to me. Do you leave shortly?”
“Next week,” she replied slowly, her fingers entwining themselves in the silver girdle at her waist. “I never intended to stay very long, you know. I came to... Just on a visit.”