French, when he read it, scratched his head.
When he had made the compact with Bobby Dashwood in the smoking-room of the Shelbourne Hotel, he had done so half in joke, half in earnest. Violet Grimshaw had appealed to him from the first just as a pleasant picture or a pretty song appeals to a man, but, till the day at the Shelbourne Hotel, he had no views regarding her. She was in his house, under his protection. He looked on her more as a daughter than a stranger brought under his roof by chance, and had Bobby Dashwood not intervened, he might have continued so to regard her.
But the instant Mr. Dashwood spoke Mr. French became aware that Miss Grimshaw had become a necessity to him, or, rather, a necessary luxury. He was not in love with her, but she was a charming person to have in the house. She carried brightness with her. He did not want to lose her, and here was Dashwood proposing to carry her away.
Recognising that Bobby was very much in earnest, and knowing that, when he had passed his irresponsible stage, he would make an excellent suitor for any girl, French, large hearted and generous, was not the man to put barriers in the way of a good match for the homeless orphan from the States. But he would have no engagement on a half-formed acquaintanceship. If, when they had got to know each other well, Violet preferred Bobby to anyone else, well and good. If she preferred him (French), well and better.
But since that compact at the Shelbourne, though French had been so occupied by the horse that he had scarcely time to think of anything else, the bonds had been strengthening between him and the girl, and his kindly feeling for Bobby had been increasing.
He did not recognise the facts fully till he put down Mr. Dashwood's letter and summed up the situation exactly and precisely in the word "Botheration!" Everything had been going so well up to this. Garryowen was in the pink of condition. Though the debt to Lewis was due, Lewis might have been dead for all the trouble he gave, or could give, unless by any chance Dick Giveen found out the Sussex address, which was next to an impossibility; and now this bother must turn up, driving Dashwood away and so splitting up their pleasant little party. Dashwood was an invaluable aide-de-camp, but French was mourning him more as a lost friend, when, breaking in upon his meditation, Effie entered the room.
Disaster, when she appears before us, often comes at first in a pleasant disguise, and Effie looked pleasant enough this morning, for she never looked pleasanter than when full of mischief.
"Papa," said Effie, "what's to-day?"
"Monday," said Mr. French.
"I know it's Monday. I mean, the day of the month?"