He walked away, leaving his son in a state of seething irritation. Extraordinary that a man could think of trumpery ailments at such a time! It was unlike his father too, whose personal fitness and soundness, whether on the moors, in the hunting field, or in any other sort of test, had always been triumphantly assumed by his family, as part of the general brilliance of Sir Arthur’s role in life.
Douglas sombrely set himself to study the picture catalogue, and sat smoking and making notes till nearly midnight. Having by that time accumulated a number of queries to which answers were required, he went in search of his father. He found him in the drawing-room, still playing backgammon with Lady Laura.
“Oh Duggy, I’m so tired!” cried his mother plaintively, as soon as he appeared. “And your father will go on. Do come and take my place.”
Sir Arthur rose.
“No, no, dear—we’ve had enough. Many thanks. If you only understood its points, backgammon is really an excellent game. Well, Duggy, ready to go to bed?”
“When I’ve asked you a few questions, father.”
Lady Laura escaped, having first kissed her son with tearful eyes. Sir Arthur checked a yawn, and tried to answer Douglas’s enquiries. But very soon he declared that he had no more to say, and couldn’t keep awake.
Douglas watched him mounting the famous staircase of the house, with its marvellous rampe, bought under the Bourbon Restoration from one of the historic chateaux of France; and, suddenly, the young man felt his heart gripped. Was that shrunken, stooping figure really his father? Of course they must have M’Clintock at once—and get him away—to Scotland or abroad.
“The two gentlemen are in the red drawing-room, sir!” Douglas and his father were sitting together in the library, after lunch, on the following afternoon, when the butler entered.