Blake laughed.
"As you compare me to the Moor, you must admit that I have never pretended to be less black than I'm painted."
"Ah!" Mrs. Keith exclaimed with marked gentleness. "You needn't pretend to me, Dick. I have my own opinion about you. I knew you would come home as soon as you could be found."
"Then you must know what has been going on in my absence."
"I have a strong suspicion. Your uncle has been hard pressed by unscrupulous people with an end to gain. How much impression they have made on him I cannot tell; but he's fond of you, Dick, and in trouble. It's a cruel position for an honorable man with traditions like those of the Challoners' behind him."
"That's true; I hate to think of it. You know what I owe to him and
Bertram."
"He's old," continued Mrs. Keith. "It would be a great thing if he could be allowed to spend his last years in quietness. I fear that's impossible, although perhaps to some extent it lies in your hands." She looked steadily at Blake. "Now that you have come back, what do you mean to do?"
"Whatever is needful; I'm for the defense. The Colonel's position can't be stormed while I'm on guard; and this time there'll be no retreat."
"Don't add that, Dick; it hurts me. I'm not so hard as I sometimes pretend. I never doubted your staunchness; but I wonder whether you quite realize what the defense may cost you. Have you thought about your future?"
"You ought to know that the Blakes never think of the future. We're a happy-go-lucky, irresponsible lot."