Part 1, Chapter XXXIV.
An Invitation.
Cyril Mallow’s plan of playing what he called a waiting game had the effect he anticipated, and when he thought that the time was ripe he sent a very tenderly-worded letter, full of gentle reproach, to Sage, telling her that he had fought, no one knew how hard, to master his feelings, but that it was all in vain; that he could not bear his existence there, and that he was going abroad—anywhere, he said—and he wished it was out of the world.
It was just at a time when the Rector was in high glee, for there had been no parish troubles for some time. He was beginning to make the people understand him, he told the curate, who bowed and said nothing, though he did think about his efforts to preserve peace. Julia and Cynthia were staying in town with Claudine and Faustine Perry-Morton, an act of kindness those ladies said, while their dear brother was forced to be in Rome, where the new art society had invited him to be president and inaugurate their proceedings. Then, although Frank was still at home, leading a life that, if he had been a poor man’s son, would have been called “loafing,” there was hope for Cyril, and a chance for weaning him from this attachment for Sage Portlock. In fact, jumping at a hint from the Rector, Lord Artingale had gone to Magnus and asked his advice, which was freely given, with a good idea or two how to set about it, and the result was that he had the pleasure of writing down to the Rector that the Duke of Borwick had given him an excellent post for his friend.
“It is only five hundred a year,” wrote Lord Artingale, “but I dare say something better will come.”
The Rector took the letter into Mrs Mallow’s room after reading it in the grape house, where he had been busy trimming special bunches intended for the invalid’s use.
“He’s a good fellow, Artingale, a thoroughly good fellow,” he said. “Sunshine at last for that unhappy boy.”
“Our son, Eli,” said Mrs Mallow, reproachfully. “If he is unhappy, may not we be to blame?”
The Rector’s delight was of short duration, for Cyril’s next move was to tell his father flatly that he had not been consulted, and that he should decline the post.