“Well,—very nearly!” he assented smilingly. “You are such a nice little girl to laugh at, you see, and it was an uncommonly good joke! Do you remember the day when you confided to me solemnly that you had journeyed to Scotland on purpose to stalk me, and run me to earth? You’d have been a bit embarrassed if I’d told you the truth then and there, wouldn’t you now? And besides—I see quite enough of literary aspirants all the year round. It was a bit hard to be hunted down on one’s holidays. I felt bound to prevaricate, for the sake of my own peace. Then again there was George! Where would George have come in? If I had confessed my identity, should I have been kept awake, as I was last night, listening to his rhapsodies by the hour together? By the way, we are going to be near relatives. Don’t you want to shake hands?”
“I’m very angry indeed!” maintained Margot stubbornly—nevertheless her hand was in his, and her fingers involuntarily returned his pressure. “Are you—glad! Do you think I shall—do? Does he seem really happy?”
“Ah, my dear!” he sighed, and over the plump features there passed once more the expression of infinite longing which Margot had seen once before, when, in a moment of confidence, he had spoken of his dead love. “Ah, my dear, how happy he is! There is no word to express such happiness! George has not frittered away his affections on a number of silly flirtations—his heart is whole, and it is wholly yours. Do you owe me no thanks for bringing you together? You wanted to help your brother; I wanted to help mine; so we are equally guilty or praiseworthy, as the case may be. For myself I am very well satisfied with the result?”
Margot blushed, and cast down her eyes.
“I’m satisfied, too!” she said shyly. “Much more than satisfied—and Ron is enraptured. Have you seen him? He said he was coming to see you first thing this morning!”
“Have I seen him, indeed? I should think I had! I thought I should never get rid of the boy. I told him straight that the magazine comes first to me, and that not even a prospective sister-in-law—with dimples!—could induce me to accept a line for publication otherwise than on its own merits. But the boy has power. I can’t tell yet how far it may go, but it’s worth encouraging. When he gave me his manuscript book to read I was struck by one fragment, and wrote it out in shorthand, to publish as a surprise to you both. I like the lad, and will be glad to help him so far as it is in my power. I can give him a small post in this office, where at least he will be in the atmosphere; but after that his future rests with himself. What he writes that is worth publishing, I will publish, but it will be judged on its merits alone, and without any remembrance of his private associations. He will have his chance!”
He put out his hands and held her gently by the elbows, smiling at her the while with the kindliest of smiles.
“Now are you satisfied, little girl? From the moment that you looked at me with her eyes, and asked my help, I have had no better wish than to give it. I did not set about it quite in your own way, perhaps, but the end is the same. Don’t trouble any more about the lad, but let me smooth the way with your father, while you devote yourself to George. His happiness is in your hands. Be good to him! He looks upon you as an angel from heaven! Be an angel for his sake! He sees in you everything that is good, and pure, and womanly. Be what he believes! Humanly speaking, his life is yours, and these little hands will draw him more strongly than any power in the world. It’s a big responsibility, little girl, but I am not afraid! I know a good woman when I see one, and can trust George to your care. You will be very happy. I wonder if in the midst of your happiness you will sometimes remember—a lonely man?”
Margot twisted herself quickly from his grasp, and her arms stretched out and encircled his neck. She did not speak, but her lips, pressed against his cheek, gave an assurance more eloquent than words.