until Lord Julius had gone. Being an aged duffer himself, he would probably side with Barlow—and there was no point in offending Lord Julius. Very much to the contrary, indeed.
Mr. Edward’s meditations, unwontedly facile in their movements for him, had reached this point, when his mind reverted to the fact that he was still regarding the back of Barlow, who, instead of going out, stood holding the door open, his lean figure poised in ceremonious expectancy. Even as the surprised Edward continued looking, the butler made a staid obeisance.
A stalwart, erect, burly old gentleman came in, and halted just over the threshold to look about him. He had the carriage, dress and general aspect of a prosperous and opinionated farmer. The suggestion of acres and crops was peculiarly marked in the broad, low soft hat on his head, and in the great white beard which spread fan-wise over his ample breast. He had the face of one who had spent a life in commanding others, and had learned meanwhile to master himself—a frank, high-featured, ruddy face, with a conspicuously prominent and well-curved nose, and steady, confident eyes. He folded his hands over his stick and, holding his head well back, glanced about the room at his ease. It was a glance from which the various eyes that it encountered somehow turned away.
“How-do, Eddy? How-do, Gus?” the newcomer said impassively to the two young men who, with palpable constraint, came up to greet him. He shook hands with each, but seemed more interested in viewing the company at large. His appearance had produced a visible effect of numbness upon the group of guests, but he seemed not to mind this.
“Quite a party!” he observed. His voice was full and robust, and not unamiable. “All military?”
Edward nodded. “All but Gus, here. Glad to introduce ’em, if you like,” he murmured, with a kind of sullen deference.
“Presently, presently,” said Lord Julius, with an effect of heartiness at which Edward lifted his head.
“Drive over from Clune this morning?” the young man asked. “Then you’ll want breakfast. Ring the bell, Gus. We’re just starting for the Mere copse. Glad to have you make an eighth gun, if you’ll come to us after you’ve eaten. You still shoot, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes, I still shoot,” said the other.
Edward had a sense of embarrassment at his great-uncle’s immobility in the doorway. “Well, we’ll get along to the gun-room now,” he said to the others. Then to Lord Julius he remarked with an air of making conversation, “I always say to the fellows that I ask nothing better in this world than to be as fit as you are when I’m your age. Let’s see, seventy-six, isn’t it?”
The elder man nodded. “I’m sure that’s a modest enough ambition,” he observed. His steady gray eyes dallied with the young man’s countenance for a moment. “I’m relieved to learn that you want nothing more than that.”
Edward looked up swiftly, and braved an instant’s piercing scrutiny of the other’s face. Then he laughed, uneasily. “Oh, I want a few other things, too.”
Lord Julius lowered his voice. “I would put among your wants a trifling matter of good taste, Eddy,” he said, not unkindly.
Captain Edward flushed. “If I could see that it really made any difference between the First and the Second,” he answered with dogged civility, “I wouldn’t shoot until tomorrow. If you’re keen about it now, I’ll—”
“Oh, damn your First and Second,” broke in the old man, keeping his voice down below the hearing of the others, but letting impatience glow in his eyes; “you had no business bringing these men here at all. No—I see that you don’t understand me. You needn’t explain. It’s entirely a question of feeling.”
“I’m sorry you take that view of it, sir,” said Edward, gloomily. “You know that I’m willing enough to meet your views—if only—if only because I’m going to need your help.” Lord Julius gave a snort of contemptuous laughter, and nodded to himself with lifted brows. “Really something in the way of consideration is due to such frankness as that,” he said, with a pretense of reverie. “Send your friends out of the room, Eddy,” he went on, more gently—“make what excuse you like—or take them out and come back to me—that’s better. I did intend to have no secrets from them, but I’ve relented. And yes—by the way—instead of coming here—you’ll find me in the small morning room I will breakfast there. You’ve filled this room with smoke.”
“Would you—would you mind my bringing Gus?” Edward asked, doubtfully.
The other thought for an instant. “Oh, yes, Gus may come,” he said, and with that left the room.
“Rum old beggar, isn’t he?” said Augustine to the company, with the sense that something had to be said.
“Gad! he seemed to think he was in a synagogue!” laughed Captain Burlington. “Kept his hat on, you know,” he explained in the next breath to the surprised and attentive faces about him.
“But he isn’t a Jew,” said one of the others with gravity. “He married one, but that doesn’t make him one, you know.”
“It was a joke! Can’t you see a joke?” protested Burlington.
“Well, I don’t think much of it,” growled Edward, sourly. “Come along to the gunroom.”
“What’s up?” asked Mr. Augustine, in an anxious murmur, a few minutes later, as the two brothers walked along the wide central hallway toward the appointed place.
“Can’t think for the life of me,” replied Edward. “Unless Craven babbled about the baccarat when he got up to town. He’s rather that sort, you know. He kicked about the stakes at the time.”
“Yes—after he’d been hit,” said Augustine. “But if it’s only that, you’ll be an ass to let the old man rot you about it. Just stand up to him, and let him see you feel your position.”
“That’s all right,” rejoined Edward, dubiously, “but what’s the position without money? If anybody could have foreseen what was going to happen—damn it all, I could have married as much as I needed. But as it is, I’ve got Cora on my back, and the kid, and—my God! fancy doing the duke on four thou, a year net! Welldon tells me it can’t be screwed a bit above that. Well, then, how can I afford to cheek Julius? When you come to that he isn’t half a bad sort, you know. He stood my marriage awfully well. Gad, you know, we couldn’t have lived if he hadn’t drawn a check.”
“Let us hope he’ll draw another,” said Augustine. “It’s bad enough to be a pauper duke, but it’s a bailey sight worse to be his brother.”
“What rot!” said Edward. “My kid’s a girl, and you’re free to marry.”
They had come to the door of the morning room. It stood ajar, and Edward pushed it open. Before the fireplace was visible the expected bulk and vast beard of Lord Julius, but the eyes of the brothers intuitively wandered to the window beyond, against which was outlined the figure of a much smaller man.
“Secretary,” whispered the quicker-minded Augustine out of the corner of his mouth as they advanced. The thought brought them a tempered kind of comfort. The same instinct which had prompted Edward to crave his brother’s support led them both to welcome the presence of a fourth party.
They looked again toward the
