“No, and I don’t want it. I couldn’t possibly have lived with her; you never saw such a woman. Why, she’s quite blind, and goes feeling her way about with a stick. And if anything upsets her she swears, just as dad does; I really don’t know which of them got the best of it. But I’m glad it’s all over, although dad went on like a madman about it at first. But he’ll get over that in time.”
“And you won’t go to London again?” said Comethup.
“No. But we had fun while it lasted. I believe dad went back to her house every day from the hotel to try and see her, and kept on ringing the bell until he found it was no use, and then we came back here. Of course I don’t care a bit; I don’t want her beastly money; but I’d liked to have stopped in London a little longer; it was jolly—would have been jollier if dad hadn’t been in such a fury all the time. Good-night; we’ve only just got back, you know, and so I ran round to see you. Good-night!” He was off out of the garden and down the street almost before Comethup could gasp out a reply.
The true story of that visit to London, and its failure as a commercial speculation, only came out long afterward. Indeed, nothing in regard to it would have been known had not Mr. Robert Carlaw remembered that, in the first flush of his joy, he had unconsciously taken the captain into his confidence; to return, apparently beaten and without his purpose accomplished, would, he felt, discredit him in that gentleman’s eyes; and he therefore hastened to give him some explanation, from his own point of view, at least. He paid a visit to the captain on the very evening of his arrival from London.
The captain was, perhaps, as greatly surprised by the visit as Comethup had been by the apparition of Brian. Mr. Robert Carlaw had lifted the latch of the cottage door without ceremony, and stood in the dim light of the evening, a heavy figure, gazing half defiantly at the little captain, who had risen in haste from his chair. Mr. Carlaw, in characteristic fashion, seized the situation at once, and plunged into his explanation before the captain had had time to utter a word.
“My dear sir,” he exclaimed, advancing into the room and stretching out a hand with much cordiality, “you’re surprised to see me? Confess it; I am surprised to see myself, as our French neighbours would say. I believe I told you when we went to London something of the object of our visit, but”—he shrugged his shoulders and took off his hat with a flourish and banged it down on the little table—“the situation was absolutely impossible, not to be tolerated for an instant by a man of spirit.”
The captain did not commit himself to any expression of opinion. He crossed the room, closed the door, and came slowly back again, waiting for his visitor to continue.
“Imagine, my dear sir, what it would mean to be at the mere beck and call of a petticoat—and such a petticoat! All women are unreasonable—dear creatures, I admit, and they’ve played the devil with Bob Carlaw—but there is reason in all things. To be confronted with a shrieking harridan who doesn’t know her own mind for five minutes together, who insults her own flesh and blood.” (Mr. Carlaw struck himself frantically on the breast and wagged his head) “and loads my cherished son with reproaches—no, sir, it was not to be borne. Charlotte is a dear sister and a worthy woman, and I esteem her; but—there are limits. I trust, whatever my faults may be, that I shall never be accused of a lack of what I may term the gentler virtues. Vices I have, but they are, thank God, the vices of a gentleman. In short, sir, the situation was impossible. I am glad to think that I controlled myself and—as a soldier might express it—retreated with dignity. Frankly, I do not mind confessing that the loss, from a monetary point of view, is great. My son will not set forth upon that career for which I had destined him with such bright prospects as he might have done. But, sir, you will agree with me that there are limits—limits which may not be passed.”
Mr. Robert Carlaw leaned back in his chair and gazed at the ceiling; he breathed heavily, and tapped the fingers of one hand upon the table. The captain began to think that he had misjudged Mr. Carlaw, and that he might be, after all, rather a fine fellow.
“I am sorry,” he said, slowly, “for the boy’s sake.”