Gerald gave no answer. Unless the banging-to the door after Roland with his foot could be called one.
He stood ruminating for a short while alone. The message certainly tended to a further complication of Gerald's perplexities. Although he had originally assured Lord Carrick that he should not look to him to meet the bill, he really had done so: for nobody looked in vain to that imprudent and good-hearted man, when he had it in his power to help.
"There's nothing for it but the novel," decided Gerald presently. "What's the time?"
Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that it was not yet half-past nine. As his guests would not arrive until twelve, there was time, and to spare, for a visit to Hamish Channing. So, packing up his manuscript, he went forth.
Hamish sat in his writing-room as usual this evening, working closely. His face wore a weary look as the light from the candle, the shade temporarily removed, fell upon it. Ever good-humoured, ever full of sweet hope, of loving-kindness to the whole world, he cared not for his weariness; nay, was not conscious of it.
An arrival at the street door, and a bustle in the next room following closely upon it; a child's joyous laughter and light chatter. Hamish knew the cause. Little Miss Nelly had returned home from a child's party, her hands laden with fairy gifts. In she came; papa could not keep the door quite closed from her; in her white muslin frock with the broad blue sash and sleeve ribbons, and the bit of narrow blue on her neck, suspending the locket with Grandpapa Channing's likeness in it. Hamish caught up the lovely little vision and began fondling it; kissing the bright cheeks, the chattering lips, the pretty neck.
"And now Nelly must go," he said, "for I have my work to do."
"A great deal of work?"
"Oceans of it, Nelly."
"Mamma says, you work too much," returned Nelly, looking full at him with her brilliant, sweet blue eyes, so like his own.