THE LAST AFTERNOON
It was a bright day when Lisle took his leave of the Marples. They gave him a friendly farewell and when he turned away Bella Crestwick walked with him down the drive.
“I don’t care what they think; I couldn’t talk to you while they were all trying to say something nice,” she explained. “Still, to do them justice, I believe they meant it. We are sorry to part with you.”
“It’s soothing to feel that,” Lisle replied. “In many ways, I’m sorry to go. I’ve no doubt you’ll miss your brother after to-morrow.”
“Yes,” she said with unusual seriousness. “More than once during the last two years I felt that it would be a relief to let somebody else have the responsibility of looking after him, but now that the time has come I’m sorry he’s going. I can’t help remembering how often I lost my temper, and the mistakes I made.”
“You stuck to your task,” commended Lisle. “I dare say it was a hard one, almost beyond you now and then.”
He knew that he was not exaggerating. She was only a year older than the wilful lad, who must at times have driven her to despair. Yet she had never faltered in her efforts to restrain and control him; and had made a greater sacrifice for his sake than Lisle suspected, though in the light of a subsequent revelation of Gladwyne’s character she was thankful for this.
“Well,” she replied, “I suppose that one misses a load one has grown used to, and I feel very downcast. It’s hardly fair to pass Jim on to you—but I can trust you to take care of him.”
“You can trust the work and the country,” Lisle corrected her with a trace of grimness. “He’s not going out to be idle, as he’ll discover. There’s nothing like short commons and steady toil for taming any one. You’ll see the effect of my prescription when I send him back again.”
“He has physical pluck. I’m glad to remember it; and he has shown signs of steadying since he found Gladwyne out.”