about his financial status, but about the chap himself.…” He frowned thoughtfully. “It isn’t that I’ve anything against him, only from things he’s said now and again when he’s been here I think he’s got an insanely jealous disposition. And people like that are hell to live with.”
“How do you know?” His father gave a wide grin. “You never lived with such a person.”
Gregory’s light grey eyes were cold. “I don’t consider this situation is so funny, Dad. I’m thinking of Pat’s happiness, and with Keith I can’t see her having any after the novelty’s worn off. Deep down, I think she’s only in love with a handsome face.” Gregory got to his feet. “However, it’s her funeral, I suppose—but I’m entitled to say what I think, and I’ve said it.… Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll go up to my room and browse through those confounded law books. I’ve a problem on my mind at the office.”
He went out and closed the door. Mr. Taylor lighted his pipe slowly and puffed at it. Presently he looked at his wife as she began to move the tray containing the empty glasses towards the adjoining kitchen.
“What do you think, Alice?” he asked. “Think Pat’s doing the wrong thing?”
“Not for a moment! She’s no child, Harry. Oh, take no notice of Greg! He spends so much of his life looking for the faults in people I believe he’d find them in an angel. He means well by Pat, but we know what to think. Why, you’re not beginning to have doubts, are you?”
“Not I—only Greg has the uncomfortable habit of upsetting one’s applecart so completely. Maybe his disliking Keith has a lot to do with it.”
“But does he dislike him?” Mrs. Taylor asked.
“I’m pretty sure of it, but as things are, he’ll have to change his views.”
Mrs. Taylor did not say any more. She gave a shrug of her fleshy shoulders and then went on into the kitchen. Her husband followed her and remained propped against the doorpost. After a while his thoughts took on words.
“Y’know, I think we should have a really good celebration!” he declared.
“But we just had it!” His wife held up one of the wine glasses she was polishing and he gestured back at her.
“Oh, that! That was simply a drink. I mean something really good. A sort of jollification. Pat can invite her friends and Keith can invite his—and bring his father over. A really good get-together, eh? A proper engagement party!”
Clearly the idea appealed to Mrs. Taylor’s sociable soul. She began nodding her blonde head vigorously.
“We’ll tell Pat about it the moment she comes in,” she decided. “She’ll be delighted.… Then she must make a list of who she wants to invite.”
CHAPTER TWO
Pat and Keith talked all the way to his home. It was a journey of perhaps a mile to the centre of the town. They paused at last outside a shop in Ridley Terrace, lying directly off the main street. On the front window it said—Ambrose Robinson. Ironmonger and Locksmith. Keys Made to Order.
“Now for it,” Keith murmured, grasping Pat’s arm. “Here we go!”
He unlocked the house door at the side—the shop itself being closed at six—and led the way through a narrow hall into the back room, which comprised the living quarters. Ambrose Robinson was present—a lean-faced man with thin grey hair. He was seated folded up at the table, eating a meal. Propped before him against the teapot was a volume on religious revival on the Dark Continent.
“Hello, Dad,” Keith greeted. “I’ve a visitor to see you.”
Ambrose Robinson looked at Pat with prominent blue eyes and got to his feet. He was extremely tall and his hand seemed, as he extended it, to be as fleshless as a skeleton’s.
“Oh, it’s you, Pat.” He had a sombre, judicial way of speaking. “Quite a long time since I’ve seen you. When was it, now?” he reflected. “Be the last time I called on your father, I think.”
“It was,” Pat agreed, with a nervous little smile. “But of course Keith and I have seen a lot of each other in the interval. We—er—take walks together.…”
Pat’s voice faded out as she caught a sharp warning glance from Keith. Ambrose Robinson made no comment. He simply loomed, his bulgy eyes narrowing ever so slightly.
“Oh—really?” he said, with intense quietness. “I didn’t know that.”
For a reason she had never yet fathomed, Pat always found that the gaunt, lanky ironmonger made her feel scared. She wondered if perhaps it was his irresistible resemblance to a vulture, typified in his hooked nose and jutting chin, the prominent eyes boring down from the great height.
Keith made a sudden effort to deal with the impasse that seemed to have arisen. He said:
“Pat and I are engaged, Dad. That’s why I brought her along to see you. I felt it was only right that I should.”
Ambrose Robinson considered this statement for a moment or two, then he reached behind him for his chair and sank down into it.
“Engaged?” he repeated, and Keith nodded.
“That’s what I said. See!” He caught Pat’s hand and Ambrose Robinson gazed concentratedly at the ring. After a moment or two he half-mumbled to himself:
“‘The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.’ You’re all I’ve got, Keith! Why did you have to do this? With your poor mother gone I was hoping that you and I—”
“It isn’t a surprise to you; it just can’t be!” Keith broke in, his tone suddenly rough. “I’ve my own life to live and if I’ve decided to get married, that’s the end of it. At least you might congratulate us!”
Pat gave Keith a wondering glance. “After all, Keith, there surely isn’t any need to fly off the handle like that?” she asked. “You haven’t even given your dad a chance to speak yet.”
“Be all same if I had!” Keith answered, his lips taut. “Since there’ll be a row anyway, I may as well get my piece in first.”
Ambrose Robinson got to his feet again and took hold of Pat’s hand. He looked at Keith.
“You’ve chosen Pat.… All right, that’s the end of it.”
Pat found herself kissed lightly on the cheek and tried not to wince. For some reason Ambrose Robinson looked at her in sudden sharpness. Then he said:
“I wish it hadn’t been Keith, that’s all.”
Pat smiled uncomfortably. “But it is, Mr. Robinson! And I’m glad of it. After all, we’ve no intention of leaving town or anything like that. We’re hoping to get some rooms in Gladstone Avenue, so we’ll be quite near. Remember the old saying—you’re not losing a son, you’re gaining a daughter.”
“As far as I am concerned, Pat, I am losing a son. No more, no less.… Don’t misunderstand,” Ambrose Robinson added, his voice still extraordinarily gentle. “I like you, Pat; I know you and your family well; only.…
