As he passed down the frozen gravel-path, he met Philip. He was in no mood for conversation, and saying only ‘Good-evening,’ passed on. Philip was surprised; although, being wearied himself, he was not sorry to escape a conversation with one who was a comparative stranger.
‘What is the matter with Mr Beecham?’ he inquired carelessly, when he entered the oak parlour and, to his delight, found Madge alone.
‘He is distressed about some family affairs,’ she answered after a little hesitation.
Philip observed the hesitation and, slight as it was, the confusion of her manner.
‘Oh, something more about that affair in which you are his confidant, I suppose, and came to you for comfort. Well, I come upon the same errand—fagged and worried to death. Will you give me a glass of wine?—Stay, I should prefer a little brandy-and-water.—Thank you.’
He had dropped into an armchair, as if physically tired out. She seated herself beside him and rested a hand on his shoulder.
‘You have been disturbed again at the works,’ she said soothingly.
‘Disturbed!—driven to my wits’ end would be more like my present state. Everything is going wrong. The capital has nearly all disappeared, without any sign of a return for it, so that it looks as if I should speedily have to ask Uncle Shield for more.—What has frightened you?’
‘Nothing—it was only a chill—don’t mind it. Have you seen—him?’
‘Came straight from him here. He was rather out of humour, I thought; and as usual, referred me to his lawyers on almost every point. As to more capital, he said there would be no difficulty about that, if he was satisfied that the first money had been prudently invested.’