“And—must I go upstairs and brush my hair?”
“No, no; it looks quite smooth. Now, come—be brave and face it as you should.”
“Oh yes, it’s all very well for you, who haven’t got it to do,” he replied. “You can’t think what it is.”
“Yes, Percy, I can; and it makes me say to you: Why expose yourself to such bitter humiliation? Would it not have been better to be able to hold up your head before all the world and to say: I am poor, and occupy a very menial position, but I am a gentleman?”
“Yes, Hazel is quite right my dear,” said Mrs Thorne. “It is what I always say to her: Never forget that you are a lady; and I am glad to find that she does not forget my teachings.”
“I’ll come now,” said Percy. “I—I think I’m ready;” and, clinging to his sister’s hand, he went with her into the room where Mr William Forth Burge was seated behind his book, with his pencil across his mouth, as if it had been a bit to bridle his tongue from uttering that which he had wished to say. He was trying to look very stern, but an admiring glance shot from his eyes as Hazel closed the door after her and then said simply:
“This is my brother, Mr Burge.”
There was a few moments’ pause, during which Percy, after a quick look at the great man of Plumton, stood there humbled and abashed, for the knowledge of his position completely took away his natural effrontery, and seemed to have made him ten years younger than he was. A flash of resentment came for a moment, and made his eyes brighten and his cheek colour on hearing their visitor’s salutation, but they both died out directly, for all Percy Thorne’s spirit seemed to have evaporated now.
“Well, sir,” cried Mr William Forth Burge fiercely, for here was an opportunity for crowing over a lad who was a very different sort of boy to what he had been. He had never meddled with moneys entrusted to him, and had been content to plod and plod slowly and surely till he had made himself what he was. This boy—Percy Thorne—had tried to make himself rich by one or two bold strokes—by gambling, in fact, and this was a chance; so “Well, sir,” he cried, “and what have you got to say for yourself?”
Percy looked up and looked down, for it was evident he had nothing to say for himself, and he ended by gazing appealingly at his sister, his lips moving as if saying: “Speak a word for me! Please do.”