“I don’t understand you,” replied the old woman. She was frowning again, but seemed to be listening very intently. “I have no secrets from my boy.”
“Ah, my poor sister; the gods have not been good to you. Blinded by nature, you have, I fear, also been blinded by something stronger than nature—love. You say you have no secrets from the boy; that does not necessarily imply that he has none from you. Do you follow me?”
“No, I don’t. If you’ve anything to say about Comethup, why, in the devil’s name, can’t you say it before his face? You never did do things in a straightforward, honest fashion; there was always something crooked about you. If you’ve heard anything about my boy, or against him, I’ll tell you to begin with that it’s a pack of lies, and whatever it is I won’t hear it! I’m keen enough and I know enough of the world to know what the boy’s worth; he’s not of your stamp, and never will be, please God!”
“There, you observe,” said Mr. Carlaw, addressing the furniture, “the absolute accuracy and beauty of my reasoning. I told you that you were blinded by love. What I have heard comes from no third party; I love and esteem my nephew so well that had any one dared to breathe a word against him, that person would have felt the weight of my displeasure. I am, I trust, my dear sister, still a gentleman, whatever my worldly position may be, and I do not carry idle tales. I came to you to-night because it is my earnest wish, as I just now hinted, to help that young man——”
“I have no doubt he’d be immensely obliged to you if he heard you say so,” broke in Miss Carlaw, “but I think he can do without your help.”
“I fear not,” replied her brother sadly. “I risk your displeasure—your anger—I know, in saying what I am about to say, but my duty is clear, and I must speak. Will you pardon me for saying that into whatever pitfalls our dear nephew has plunged the fault is not, perhaps, entirely his own?”
Miss Charlotte Carlaw got up from her chair and came round the table with the aid of her stick and stopped exactly opposite her brother. “Pitfalls? What are you talking about? You’ve come here to say something; why the devil can’t you say it? I suppose I’m bound to listen to you; a fellow of your sort must tell his lies in some ear or other if he can’t gain the attention of the one he first seeks. Now”—she rapped her stick furiously on the floor—“out with it! What have you to say about my boy?”
“My dear Charlotte, you are, I observe, as impatient as ever. My sole desire was to break the matter gently to you, in order, if possible, to save you any unnecessary pain.”
“Pain? What should pain me?” Yet her voice and her face were a little troubled as she spoke.
“My dear Charlotte, I know your generous nature, and I know—or I can guess—how lavishly you have dealt with this boy. It has been my good fortune to meet him once or twice, or perhaps I should say to see him in the distance; for we move, as you are aware, in different spheres. I have seen the richness of his dress; I have observed that he never appears to be in want of money.”