CHAPTER XXXI.
WHERE HAD THE MONEY CARES VANISHED TO?
Hinton felt thoroughly angry; perhaps he had some cause. Webster, his college chum, his greatest friend, was coming up to town. He had heard many times and often of Hinton's promised bride, and he was coming to town, Hinton knew well at some personal inconvenience, to see her, and she refused to see him.
Hinton, as well as Uncle Jasper, considered it a whim of Charlotte's. He was surprised. Nay, he was more than surprised. He was really angry. Here was the woman, who in a week's time now must stand up before God and promise solemnly to obey him for all the remainder of her life, refusing to attend to his most natural desire. She had an engagement, and she would not tell him what it was; she made a secret of it. Be the secret little or great, she knew how he disliked all such concealments.
Was it possible that he was deceived in Charlotte after all? No, no, he was too really loyal to her, too sincerely attached to her: her frankness and sweetness were too natural, too complete, for him really to doubt her; but he owned that he was disappointed—he owned that he had not the greatness which she under similar circumstances would have exercised. She was keeping him in the dark—in the dark he could not trust. He recalled, with feelings of anything but pleasure, her last secret. She thought little of it. But Hinton knew how differently he had received it; he did not like to be reminded of it now. During the last few weeks he had managed almost completely to banish it from his thoughts; but now it came back to his memory with some force; it reminded him of Mrs. Home. Was it possible that he was acting wrongly in not searching into her rights? Was it possible that things had already come to such a pass with him, that he would not do the right because he feared the consequences? Had riches and wealth and worldly honor already become dearer to his soul than righteousness and judgment and truth?
These condemnatory thoughts were very painful to the young man; but they turned his feelings of indignation from Charlotte to himself.
It was nearly a month now since he had left Mrs. Home. When he went away he had provided her with another lodger. He remembered that by this time she must have come back from Torquay. As this thought came to him he stopped suddenly and pulled out his watch. Webster would not be at Paddington before two o'clock. He had nothing very special to do that morning, he would jump into a hansom and go and see Mrs. Home and Harold. He put his ideas into execution without an instant's delay, and arrived at Kentish Town and drew up at the well-known door at quite an early hour. Daisy and the baby were already out, but Harold, still something of an invalid, stood by the dining-room window. Harold, a little weary from his journey, a little spoiled by his happy month at Torquay was experiencing some of that flatness, which must now and then visit even a little child when he finds he must descend from a pedestal. For a very long time he had been first in every one's thoughts. He had now to retire from the privileges of an invalid to the everyday position, the everyday life of a healthy child. While at Torquay his mother had no thought for any one but him; but now, this very morning, she had clasped the baby in such an ecstasy of love to her heart, that little spoiled Harold felt quite a pang of jealousy. It was with a shout therefore of almost ecstasy that he hailed Hinton. He flew to open the door for him himself, and when he entered the dining-room he instantly climbed on his knee. Hinton was really fond of the boy, and Harold reflected with satisfaction that he was altogether his own friend, that he scarcely knew either Daisy or the baby.
In a moment entered the happy, smiling mother.
"Ah! you have come to see your good work completed," she said. "See what a healthy little boy I have brought back with me."