Still Darsie did not reply. She was wondering drearily what she could find to say when the dreaded interview came about; shrinking from the thought of adding to the mother’s pain, feeling a paralysing sense of defeat; yet, at this very moment of humiliation, a ray of light illumined the darkness and showed the reason of her failure.
Dan was right! no one could truly help a man without first implanting in his heart the wish to help himself! She had been content to bribe Ralph, as a spoiled child is bribed to be good; had felt a glow of gratified vanity in the knowledge that her own favour was the prize to be won. If the foundations of her buildings were unstable, what wonder that the edifice had fallen to the ground? The thought softened her heart towards the handsome culprit by her side, and when she spoke at last it was in blame of herself rather than of him.
“I’m sorry, too, Ralph. I might have helped you better. I rushed in where angels fear to tread. I gave you a wrong motive. It should have been more than a question of pleasing me—more even than pleasing your parents... Oh, Ralph, dear, you know—you know there is something higher than that!—Is religion nothing to you, Ralph? Don’t you feel that in wasting your life you are offending against God—against Christ! Can’t you try again with that motive to help you?—I can’t make light of things to your people, but I can take part of the blame on myself. If it is true that I have any influence over you, I have thrown it away...”
Ralph laid his hand over the gloved fingers clasped together on Darsie’s knee.
“Don’t say that! Don’t think that, Darsie. I may be a rotter, but I’d have been a hundred times worse if it hadn’t been for you. And don’t exaggerate the position: it’s a pity to do that. Every man isn’t born a Dan Vernon. Most fellows only reach that stage of sobriety when they are middle-aged. It would be a pretty dull world if no one kicked over the traces now and then in their youth. What have I done, after all? Slacked my work, helped myself to a bit more play and come down on the Governor for an extra cheque now and again. Lots of fellows come a worse cropper than that—”
Darsie wondered if a “worse cropper” might not possibly be a less serious ill than persistent slacking and irresponsibility; but now that the bad news was out, Ralph was fast regaining his composure.
“I’ll turn out all right yet, Darsie, you’ll see. The tenants like me. I’ll settle down and make a first-rate squire when my time comes. And I’ll make up to you then for all this worry and bother.” For a moment his voice was significantly tender, then the recollection of his present difficulty swept over him once more, and he added hastily: “You’ll—you’ll break it to the mater, won’t you? About that money, I mean. She’ll take it best from you—”
Darsie rose from her seat, and stood before him, tall and white in the moonlight.
“No!” she said clearly. “I will not. You must make your own confession. Things have been made easy for you all your life, Ralph. Now you must fight for yourself.”