“I agree with you, Cheriton,” said Caroline Crewkerne. “And it all depends upon the man himself. Tell Burden to look him up in Walford.”
Walford preserved so much discretion upon the subject of Jim Lascelles that, although several of his name were mentioned, neither he nor his forbears were singled out for special notice. The practical Caroline, having duly recorded the fact that “it was as she feared,” desired to know whether Walford had anything to say upon the subject of his mother. However, as no one at Pen-y-Gros Castle was acquainted with the maiden name of Jim’s mother, Caroline’s curiosity in regard to her also had to go unsatisfied. Nevertheless, she had fully decided to speak to the presumptuous young man upon the subject.
To that end John was dispatched after dinner that evening to the lodgings of Mr. James Lascelles in Pen-y-Gros hamlet with the compliments of his mistress and the request that Mr. Lascelles would call at the Castle at noon on the morrow.
Mr. Lascelles sent back the information that he would be pleased to do so. Yet no sooner had the gate of the cottage clicked behind the emissary from the Castle than he repented, and it was only in deference to the wisdom of his mother that John was not recalled.
Jim’s mother shook her head over him with sage indulgence.
“When will you learn, my son,” said she, “that old ladies who live in Hill Street must be treated au grand sérieux by rising young painters who live at Balham?”
“Yes, old lady, I suppose so,” said Jim, ruefully. “And if one James Lascelles is ever to find the wherewithal to get back the Red House at Widdiford, he will have to learn to keep his tongue in his cheek and his back supple; and also learn how to stroke the fur of every old cat that ever stuck somebody else’s coronet upon the panel of her carriage.”
“For shame, my son!” said Jim’s mother.
And she bestowed an embrace upon James which he really did not deserve.
Jim’s powers of resentment were unchristian and did him no credit, but perhaps he would have shown less promise in his art had he been less susceptible to the rubs of the world. That is the best that can be said for him.