Burgo's Romance

by T. W. Speight

As Burgo took back the glass he gripped him by the hand. "Courage, uncle!" he said; "remember that you are the master of your own actions, and that under this roof no one has either the right or the power to act in any way whatever in opposition to your wishes."

But Sir Everard scarcely seemed to hear him; his eyes were bent apprehensively on the door. Burgo groaned inwardly. He felt that if it came to a contest with Lady Clinton, both he and his uncle would be ignominiously defeated, simply because the latter would not have enough strength of will to hold his own against her.

The door opened and her ladyship entered the room.

She had been later than usual in reaching the club on her return from the Park, having had to call at her dressmaker's en route. When told by the hall-keeper at the Mastodon that, as a consequence of a slight attack of indisposition, Sir Everard had already gone home, she drove there as quickly as possible. The report of Vallance, Sir Everard's man, reassured her in some measure. His master on his return seemed in no way worse than when he had left the house with her ladyship, but the strangest part of the affair was that the cabman who had brought him home had not only been allowed to assist him into the house, but was actually closeted with Sir Everard at that moment. Vallance had only been about a year in the baronet's service, and had never set eyes on Mr. Brabazon before that day.

Consequently it was with no ordinary feelings of curiosity that her ladyship opened the study door. Who could this mysterious cabman be who had been shut up with her husband for the last half-hour or more? One glance at his face was enough. Despite the change in his appearance, she recognised Burgo on the instant. Her ebon brows came together for a second or two while she stood holding the open door, and her eyelids contracted in a curiously feline manner. She drew a single long breath, and next moment her face became illumined with one of her sunniest smiles. Closing the door behind her, she went slowly forward.

"My dear," Sir Everard made haste to begin, speaking in an anxious, hurried voice, "this is my nephew, Burgo Brabazon, whom, if I mistake not, you have met on one occasion already. I came over a little queer at the club this afternoon--a mere nothing, due entirely, I believe, to the heat of the weather--and Burgo being fortunately at hand, was enabled to convey me home. He has fallen upon evil days, Giulia, having actually been compelled to drive a cab in order to keep himself from starving. My sister's son--the boy whom I promised his dying mother I would act a father's part by! It is nothing less than shocking, and I feel myself greatly to blame that things should have been allowed to come to such a pass with him. But all that must be altered from to-day. Meanwhile, until I have time and strength to think matters over and decide what had best be done, I have requested him to take up his abode under my roof, which he has agreed to do. So long as he is here he will be able to attend to my little needs, especially at night time, and so divide with you a burden which, although you refuse to admit it, is really beyond your strength, and cannot fail before long to become altogether intolerable."

"Intolerable! my dear Everard, as if anything could be that to me which in the slightest degree concerns your dear self!" exclaimed her ladyship in her clear vibrant tones. "You must not say such things unless you wish both to hurt and offend me" Then turning to Burgo, she added: "All the same, Mr. Brabazon, I am very pleased to see you here, and I trust that your presence and company will help to cheer up your uncle and do him more good than all Dr. Hoskins's prescriptions." Speaking thus, she crossed to him, and smilingly offered her hand. "This house, I have been told, was your home for many years in your youth; why should it not be the same again?"

The baronet heaved a deep sigh of relief, and his face brightened perceptibly.

Burgo took her ladyship's hand and bowed over it. "Thank you very much, Lady Clinton, for your kindly welcome," was all he could find to say. For once in a way he felt thoroughly nonplussed. His eyes met hers, but in them he read nothing aggressive, nothing defiant; they were brilliant, as they could not help being, but beyond that, expression they had none. He noticed, however, that the smile which wreathed the full ruddiness of her lips did not extend beyond them.

Her ladyship turned to her husband. "Do you feel well enough, dear, after your indisposition of this afternoon, to come down to dinner? Yes--I see that you do. Your nephew's presence has done you good already. There is only just time for me to dress. By-the-by, which room have you assigned Mr. Brabazon?"