LITMIR.BIZ

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      CHAPTER II

      THE EPISODE OF THE GENTLEMAN WHO HAD FAILED FOR EVERYTHING

      One day, about those times, I went round to call on my aunt, Lady Tepping. And lest you accuse me of the vulgar desire to flaunt my fine relations in your face, I hasten to add that my poor dear old aunt is a very ordinary specimen of the common Army widow. Her husband, Sir Malcolm, a crusty old gentleman of the ancient school, was knighted in Burma, or thereabouts, for a successful raid upon naked natives, on something that is called the Shan frontier. When he had grown grey in the service of his Queen and country, besides earning himself incidentally a very decent pension, he acquired gout and went to his long rest in Kensal Green Cemetery. He left his wife with one daughter, and the only pretence to a title in our otherwise blameless family.

      My cousin Daphne is a very pretty girl, with those quiet, sedate manners which often develop later in life into genuine self-respect and real depth of character. Fools do not admire her; they accuse her of being “heavy.” But she can do without fools; she has a fine, strongly built figure, an upright carriage, a large and broad forehead, a firm chin, and features which, though well-marked and well-moulded, are yet delicate in outline and sensitive in expression. Very young men seldom take to Daphne: she lacks the desired inanity. But she has mind, repose, and womanly tenderness. Indeed, if she had not been my cousin, I almost think I might once have been tempted to fall in love with her.

      When I reached Gloucester Terrace, on this particular afternoon, I found Hilda Wade there before me. She had lunched at my aunt’s, in fact. It was her “day out” at St. Nathaniel’s, and she had come round to spend it with Daphne Tepping. I had introduced her to the house some time before, and she and my cousin had struck up a close acquaintance immediately. Their temperaments were sympathetic; Daphne admired Hilda’s depth and reserve, while Hilda admired Daphne’s grave grace and self-control, her perfect freedom from current affectations. She neither giggled nor aped Ibsenism.

      A third person stood back in the room when I entered—a tall and somewhat jerry-built young man, with a rather long and solemn face, like an early stage in the evolution of a Don Quixote. I took a good look at him. There was something about his air that impressed me as both lugubrious and humorous; and in this I was right, for I learned later that he was one of those rare people who can sing a comic song with immense success while preserving a sour countenance, like a Puritan preacher’s. His eyes were a little sunken, his fingers long and nervous; but I fancied he looked a good fellow at heart, for all that, though foolishly impulsive. He was a punctilious gentleman, I felt sure; his face and manner grew upon one rapidly.

      Daphne rose as I entered, and waved the stranger forward with an imperious little wave. I imagined, indeed, that I detected in the gesture a faint touch of half-unconscious proprietorship. “Good-morning, Hubert,” she said, taking my hand, but turning towards the tall young man. “I don’t think you know Mr. Cecil Holsworthy.”

      “I have heard you speak of him,” I answered, drinking him in with my glance. I added internally, “Not half good enough for you.”

      Hilda’s eyes met mine and read my thought. They flashed back word, in the language of eyes, “I do not agree with you.”

      Daphne, meanwhile, was watching me closely. I could see she was anxious to discover what impression her friend Mr. Holsworthy was making on me. Till then, I had no idea she was fond of anyone in particular; but the way her glance wandered from him to me and from me to Hilda showed clearly that she thought much of this gawky visitor.

      We sat and talked together, we four, for some time. I found the young man with the lugubrious countenance improved immensely on closer acquaintance. His talk was clever. He turned out to be the son of a politician high in office in the Canadian Government, and he had been educated at Oxford. The father, I gathered, was rich, but he himself was making an income of nothing a year just then as a briefless barrister, and he was hesitating whether to accept a post of secretary that had been offered him in the colony, or to continue his negative career at the Inner Temple, for the honour and glory of it.

      “Now, which would YOU advise me, Miss Tepping?” he inquired, after we had discussed the matter some minutes.

      Daphne’s face flushed up. “It is so hard to decide,” she answered. “To decide to YOUR best advantage, I mean, of course. For naturally all your English friends would wish to keep you as long as possible in England.”

      “No, do you think so?” the gawky young man jerked out with evident pleasure. “Now, that’s awfully kind of you. Do you know, if YOU tell me I ought to stay in England, I’ve half a mind… I’ll cable over this very day and refuse the appointment.”

      Daphne flushed once more. “Oh, please don’t!” she exclaimed, looking frightened. “I shall be quite distressed if a stray word of mine should debar you from accepting a good offer of a secretaryship.”

      “Why, your least wish—” the young man began—then checked himself hastily—“must be always important,” he went on, in a different voice, “to everyone of your acquaintance.”

      Daphne rose hurriedly. “Look here, Hilda,” she said, a little tremulously, biting her lip, “I have to go out into Westbourne Grove to get those gloves for to-night, and a spray for my hair; will you excuse me for half an hour?”

      Holsworthy rose too. “Mayn’t I go with you?” he asked, eagerly.

      “Oh, if you like. How very kind of you!” Daphne answered, her cheek a blush rose. “Hubert, will you come too? and you, Hilda?”

      It was one of those invitations which are given to be refused. I did not need Hilda’s warning glance to tell me that my company would be quite superfluous. I felt those two were best left together.

      “It’s no use, though, Dr. Cumberledge!” Hilda put in, as soon as they were gone. “He WON’T propose, though he has had every encouragement. I don’t know what’s the matter; but I’ve been watching them both for weeks, and somehow things seem never to get any forwarder.”

      “You think he’s in love with her?” I asked.

      “In love with her! Well, you have eyes in your head, I know; where could they have been looking? He’s madly in love—a very good kind of love, too. He genuinely admires and respects and appreciates all Daphne’s sweet and charming qualities.”

      “Then what do you suppose is the matter?”

      “I have an inkling of the truth: I imagine Mr. Cecil must have let himself in for a prior attachment.”

      “If so, why does he hang about Daphne?”

      “Because—he can’t help himself. He’s a good fellow and a chivalrous fellow. He admires your cousin; but he must have got himself into some foolish entanglement elsewhere which he is too honourable to break off; while at the same time he’s far too much impressed by Daphne’s fine qualities to be able to keep away from her. It’s the ordinary case of love versus duty.”

      “Is he well off? Could he afford to marry Daphne?”

      “Oh, his father’s very rich: he has plenty of money; a Canadian millionaire, they say. That makes it all the likelier that some undesirable young woman somewhere may have managed to get hold of him. Just the sort of romantic, impressionable hobbledehoy such women angle for.”

      I drummed my fingers on the table. Presently Hilda spoke again. “Why don’t you try to get to know him, and find out precisely what’s the matter?”

      “I KNOW what’s the matter—now you’ve told me,” I answered. “It’s as clear as day. Daphne is very much smitten with him, too. I’m sorry for Daphne! Well, I’ll take your advice; I’ll try to have some talk with him.”

      “Do, please; I feel sure I have hit upon it. He has got himself engaged in a hurry to some girl he doesn’t really care about, and he is far too much of a gentleman to break it off, though he’s in love quite another way with Daphne.”

      Just at that moment the door opened and my aunt entered.

      “Why, where’s Daphne?” she

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