Meanwhile Miss Leslie wrote long and very earnest letters to both Captain and Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir. Once more she offered to make Boy her heir, on condition that she should be allowed to take care of him, and control his education. Her letters arrived at their destination when the “Honourable Jim” was snoring the hours away in a heavy drunken sleep, and naturally Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir read the one intended for her husband as well as the one addressed to herself. She smiled a fat smile as she consigned the one written to Jim (“Like her impudence!” she murmured to herself) to the convenient flames, and resolved to say nothing about it (“For the education of my son,” she said, “is my affair!”). She laid her large hand on her large breast with an approving and consolatory pat. To be a “mother” was a great thing.
“Silly old woman!” ejaculated Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir, her stout bust heaving with matronly offence. “She has lost all her own matrimonial chances—she would insist on sticking to the memory of Harry Raikes—and there she is, of course, all alone in the world, and wants my boy to be a son to her. Poor dear child! A nice time he would have of it, a slave to an old maid’s fads and fancies!”
So she sat down and wrote the following letter. She had a shocking handwriting,—it sloped downwards and sideways all over a sheet of paper, in very much the way her mind sloped and went sideways likewise:—
“My dear Letitia,
I am sorry to see from the tone of your letter that you are still feeling so lonely. Of course it is very hard for you to be all alone at your age, and I am very sorry for you. But to part with my son to you as you suggest is quite out of the question. A mother’s claims are paramount! I am sure you would be very nice to him, and the dear boy deserves everything that can possibly be done for his advantage, but his mother must preside over his education. I am sure that, though unmarried yourself, you will see the force of this. If, however, you still decide to make him your heir, I am sure he will be very worthy of it, and always remember you affectionately after you are gone. We shall expect our son home next week, and hope that Major Desmond will be able to escort him.
Yours very sincerely,
Amelia D’Arcy-Muir.”
This letter was the charter of Boy’s doom. Not all the stars in their courses would be able to alter his fate from henceforth. Miss Leslie cried quietly to herself in her room for nearly an hour,—then bathed her eyes, smoothed her hair, and attended to her household duties as placidly and sweetly as ever. She never spoke to Boy at all on the subject. To Major Desmond and his friend Fitz she said simply,—
“I wrote to Boy’s mother and father. But it is no use!”
“I thought not!” said the Major gruffly.
“Poor little chap!” said Fitz.