VIII
Between two and three years after their mother's death, Sir Hildebrand's son and daughter, who bore each other a devoted affection and carried on a constant correspondence, arranged to meet in England, Godfrey travelling from Canada, Sybil, with her children, from India. The first thing they learned (from Haversham, the lawyer) was the extent of their father's financial ruin. They knew—many kind friends had told them—that he had had losses and had retired from public life; but, living out of the world, and accepting their childhood's tradition of his incalculable wealth, they had taken it for granted that he continued to lead a life of elegant luxury. When Haversham, one of the few people who really knew, informed them (with a revengeful smile) that their father could not possibly have more than a hundred or two a year, they were shocked to the depths of their clean, matter-of-fact English souls. The Great Panjandrum, arbiter of destinies, had been brought low, was living in obscurity in Italy. The pity of it! As they interchanged glances the same thought leaped into the eyes of each.
"We must look him up and see what can be done," said Godfrey.
"Of course, dear," said Sybil.
"I offered him the use of Eresby, but he was too proud to take it."
"And I never offered him anything at all," said Sybil.
"I should advise you," said Haversham, "to leave Sir Hildebrand alone."
Godfrey, a high-mettled young man and one who was accustomed to arrive at his own decisions, and moreover did not like Haversham, gripped his sister by the arm.
"Whatever advice you give me, Mr. Haversham, I will take just when I think it necessary."
"That is the attitude of most of my clients," replied Haversham drily, "whether it is a sound attitude or not——" he waved an expressive hand.