If his choice had been altogether between poverty and wealth, it would have been easy to him, he thought, though it forced itself upon him with intense bitterness during these days, how the last ten years had changed the meaning of the word to him. But his honour was involved—his honour as a man, and as a merchant. He could not leave his uncle to struggle with misfortune in his old age. He could not let the name, so long honoured and trusted in the commercial world, be joined with the many which during the last few months had been coupled with ruin, and even with shame. He was responsible for the stability or the failure of the house, which for thirty years had never given cause for doubt or fear. More than this. His own reputation as a wise and successful man of business, if not even his personal honour was at stake, to make it impossible for him to separate himself from the affairs of the firm at a juncture so perilous.
And then, Lilias. Nothing but her own spoken word could free him from the tacit engagement that existed between them. In honour he could never ask her to speak that word.
Through his long journey of days and nights he pondered it all, making no decision as to what was to be done or said, but growing gradually conscious as he drew near home, that the life of the last few months, was coming to seem more and more like a pleasant dream that must be forgotten in the future. He met his uncle’s eager greeting with no word of change. His face was pale and very grave when he met his cousin, but not more so than hers. But that might very well be said each of the other. Lilias knew more of the losses which the firm had sustained than her father knew; and Allan might well look grave, she thought, and the watching and anxiety for her father’s sake might well account to him for her sad looks. After the first clasp of their hands he knew that the vows hitherto unspoken, must now be fulfilled.
Chapter Twenty Five.
Graeme did go to Mrs Roxbury’s party, and it happened in this way. The invitations had been sent out before Mr Elphinstone’s short, sharp illness, and Lilias had been made very useful by her aunt on the occasion. She had not been consulted about the sending of Graeme’s invitation, or probably Rose would have had one too, but by good fortune, as she declared, Graeme’s refusal came first to her hand, and the little lady did a most unprecedented thing. She put it quietly into her pocket, and going home that night by the Elliott’s, ventured to expostulate.
“First, you must promise not to be vexed,” and then she showed the note. Graeme looked grave.
“Now you must not be angry with me. Rosie, tell her not to be vexed, because, you know you can write another refusal, if you are determined. But I am sure you will not be so cruel. I can’t tell you any reason, except that I have set my heart on your being there, and you’ll come to please me, will you not?”
“To please you, ought to be sufficient reasons, I know,” said Graeme, smiling. And Lilias knew she had prevailed with her friend. She saw the acceptance written, and carried it off to place it with dozens of others, in the hands of Mrs Roxbury. She did not say much to Graeme about it, but to Rosie, she triumphed.