"He's coming down again in a week."
"Oh!" said Sylvia, with signs of protest. "And after that?"
Herbert laughed.
"I don't think he'll make a third visit."
CHAPTER XVI
A FORCED RETIREMENT
Singleton came down again to Brantholme, bringing his amended report, which met with Herbert's approval. He spent one wet day walking through turnip fields and stubble in search of partridges, and two delightful evenings with Mrs. Lansing and Sylvia, and then he was allowed to depart. He had served his purpose, and Herbert was glad to get rid of him. Lansing generally found it desirable to drop men for whom he had no more use; but he had not done with Singleton.
A day or two later, after his guest had left, Herbert sat in his office in a busy town with an open ledger in front of him. He looked thoughtful, and, as a matter of fact, he was reviewing the latter part of his business career, which had been marked by risks, boldly faced, but attended by keen anxiety. Though his wife had some money, Lansing had been hampered by lack of capital, and George's money had been placed at his disposal at a very opportune time. It had enabled him to carry the rubber company over what might have proved a crisis, and thus strengthen his position as director, by purchasing sufficient shares on George's account to keep the price from falling and defeat the intrigues of a clique of discontented investors. Now, however, the strain had slackened; Herbert's schemes had succeeded, and he had only to take his profit by selling out as quietly as possible. He had already given a broker orders to do so. He rather regretted that he could not dispose of George's shares, but these must be kept a little longer; to throw a large quantity upon the market would have a depressing effect and might arouse suspicion.
Presently a man with whom he had dealings was shown in and sat down. His appearance indicated some degree of prosperity, but he looked disturbed and anxious.
"I met Jackson yesterday, and after what he told me of his interview with you, I thought I'd better run up and see you at once," he explained.
Herbert had expected the visit.
"I'm at your service," he said.
"What about the new company? I understand you haven't come to any decision yet about the suggestions we sent you for its flotation."
"No," replied Herbert. "In fact, I've reasons for believing it wouldn't be wise to go any farther in the matter."
The other looked at him in astonishment.
"Well," he said, "I heard that you were not so enthusiastic as you were
not long ago, which is why I came down; but I never expected this!
Anyway, after what we have done, you are bound to go on with the thing.
Our success with the first company will help the shares off."
"That's not certain." Herbert handed him a paper. "You haven't seen
Singleton's report."
The man read it hastily, his face changing. Then he looked up with signs of strong indignation.
"You let him give you a thing like this? Paid him for it?"
"What could I do? The man's honest. He declares the country's dangerous; he had two carriers killed. There's no prospect of our obtaining the needful native labor."
"Send somebody else out at once!"
"With the same result. Besides, it's expensive. Singleton's fee wasn't so big, because he shared the cost of his orchid collecting or something of the kind with us. Then he might talk, and there would always be the risk of somebody's challenging us with suppressing his report. If things went wrong, that would lead to trouble."
"Would there be any use in my seeing him?"
Herbert smiled. Singleton would not turn against him; Sylvia had made her influence felt.
"Not the slightest," he answered. "You can take that for granted."
His visitor pondered for a moment or two; and then he crumpled the report in his hand, growing red in the face.
"You seem content with this production. It looks as if you had meant to back out."
Herbert looked at him tranquilly.
"Well," he said, "that's my intention now; and I don't think that you can induce me to alter it. I can't see that we would be justified in floating the concern."
"But it was you who suggested it and led us on! What about the money we have already spent?"
"It's gone. I'm sorry, but things don't always turn out right. When I first mentioned the matter, the prospects looked good; investigation places them in a less favorable light, for which you can hardly hold me responsible. You took a business risk."
The other man angrily flung the report on the table.
"This has been a blow to me, and I'm far from appreciating the course you've taken. But what about the older concern? Though we don't seem to have turned out much rubber yet, I suppose its position is still satisfactory?"
Herbert saw suspicion in the man's face and he rang a bell.
"I think you had better satisfy yourself; I have the necessary particulars here."
He indicated some books on a neighboring shelf; and then added, when a clerk appeared:
"Will you bring me the extract of our working expenses that I asked you to make out?"
The clerk came back with a sheet of figures, which Herbert handed to his visitor with one of the books, and the man spent some time carefully examining them.
"Everything looks satisfactory; I've no fault to find," he said at length. "But I feel very sore about your giving up the new undertaking."
"It can't be helped," explained Herbert. "If it's any comfort to you,
I dropped as much money over preliminary expenses as you did."
After a little further conversation, his visitor left and Herbert resumed his work. On the whole, the interview had been less embarrassing than he expected, and though it was likely that the rest of his colleagues would call and expostulate, he was ready to meet them. His excuse for abandoning the project was, on the face of it, a good one; but he had no thought of giving these men, who were largely interested in the original company, a word of warning. It was undesirable that they should sell their shares until he had disposed of his. They had, he argued, the same opportunities for forecasting the course of the market and gaging the trend of investors' ideas as he enjoyed, and if they did not make use of them, it was their fault. The stock had reached a satisfactory premium, which was all that he had promised; he could not be expected to guarantee its remaining at the high level.
During the next three or four weeks his broker sold out his shares in small blocks, and when the quantity had been largely reduced, Herbert decided that he would dispose of those he had purchased on George's account. Though there were signs of a diminishing interest in such stock, values had scarcely begun to fall, and having made his position secure, he did not wish his cousin to incur a loss. Accordingly he sent instructions to sell another lot of shares.
He was very busy the next day when a telegram was brought him, but he sat still for some minutes considering it. The market, it stated, had suddenly fallen flat, and as prices were giving way sharply, further orders were requested. The change Herbert had foreseen had come a little sooner than he had expected. He still held some shares, which he had thought of keeping, because it might, after all, prove judicious to retain a degree of control in the company, and having sold the rest at a good profit, a moderate fall in their value would be of less consequence. The drop, however, was marked, and he decided to further reduce the quantity standing in his name, instead of realizing those belonging to his cousin. George must take his chance; and the market might rally. As a result of these reflections he wired his broker to sell, and in a few hours received an answer.
"Sale effected within limit given, market since broken badly, expect slump."
Herbert saw that he had acted with prudence, though it was evident that his cousin had incurred a serious loss. He was sorry for this, but it could not be helped.
A few days later he was sitting beside the fire at home after his evening meal when Sylvia entered the room in his wife's absence. She stood near the hearth, examining some embroidery in her hand, but she looked up presently, and it became evident that she had been reading the papers.
"There seems to be a sharp fall in rubber shares," she said. "Will it affect you?"
"No," replied Herbert, "not seriously."
"I suppose that means you must have anticipated the fall and sold out—unloaded, I think you call it—in time?"
Herbert did not wish to discuss the matter. He had already had one or two trying interviews with his business colleagues, and the opinions they had expressed about him still rankled in his mind. He was not particularly sensitive, but the subject was an unpleasant one.
"Something of the kind," he answered. "One has to take precautions."
Sylvia laughed.
"One could imagine your taking them. You're not the man to be caught at a disadvantage, are you?"
"Well," he said dryly, "it's a thing I try to avoid."
Sylvia sat down, as if she meant to continue the conversation, which was far from what he desired, but he could not be discourteous.
"Had George any shares in your company?" she asked.
There was no way of avoiding a reply, without arousing her suspicions;
Herbert knew that she was keen-witted and persistent.
"Yes," he said, "he had a quantity."
"Have those shares been sold?"
This was a more troublesome question, but Herbert was compelled to answer.
"No; not yet. It's unfortunate that the market broke before I could get rid of them, but it may rally. I'm rather disturbed about the matter; but, after all, one has to take one's chance in buying shares. Dealing in the speculative sorts is to a large extent a game of hazard."
"I suppose so, but then somebody must win."
"No," returned Herbert, "now and then everybody loses."
Sylvia glanced at him with a mocking smile.
"Even those in the inside ring? When that happens, it must be something like a catastrophe. But I'm sorry for George; he doesn't deserve this."
Herbert could not deny it; but, to his surprise, the girl leaned forward, speaking in an authoritative tone.
"I don't know what you can do, but you must do something to get George out of the difficulty. It's obvious that you led him into it—he isn't the man to go in for rash speculation; he would have chosen something safe."
It was a relief to Herbert that his wife came in just then; but, as he had reason for believing that she would not remain, he decided that he would go out and post some letters. Sylvia seemed to be in an inquisitive mood, and he did not wish to be left alone with her.
The night was fine but dark; in places a thin, low-lying mist that hung over the meadows obscured the hedgerows, and it grew more dense as Herbert approached the river, which brawled noisily among the stones. The man, however, scarcely noticed this; his mind was occupied with other matters. Sylvia's attitude had disturbed him. She was useful as an ally, but she could not be allowed to criticize his conduct or to give him orders. Moreover, he had reasons for believing that investors in his company might share her views, and he looked for serious trouble with two or three gentlemen who blamed him for their losses, and had so far incivilly refused to be pacified by his explanations.
Herbert was of a philosophic disposition, and realized that one must not expect too much. Having made a handsome profit, he felt that he ought to be content, and bear a certain amount of suspicion and contumely with unruffled good-humor. For all that, he found it disagreeable to be looked upon as a trickster, and it was worse when his disgusted associates used more offensive epithets in his presence.
He was considering how he should deal with them when he entered a thicker belt of mist. It shut him in so that he could see nothing ahead, but there was a strong fence between him and the river, and he went on, lost in thought, until the mist was suddenly illuminated and a bright light flashed along the road. The hoot of a motor-horn broke out behind him, and, rudely startled, he sprang aside. He was too late; somebody cried out in warning, and the next moment he was conscious of a blow that flung him bodily forward. He came down with a crash; something seemed to grind him into the stones; there was a stabbing pain in his side, and he lost consciousness.
Fortunately, the big car was promptly stopped, and two men sprang down. An indistinct object lay just behind the forward pair of wheels, and in anxious haste they dragged it clear and into the glare of the lamps. Herbert's hat had fallen off; he was scarcely breathing, and his face was ghastly white; but one of the men recognized him.
"It's Lansing," he exclaimed. "Seems badly hurt, though I'd nearly pulled her up when she struck him."
"He was dragged some way; jacket must have caught the starting crank or something; but that doesn't matter now." He raised his voice. "Dreadfully sorry, Mr. Lansing; can you hear me?"
There was no answer, and the man shook his head.
"I'm afraid this is serious."
His companion looked unnerved, but he roused himself with an effort.
"It is, and we're behaving like idiots, wasting time that may be valuable. Get hold and lift him in; his house is scarcely a mile away."
They had some difficulty in getting the unconscious man into the car; and then its owner backed it twice into a bank before he succeeded in turning round, but in three or four minutes they carried Herbert into Brantholme, and afterward drove away at top speed in search of assistance. It was, however, an hour later when they returned with a doctor, and he looked grave after he had examined his patient.
"Your husband has two ribs broken," he told Mrs. Lansing. "In a way, that's not very serious, but he seems to be prostrated by the shock. There are a few things that must be done at once; and then we'll have to keep him as quiet as possible."
It was two hours later when he left the house, promising to return early the next day with a nurse; and Herbert lay, still and unconscious, in a dimly lighted room.
CHAPTER XVII
HERBERT IS PATIENT
On the second morning after the accident, Herbert, lying stiffly swathed in bandages, opened his eyes in a partly darkened room. A nurse was standing near a table, and when the injured man painfully turned his head, the doctor, who had been speaking to her, came toward him.
"I think we can let you talk a little now," he said. "How do you feel?"
Herbert's face relaxed into a feeble smile.
"Very far from happy. I suppose I've been badly knocked about?"
"I've treated more serious cases, and you'll get over it. But you'll have to reconcile yourself to lying quiet for a long while."
Herbert made no reply to this, but his expression suggested that he was trying to think.
"Has the thing got into the papers?" he asked.
The doctor was a little surprised; it seemed a curious point for his patient to take an interest in, but he was willing to indulge him.
"It's early yet, but one of the Courier people stopped me as I was driving out and I gave him a few particulars. You can't hush the matter up."
"No," said Herbert. "You did quite right. Hadn't you better mention exactly what's the matter with me?"
"If I did, you wouldn't understand it," said the doctor, who generally adopted a cheerful, half-humorous tone. "In plain English, you have two ribs broken, besides a number of contusions, and I'm inclined to suspect your nervous system has received a nasty shock."
"And the cure?"
"Complete rest, patience, and perhaps a change of scene when you're able to get about."
"That means I'll have to drop all active interest in my business for some time?"
"I'm afraid so; by and by we'll consider when you can resume it."
It struck the doctor that Herbert was not displeased with the information; and that seemed strange, considering that he was a busy, energetic man. He lay silent a while with an undisturbed expression.
"I wonder if you would write a telegram and a letter for me?" he asked at length.
"With pleasure, if you don't think you have talked enough. Can't you wait until to-morrow?"
"I'll feel easier when I've got it off my mind."
The doctor thought this likely. He made a sign of acquiescence and took out his notebook; and Herbert give him the rubber company's London address and then dictated:
"Regret I am incapacitated for business for indefinite period by motor accident. If advisable appoint new director in my place before shareholders' meeting, which cannot attend. Compelled to remain in strict quietness."
"You might send these people a short note," he added, "stating that I'm submitting to your advice, and giving them a few particulars about my injuries."
"I'll be glad to do so."
"Then there's only another thing. I'd like some notice of the accident put into a leading London paper—it will explain my retirement to people who would soon begin to wonder why I wasn't at my post."
"It shall be attended to; but I scarcely think Mr. Phillips and his motoring friend will appreciate the notoriety you will confer on them."
Herbert smiled.
"There's no reason why I should consider Phillips. If he will drive furiously in the dark and run over people—this isn't his first accident—he must take the consequences. But you can tell him, with my compliments, that I'll let him off, if he'll be more cautious in future. Now I feel that I'd like to rest or go to sleep again."
The doctor went out somewhat puzzled—his patient seemed singularly resigned to inaction and glad to escape from commercial affairs, instead of chafing at his misfortune. After exchanging a few words with Mrs. Lansing, he met Sylvia in the hall.
"How is he this morning?" she asked.
"Better than I expected, able to take an interest in things. I was glad to find him so acquiescent—it isn't usual. He didn't seem disturbed when he asked me to write a telegram expressing his willingness to give up his director's post."
He had not mentioned this matter to Mrs. Lansing. In several ways
Sylvia struck him as being the more capable woman, though this was not
the impression her appearance had upon the less practised observers.
She looked thoughtful at his news.
"I suppose such a course is necessary," she remarked.
"I believe it's advisable; that is, if there's any likelihood that his duties will make much demand on him for some time to come."
Sylvia changed the subject.
"Have you any particular instructions?"
"None beyond those I've given the nurse. Quietness is the great thing; but it doesn't look as if he'll cause you much trouble."
The prediction was justified. With the exception of a few complaints about his physical discomfort, Herbert displayed an exemplary patience and soon began to improve, for his recovery was assisted by the tranquil state of his mind. The accident had happened at a very opportune time: it furnished an excellent excuse for withdrawing from an embarrassing situation and it would save his credit, if, as seemed probable, difficulties shortly threatened the rubber company. It would look as if any trouble that might fall upon the concern was the result of his having been forced to relinquish control, and nobody could rationally blame him for being run over.
He was lying in a sunny room one afternoon when two gentlemen were shown in. One was the caller with whom he had an interview in his office before the accident. They inquired about his progress with rather forced courtesy; and then one of them said:
"We looked in on the doctor who wrote to us about your injury before we came here, and he told us you were strong enough for a little quiet conversation. We haven't appointed another director yet."
"Then you had better do so," Herbert advised.
"You mean to stick to your withdrawal? You're the only person who can pull the company out of its difficulties."
"Has it got into any difficulties?" Herbert inquired. "You see, I've been compelled to give orders for all correspondence to be dealt with at the London office, and I'm advised not to read the financial papers or anything that might have a disturbing effect."
The man who had not yet spoken betrayed some impatience.
"We're up to the eyes in trouble, as you must have guessed. Have you asked yourself what the body of the shareholders are likely to think?"
"It's fairly obvious. They'll consider it a misfortune that I was knocked over shortly before a critical time; possibly they'll attribute everything unsatisfactory in the company's affairs to my not being in charge."
One of the visitors glanced meaningly at his companion. There was truth in what Lansing said. The angry shareholders would not discriminate carefully; they would blame the present directors, who would have to face a serious loss while Lansing had made a profit. It was a galling situation; and what made it worse was that Lansing's expression hinted that he found it somewhat humorous.
"The fact that you sold out so soon before the fall will have its significance," said the first man. "The thing has a suspicious look."
"I must risk a certain amount of misconception," Herbert replied languidly. "I may as well point out that I still hold the shares required as a director's qualification, which is all it was necessary for me to do. Was it your intention to keep the stock you hold permanently?"
They could not answer him, and he smiled.
"As a matter of fact, we all intended to sell off a good portion as soon as the premium justified it; the only difference of opinion was about the point it must reach, and that, of course, was a matter of temperament. Well, I was lucky enough to get rid of part of my stock at a profit; and there was nothing to prevent your doing the same. Instead of that, you held on until the drop came; it was an imprudence for which you can't blame me."
"Our complaint is that you foresaw the fall and never said a word."
"Granted. Why didn't you foresee it? You had the right of access to all the information in my hands; you could inspect accounts in the London office; I suppose you read the financial papers. It would have been presumptuous if I'd recommended you to sell, and my forecast might have proved incorrect. In that case you would have blamed me for losing your money."
This was incontestable. Though they knew he had betrayed them,
Lansing's position was too strong to be assailed.
"You might have mentioned that you contemplated retiring from the board," one remarked. "Then we would have known what to expect."
"A little reflection will show the futility of your suggestion. How could I contemplate being run over by a motor-car?"
"Well," said the second man in a grim tone, "you can't deny the accident was in some respects a fortunate one for you."
"I'm doubtful whether you would have appreciated it, in my place. But you don't seem to realize that I'm withdrawing from the board because I'm incapacitated for the duties."
Then the nurse, to whom Herbert had given a hint, came in; and he made a sign of resignation, quite as though overpowered by regret.
"I'm sorry I'm not allowed to talk very much yet. Will you have a cigar and some refreshment before you leave?"
His visitors rose, and one of them turned to him with a curious expression.
"No, thanks," he said pointedly. "Considering everything, I don't think we'll give you the trouble."
With a few conventional words they withdrew, and Herbert smiled at the nurse.
"I believe Dr. Ballin was most concerned about the injury to my nerves," he said. "Have you noticed anything wrong with them?"
"Not lately. They seem to be in a normal state."
"That," said Herbert, "is my own opinion. You wouldn't imagine that I had just finished a rather trying interview?"
"No; you look more amused than upset."
"There was something humorous in the situation; that's often the case when you see greedy people wasting effort and ingenuity. Perhaps you heard my visitors expressing their anxiety about my health, though I've a suspicion that they felt more like wishing the car had made an end of me."
The nurse laughed and told him that he had better rest; and Herbert lay back upon the cushions she arranged, with calm content.
During the evening, Sylvia entered the room, dressed a little more carefully than usual, and Herbert glanced at her with appreciation.
"You look charming, though that's your normal state," he said. "Where are you going?"
"With Muriel, to dine with the Wests; have you forgotten? But I came in because Muriel told me you had a letter from George by the last post."
"So you're still interested in his doings," Herbert rejoined.
"Of course. Does that surprise you?"
"I was beginning to think there was some risk of your forgetting him, which, perhaps, wouldn't be altogether unnatural. He's a long way off, which has often its effect, and there's no denying the fact that in many respects you and he are different."
"Doesn't the same thing apply to you and Muriel? Everybody knows you get on excellently in spite of it."
Herbert laughed. He was aware that his friends had wondered why he had married Muriel, and suspected that some of them believed her money had tempted him. Nevertheless, he made her an affectionate as well as a considerate husband. In business matters he practised the easy morality of a hungry beast of prey, but he had his virtues.
"Yes," he said, "that's true. Do you find it encouraging?"
Sylvia had felt a little angry, though she had known that it was seldom wise to provoke her host.
Without waiting for her answer he continued, half seriously: "There's often one person who thinks better of us than we deserve, and I dare say I'm fortunate in that respect. In such a case, one feels it an obligation not to abuse that person's confidence."
A slight flush crept into Sylvia's face. George believed in her and she was very shabbily rewarding his trust.
"I'm surprised to hear you moralizing. It's not a habit of yours," she remarked.
"No," said Herbert, pointedly; "though it may now and then make one feel a little uncomfortable, it seldom does much good. But we were talking about George. He tells me that winter's beginning unusually soon; they've had what he calls a severe cold snap and the prairie's deep with snow. He bought some more stock and young horses as an offset to the bad harvest, and he's doubtful whether he has put up hay enough. West and he are busy hauling stove-wood home from a bluff; and he has had a little trouble with some shady characters as a result of his taking part in a temperance campaign. I think that's all he has to say."
Sylvia broke into half-incredulous merriment.
"It's hard to imagine George as a temperance reformer. Think of him, making speeches!"
"Speeches aren't much in George's line," Herbert admitted. "Still, in one way, I wasn't greatly astonished at the news. He's just the man to be drawn into difficulties he might avoid, provided that somebody could convince him the thing needed doing."
"Then you think he has been convinced?"
"I can hardly imagine George's setting out on a work of the kind he mentioned without some persuasion," said Herbert with a smile. "The subject's not one he ever took much interest in, and he's by no means original."
Sylvia agreed with him, but she was silent a few moments, reclining in an easy chair before the cheerful fire, while she glanced round the room. It was comfortably furnished, warm, and brightly lighted; a strong contrast to the lonely Canadian homestead to which her thoughts wandered. She could recall the unpolished stove, filling the place with its curious, unpleasant smell, and the icy draughts that eddied about it. She could imagine the swish of driving snow about the quivering wooden building when the dreaded blizzards raged; the strange, oppressive silence when the prairie lay still in the grip of the Arctic frost; and George coming in with half-frozen limbs and snow-dust on his furs, to spend the dreary evening in trying to keep warm. The picture her memory painted was vivid and it had a disturbing effect. It was in her service that the man was toiling in western Canada.
"Well," she said, rising with some abruptness, "it's time we got off.
I'd better see if Muriel is ready."
CHAPTER XVIII
BLAND MAKES A SACRIFICE
Sylvia was sitting by the hearth in Ethel West's drawing-room, her neatly shod feet on the fender, her low chair on the fleecy rug, and she made a very dainty and attractive picture. She felt the cold and hated discomfort of any kind, though it was characteristic of her that she generally succeeded in avoiding it. Ethel sat near by, watching her with calmly curious eyes, for Sylvia was looking pensive. Mrs. Lansing was talking to Stephen West on the opposite side of the large room.
"How is Edgar getting on?" Sylvia asked. "I suppose you hear from him now and then."
Ethel guessed where the question led and responded with blunt directness.
"Doesn't George write to you?"
"Not often. Herbert has just got a letter, but there was very little information in it; George is not a brilliant correspondent. I thought Edgar might have written by the same mail."
"As it happens, he did," said Ethel. "He describes the cold as fierce, and gives some interesting details of his sensations when the warmth first comes back to his half-frozen hands or limbs; then he adds a vivid account of a blizzard that George and he nearly got lost in."
"Things of that kind make an impression on a new-comer," Sylvia languidly remarked. "One gets used to them after a while. Did he say anything else?"
"There was an enthusiastic description of a girl he has met; he declares she's a paragon. This, of course, is nothing new, but it's a little astonishing that he doesn't seem to contemplate making love to her in his usual haphazard manner. She seems to have inspired him with genuine respect."
"I can't think of any girl who's likely to do so."
"He gives her name—Flora Grant."
Sylvia betrayed some interest.
"I knew her—I suppose she is a little less impossible than the rest.
But go on."
"One gathers that George is having an anxious time; Edgar goes into some obscure details about crops and cattle-raising. Then he hints at some exciting adventures they have had as a result of supporting a body that's trying to close the hotels."
This was what Sylvia had been leading up to. She agreed with Herbert that it was most unlikely George would take any part in such proceedings without some prompting, and she was curious to learn who had influenced him.
"There was a word or two in Herbert's letter to the same effect," she said. "The thing strikes one as amusing. George, of course, does not explain why he joined these people."
A smile of rather malicious satisfaction crept into Ethel's eyes. "According to Edgar, it was because his neighbors, the Grants, urged it. The father of the girl he mentioned seems to be a leader in the movement."
Sylvia carefully suppressed any sign of the annoyance she felt. It was, of course, impossible that George should be seriously attracted by Flora, but his action implied that he and the Grants must be good friends. No doubt, he met the girl every now and then, and they had much in common. Sylvia did not mean to marry George; but it was pleasant to feel that she could count on his devotion, and she resented the idea of his falling under the influence of anybody else. She had never thought of Flora as dangerous—George was so steadfast—but she now realized that there might, perhaps, be some slight risk. A girl situated as Flora was would, no doubt, make the most of her opportunities. Sylvia grew somewhat angry; she felt she was being badly treated.
"After all," she said calmly, "I suppose there's no reason why George shouldn't set up as a reformer if it pleases him. It must, however, be rather a novelty for your brother."
Ethel laughed.
"I believe it's the excitement that has tempted him, Still, if George is taking any active part in the matter, Edgar will probably find it more than a light diversion." Then she changed the subject. "Did I tell you that we expect Captain Bland to-night?"
Sylvia started slightly. She was aware that Ethel took what could best be described as an unsympathetic interest in her affairs, but the sudden reference to Bland threw her off her guard.
"No," she said. "Though you have met him, I didn't think you knew him well."
"I believe it's chiefly a business visit. Stephen, you know, has some reputation as a commercial lawyer, and Bland couldn't arrange to see him in town. Anyway, he should be here soon."
Bland arrived half an hour later, but was unable to do more than shake hands with Sylvia before West took him away to another room. It was some time before they returned; and then West kept the party engaged in general conversation until it broke up.
"I'll walk down the road with you," he said to Mrs. Lansing, and afterward turned to Bland. "How are you going to get back?"
Bland said that the man who had driven him from the station was waiting in the neighboring village, and when they left the house he walked on with Sylvia, leaving Mrs. Lansing and West to follow. It was a clear night, with a chill of frost in the air. A bright half-moon hung above the shadowy hills, and the higher boughs of the bare trees cut in sharp tracery against the sky. Dead leaves lay thick upon the road and here and there a belt of mist trailed across a meadow. Sylvia, however, did not respond when her companion said something about the charm of the walk.
"Why didn't you send me word you were coming?" she asked.
"I didn't know until this morning, when I got a note from West, and I must be back in time for tomorrow's parade. Besides, you told me at the junction that I was not to be allowed to meet you again for some time."
Sylvia smiled at him.
"Haven't you found out that you needn't take everything I say too literally?"
Bland stopped, pressing the hand on his arm.
"Does that apply to all you said on the evening when we sat outside the inn?"
"No," answered Sylvia firmly. "It does not; please understand that. I must stick to what I told you then." She paused, and they heard the soft fall of approaching feet before she resumed with a laugh: "Go on, if you don't want the others to think we are waiting for them."
Bland obeyed, a little soothed, though he saw she was not yet ready to allow a renewal of his pleading. Sylvia had obviously meant that she wished to be left alone with him.
"Why did you call on Stephen West?" she asked, presently.
"I'd meant to tell you. But, first of all, is Lansing still connected with the rubber company? West didn't seem very well informed upon the point."
"Neither am I," replied Sylvia thoughtfully. "I only know he hasn't the large interest in it that he had."
"Then I'll have to explain, because I don't know what to do. Lansing gave me a tip to buy some shares, and when some friends said I'd got a good thing, I went to him again. I must say he was pretty guarded, but I got a hint and acted on it, with the result that I have dropped a good deal of money. This," he added deprecatingly, "is not the kind of thing I should talk to you about, but I was told that Lansing couldn't receive any callers, and you'll see why you should know."
"I'm beginning to understand."
"Well," said Bland, "shortly after Lansing's accident, I wrote to the secretary, asking some questions, and he doesn't seem to have been cautious enough in his answer—I have it here. There has been trouble about the company, and I attended a meeting of some disgusted people who had put their money into it. They think they might get part of it back by attacking the promoters, and I'm told that my letter would help them materially."
"Do you want to help them?"
"In a way, it's natural," said Bland with signs of warmth. "I don't see why those fellows should be allowed to get off after tricking people out of the money they've painfully earned."
"How much money have you ever earned?"
Bland laughed.
"You have me there; I haven't been able to buy shares out of my pay.
But I made a pot by taking long chances when I backed an outside horse.
It comes to much the same thing."
"I don't think it does," said Sylvia, with a smile. "But it strikes me that your explanation isn't quite complete."
"I went to West, instead of to another lawyer, because I thought he would be acquainted with Lansing's present position; but, while he agreed that the letter might be valuable to the objectors, he couldn't help me. The end of it is that I don't want to do anything that might hurt Lansing."
Sylvia reflected. She hardly thought his loss would seriously embarrass Bland; she owed Herbert something and might need his aid, and she did not wish any discredit to be cast upon a connection of hers.
"Well," she said, "I believe Herbert is still to some extent connected with the company; he can hardly have withdrawn altogether. Anyway, he had a large interest in it, and I think its management was in his hands. He might suffer, so to speak, retrospectively."
"Yes," said Bland, "that didn't strike me. You're right; there's only one course open." He took a paper from his pocket and handed it to her. "Give that to Lansing, and tell him he may do what he thinks fit with it."
"You're very generous," said Sylvia, coloring as she took the letter.
"I'm afraid I've behaved badly in not keeping the thing from you; but you see how I was situated, and you'll have to forgive me."
"That isn't difficult," Sylvia told him.
They walked on in silence for a while; and then Bland looked around at her.
"There's a thing I must mention. I've had a hint to ask for a certain post abroad. It is not a very desirable one in some respects, but the pay's pretty good, and it would bring the man who took it under the notice of people who arrange the better Government appointments. I should have to stay out at least two years."
Sylvia was startled, and annoyed. Now that the man owned her sway, she did not mean to accede to his wishes too readily. Some obscure reason made her shrink from definitely binding herself to him, but his intimation had forced on something of the nature of a crisis.
"Do you wish to go?" she asked.
"No," he said hotly; "you know that."
"Then," said Sylvia softly, "I think you had better stay at home."
He stopped again and faced her.
"You must tell me what you mean!"
"It ought to be clear," she murmured, "Don't you think I should miss you?"
With restrained quietness he laid his hand on her shoulder.
"You must listen for a minute, Sylvia. Up to the present, I've been passed over by the authorities; but now I've been given my chance. If I can hammer the raw native levies into shape and keep order along a disturbed frontier, it will lead to something better. Now, I'm neither a military genius nor altogether a careless idler—I believe I can do this work; but, coming rather late, it has less attraction for me. Well, I would let the chance slip, for one reason only; but if I'm to go on continually repressing myself and only allowed to see you at long intervals, I might as well go away. You must clearly understand on what terms I remain."
She made a little appealing gesture.
"Yes," she said; "but you must wait and not press me too hard. I am so fenced in by conventions; so many people's susceptibilities have to be considered. I haven't a girl's liberty."
Bland supposed this was as far as she ventured in allusion to her widowed state; but, stirred as he was by her implied submission, it struck him as significant that she should so clearly recognize the restrictions conventionality imposed on her.
"I think," he returned, "the two people who deserve most consideration are you and myself."
"Ah!" said Sylvia, "you deserve it most. You have been very forbearing; you have done all I asked. That is why I know you will bear with a little delay, when it's needful."
He made a sign of reluctant assent; and then, to his annoyance, two figures emerged from the shadow of the trees not far away. There was nothing to do except to move on, but he thrilled at the slight, grateful pressure of Sylvia's hand upon his arm.
"My dear," he said, "I wish most devoutly that West or Mrs. Lansing had been lame."
Sylvia broke into a ripple of laughter, which somehow seemed to draw them closer. At Herbert's gate they separated, and Bland walked on in an exultant mood which was broken by fits of thoughtfulness. Sylvia had tacitly pledged herself to him, but he was still her unacknowledged lover and the position was irksome. Then he remembered her collectedness, which had been rather marked, but he had learned that emotion is more frequently concealed than forcibly expressed. Moreover, he had never imagined that Sylvia was wholly free from faults; he suspected that there was a vein of calculating coldness in her, though it caused him no concern. Bland was a man of experience who had acquired a good-humored toleration with the knowledge that one must not expect too much from human nature.
While Bland was being driven to the station, Sylvia entered the room where Herbert lay, and handed him the letter.
"Captain Bland came in during the evening to see Stephen and sent you this," she said. "He told me you were to do what you thought fit with it."
Herbert perused the letter, and then reaching out with some difficulty, flung it into the fire.
"I've taken him at his word," he said. "Have you read the thing?"
"No; I fear the details would have puzzled me; but I understand its general import. How was it your secretary was so careless?"
Herbert smiled.
"The man's smart enough, as a rule; but we all have our weak moments. This, however, is not the kind of thing that's likely to lead to his advancement." He lay quiet for a moment or two; and then went on: "I'm grateful to you. Had you much trouble in persuading Bland to let you have the letter?"
"No; he offered it voluntarily."
"Then the man must have been desperately anxious to please you. It looks as if his condition were getting serious."
"I resent coarseness," exclaimed Sylvia.
Herbert laughed.
"Oh," he said, "you and I can face the truth. As West's a lawyer, Bland's visit to him is, of course, significant; the man knew that letter might have been worth something in hard cash to him, as well as affording him the satisfaction of making things hot for the directors of the company, among whom I was included. He would hardly have parted with it unless he had a strong inducement."
"His motives don't concern you," retorted Sylvia.
"You ought to appreciate his action."
"I appreciate it as sincerely as I do yours, because you must have shown that you didn't want him to use the letter, though I'm inclined to think your motives were rather mixed; one could scarcely expect them all to be purely benevolent."
Sylvia smiled. He was keen-witted and she found something amusing in the ironical good-humor which often characterized him.
"Anyhow," he continued, "you're a staunch and capable ally, and as that gives you a claim on me, you won't find me reluctant to do my part whenever the time comes."
Then Mrs. Lansing came in, and on the whole Sylvia was glad of the interruption. Herbert's remarks were now and then unpleasantly suggestive. He had called her his ally, but she felt more like his accomplice, which was much less flattering.
CHAPTER XIX
AN OPPOSITION MOVE
It was a wet and chilly night, and Singleton sat in an easy chair beside the hearth in his city quarters with an old pipe in his hand. The room was shabbily furnished, the hearthrug had a hole in it, the carpet was threadbare, and Singleton's attire harmonized with his surroundings, though the box of cigars and one or two bottles and siphons on the table suggested that he expected visitors. The loose Tuxedo jacket he had bought in America was marked by discolored patches; his carpet slippers were dilapidated. His means, though long restricted, would have warranted better accommodations; but his clothes were comfortable and he did not think it worth while to put on anything smarter. There was a vein of rather bitter pride in the man, and he would not, out of deference to any other person's views, alter conditions that suited him.
A notebook lay beside him and several bulky treatises on botany were scattered about, but he had ceased work and was thinking. After the shadow and silence of the tropical bush, to which he was most accustomed, the rattle of the traffic in the wet street below was stimulating; but his reflections were not pleasant. He had waited patiently for another invitation to Lansing's house, which had not arrived, and a day or two ago he had met Sylvia Marston, upon whom his mind had steadily dwelt, in a busy street. She had bowed to him courteously, but she had made it clear that she did not expect him to stop and speak. It had been a bitter moment to Singleton, but he had calmly faced the truth. He had served his purpose, and he had been dropped. Now, however, a letter from one of the people he was expecting indicated that he might again be drawn into the rubber-exploiting scheme.
The two gentlemen who had called on Herbert were shown in presently.
"It was I who wrote you," the first of them said; "this is my colleague, Mr. Nevis."
Singleton bowed.
"Will you take that chair, Mr. Jackson?" He turned to the other man.
"I think you had better have this one; it's comparatively sound."
He was aware that they were looking about his apartment curiously, and no doubt inferring something from its condition; but this was of no consequence. He had learned his value and meant to insist on it, without the assistance of any signs of prosperity.
"I couldn't get up to town, as you suggested," he resumed when they were seated. "I've been rather busy of late."
"That's generally the case with us," Jackson said pointedly.
He was a thin man, very neatly and quietly dressed, with a solemn face and an air of importance. Nevis was stouter and more florid, with a brisker manner, but the stamp of the city was plainly set on both.
"Well," said Singleton, "I'm at your service, now you're here. The cigars are nearest you, Mr. Nevis, and I can recommend the contents of the smaller bottle. It's a Southern speciality and rather difficult to get in England."
Nevis hesitated. He thought it better that the interview should be conducted on strictly business lines, while to accept the proffered hospitality would tend to place him and the man he wished to deal with on a footing of social equality. But it was desirable not to offend Singleton, and he lighted a cigar.
"To begin with, I must ask if you are still in any way connected with
Mr. Lansing?" he said.
"No," answered Singleton with some grimness. "You can take it for granted that he has done with me."
"That clears the ground. We have been considering the report you wrote for him. In our opinion, it was, while not encouraging, hardly sufficient to warrant his abandoning the project, in which, as you have been told, we were associated with him."
"He may have had other motives," Singleton suggested.
Nevis nodded gravely, as if in appreciation of his keenness.
"That," he said, "is what occurred to us. But what is your idea of the scheme?"
"It's clearly stated in the report."
Jackson made a sign of impatience.
"We'll leave the report out and come to the point. Can the rubber, which you say is really to be found, be collected and brought down to the coast without incurring a prohibitive expense?"
"Yes," said Singleton. "But you must understand me. The methods generally adopted in such cases would be bound to fail. You would require an overseer with rather exceptional technical knowledge, who must, besides this, be quite free from the usual prejudices on the native question. They would, no doubt, be a little difficult to avoid, since at first he would have to put up with a few attempts upon his life; but, if he could combine resolution and strict justice with a conciliatory attitude, the attempt would cease, and I think he could earn you a fair return on a moderate outlay."
Jackson laughed.
"So far as my experience goes, such men are scarce. But I'd better say that we had you in mind when we made this visit. Do you think you could do anything, if we sent you out?"
"Yes," said Singleton quietly; "I believe I could make the venture pay.
Whether I'd think it worth while is another matter."
"Then," Nevis interposed, "it's simply a question of terms?"
"Oh, no. You may be surprised to hear that payment is not the first consideration; though it's true. I'm interested in certain investigations which can be carried out only in the tropics. However, you'd better make your offer."
Nevis did so, and Singleton pondered for a few moments.
"The remuneration might suffice, provided that I was given a percentage on the product and one or two special allowances; but before going any farther I must understand your intentions. I'm a botanist, and have no wish to be made use of merely for the purpose of furthering some stock-jobbing scheme. Do you really want this venture put upon a satisfactory working footing?"
"I'll explain," said Nevis. "The fact is, Lansing let us in rather badly. We spent a good deal of money over this concession, and we're anxious to get it back. Since we can't float the thing on the market at present, we have formed a small private syndicate to develop the property, though we may sell out in a year or two if you can make the undertaking commercially successful. I think you could count on the purchasers' continuing operations."
"Have you considered what Lansing's attitude may be?"
"It won't matter. He has gone out of the business, convinced that the thing's no good; he cleared off most of his rubber shares, for a similar reason. This raises another point—the original company's possessions lie in the same region, though ruled by another state, and things are going badly there. If you could get across and see what could be done, we would pay an extra fee."
Singleton lighted a cigar and leaned back in his chair with a thoughtful expression, and for a minute or two they left him alone. They were keen business men, but they knew that their usual methods would not serve them with this shabbily-dressed, self-possessed botanist.
"Well," he said at length, "your suggestion rather appeals to me, but there's the difficulty that another matter claims my attention. Though it isn't strictly in my line, I've been asked to go out to Canada and assist in the production of a variety of wheat that will ripen quickly; in fact, I was looking up some information bearing on the matter when you came in. It's a remarkably interesting subject."
They were clever enough to see that this was not an attempt to enhance the value of his services; the man was obviously a botanical enthusiast, and Nevis showed signs of attention. He had once or twice thought that something might be made out of Canadian land companies.
"One could imagine that," he said. "I understand that it's a matter of high importance."
"The development of the whole northern portion of the prairie country depends on the success of the experiments that are being made," Singleton went on. "Their summers are hot but short; if they can get a grain that ripens early, they can cultivate vast stretches of land that are now, from economic reasons, uninhabitable, and it would make farming a more prosperous business in other tracts. Crops growing in the favored parts are occasionally frozen. It's a coincidence that a day or two ago I got a letter inquiring about that kind of wheat from a friend in Canada who is, as it happens, farming with a cousin of Lansing's." Then he laughed. "All this, however, has nothing to do with the object of your visit. Give me a few more minutes to think it over."
There was silence except for the rattle of wheels outside while he smoked half a cigar; then he turned to his companions.
"I'll go out and undertake your work. I believe you're acting wisely, and that Lansing will be sorry after a while that he threw away his interest in the scheme."
They discussed the details of the project and then the business men went away, satisfied. Shortly afterward Singleton took a letter out of a paper rack, and when he had read it he leaned back in his chair, lost in pleasant recollections. Some years earlier, he had by chance fallen in with a lad named West when fishing among the Scottish hills. The young man's sister and elder brother were staying with him at the remote hotel in which Singleton had quarters, and somewhat to his astonishment they soon made friends with him.
Poverty had made him reserved; he knew that he was a little awkward and unpolished, but the Wests had not attempted to patronize him. Their cordiality set him at his ease; he liked the careless, good-humored lad; Ethel West, grave-eyed, direct, and candid, made a strong impression, and he had been drawn to the quiet lawyer who was much older than either. They spent delightful days together on the lake and among the hills; Singleton told them something about his studies and ambitions, and in the evenings they persuaded him to sing. Ethel was a musician and Singleton sang well. On leaving they had invited him to visit them; but, partly from diffidence, Singleton had not gone, though he knew these were not the people who took a man up when he could be of service and afterward dropped him.
Now he had received a letter from Edgar West, saying that he was farming in western Canada and inquiring if Singleton could tell him anything about the drought-resisting and quick-ripening properties of certain varieties of wheat. The botanist was glad to place his knowledge at his friend's disposal, and, taking up pen and paper, he spent an hour on a treatise on the subject, which was to save Lansing expense and trouble, and bring Singleton further communications from Edgar. Then he smoked another pipe and went to bed; and a fortnight later he sailed for the tropics.
Shortly after he had gone, Herbert heard of his departure, and the letter containing the news arrived on a cheerless afternoon during which his doctor had visited him. After the doctor left, Herbert entered the room where his wife and Sylvia were, and took his place in an easy chair by a window. Outside, the lawn was covered with half-melted snow and the trees raised naked, dripping branches above the drooping shrubs. Farther back the hedgerows ran somberly across the white fields, and in the distance the hills loomed, desolate and gray, against a leaden sky.
"Ballin says I'd better take it easy for some time yet," Herbert informed his wife. "In fact, he recommends a trip abroad; Algiers or Egypt, for preference." He indicated the dreary prospect outside the window. "Though he didn't actually insist on my going, the idea's attractive."
"Could you leave your business?" Mrs. Lansing inquired.
Herbert smiled.
"Yes; I think so. I was doing pretty well when I got run over, and things have since slackened down. My manager can look after them while I am away."
This was correct, so far as it went; but he had another reason for deciding not to resume operations for a while. He suspected that his recent conduct had excited distrust and indignation in certain quarters, but this would, no doubt, blow over before his return. People forgot, and he could avoid those whose confidence in him had proved expensive,
"If that's the case, we may as well get off as soon as it can be arranged," said Mrs. Lansing. She turned to Sylvia. "Of course, you will come with us."
Sylvia hesitated. She believed her influence over Bland would not weaken much in her absence; but, after all, it was wiser to run no risk. Moreover, she would, to some extent, feel her separation from the man.
"I really don't know what I ought to do," she answered. "I might be a restraint upon you—you can't want me always at hand; and I could spend a month or two with Dorothy. She has several times told me to come."
"You would be better with us," Mrs. Lansing rejoined with firmness; and
Sylvia suspected her of a wish to prevent her enjoying Bland's society.
"I'll think it over," she said.
After they had discussed the projected journey, Mrs. Lansing withdrew on some domestic errand, and Herbert turned to Sylvia.
"I needn't point out that you'll be no trouble to us, but perhaps I'd better mention that I had a letter from George this post. As there's very little to be done until the spring, he thinks of coming over. I don't know how far that may affect your decision."
Sylvia was a little startled, but she reflected rapidly. The house of the relative she had thought of visiting would be open to George, as would be one or two others in which she might stay a while. It was most undesirable that he should encounter Bland, which would be likely to happen. Then it struck her that Herbert might derive as little satisfaction from his cousin's visit as it would afford her.
"Have you succeeded in selling George's shares yet?" she asked, and though this was, on the face of it, an abrupt change of subject, she thought Herbert would follow the sequence of ideas.
"No," he answered, with a smile of comprehension. "It was too late when I was able to attend to things; they have dropped to such a price that I'll have to keep them. I'm afraid it will be a blow to George, and he's having trouble enough already with your farm; but, luckily, some other shares I bought on his account show signs of a marked improvement before long."
Sylvia inferred from this that he had not informed his cousin of the state of his affairs, and did not wish to see him until the improvement mentioned, or some other favorable development, should mitigate the shock of discovering what use Herbert had made of his powers. It was clear that it rested with her to decide whether George made the visit or not, because if she went to Egypt he would remain in Canada. But she was not quite ready to give her companion an answer.
"Did I tell you that I met Singleton a little while ago?" she said. "I think he wished to speak, but I merely bowed. I was in a hurry, for one thing."
"It's the first I've heard of it, but you did quite right. Since he was here, one or two of the other directors who tried to give me some trouble have got hold of him. They have sent him out to see what can be done with the rubber property."
"Was that worth while?"
"I shouldn't think so. It strikes me they're wasting their money."
This was Herbert's firm belief, but his judgment while generally accurate, had, in this instance, proved defective. He had failed properly to estimate Singleton's capabilities. It was, however, obvious to Sylvia that he had had no part in the undertaking, and had abandoned his rubber schemes, which implied that George's loss would be serious. There was no doubt that it would suit both Herbert and herself better if George did not come back too soon.
"Well," she said, "that is not a matter of any consequence to me.
After all, I think I'll go south with you and Muriel."
Herbert had foreseen this decision.
"It's the most suitable arrangement," he responded. "When I write,
I'll mention it to George."
Sylvia went out a little later with a sense of guilt; she felt that in removing the strongest inducement for George's visit she had betrayed him. She was sorry for George, but she could not allow any consideration for him to interfere with her ambitions. Then she resolutely drove these thoughts away. The matter could be looked at in a more pleasant light, and there were several good reasons for the course she had adopted.
Entering the library, she carefully wrote a little note to Captain
Bland, and then went in search of Mrs. Lansing.
"I think I'll go over to Susan's for the week-end," she announced. "I promised her another visit, and now I can explain that I'm going away with you."
Mrs. Lansing made no objection, and three or four days afterward Sylvia met Bland at Mrs. Kettering's house. He arrived after her, and as there were other guests, she had to wait a little while before she could get a word with him alone. She was standing in the big hall, which was unoccupied, rather late in the evening, when he came toward her.
"I thought I should never escape from Kettering; but he's safe for a while, talking guns in the smoking-room," he said.
Sylvia thought that they would be safe from interruption for a few minutes, which would serve her purpose.
"So you have managed to get here," she said.
"Had you any doubt of my succeeding?" Bland asked reproachfully. "Kettering once gave me a standing invitation, and, as it happens, there's a famous horse dealer in this neighborhood with whom I've had some business. That and the few Sunday trains formed a good excuse. I, however, don't mind in the least if Mrs. Kettering attaches any significance to the visit."
Sylvia did not wish to arouse the suspicions of her hostess, but she smiled.
"I expected you, and I'm glad you came," she said.
"That's very nice to hear."
"Don't take too much for granted. Still, I thought I'd like to see you, because I'm going to Egypt with Muriel for some time. Indeed, I shall not be back until the spring."
The man displayed dismayed surprise, and Sylvia waited for his answer with some eagerness. She did not wish to enter into a formal engagement—it was a little too early to make an announcement yet—but she thought it wise to bind him in some degree before she left.