Elizabeth started.
"No--not exactly. But perhaps--I guessed."
"He did then!" said Philip, wearily. "Of course I told him what I thought of his wanting to marry you, in the Rockies; and he behaved awfully decently. He"d never have said a word, I think, without my leave. Well--now I"ve changed my mind!"
Elizabeth could not help smiling through her tears. With what merry scorn would she have met this a.s.sertion of the _patria potestas_ from the mouth of a sound brother! Her poor Philip!
"Dear old boy!--what have you been saying to Mr. Anderson?"
"Well!"--the boy choked a little--"I"ve been telling him that--well, never mind!--he knows what I think about him. Perhaps if I"d known him years ago--I"d have been different. That don"t matter. But I want to settle things up for you and him. Because you know, Elizabeth, you"re pretty gone on him, too!"
Elizabeth hid her face against his knee--without speaking. The boy resumed:
"And so I"ve been telling him that now I thought differently--I hoped he would ask you to marry him--and I knew that you cared for him--but that he mustn"t dream of taking you to Canada. That was all nonsense--couldn"t be thought of! He must settle here. You"ve lots of money--and--well, when I"m gone--you"ll have more. Of course Martindale will go away from us, and I know he will look after mother as well as you."
There was silence--till Elizabeth murmured--"And what did he say?"
The lad drew himself away from her with an angry movement.
"He refused!"
Elizabeth lifted herself, a gleam of something splendid and pa.s.sionate lighting up her small face.
"And what else, dear Philip, did you expect?"
"I expected him to look at it reasonably!" cried the boy. "How can he ask a woman like you to go and live with him on the prairies? It"s ridiculous! He can go into English politics, if he wants politics. Why shouldn"t he live on your money? Everybody does it!"
"Did you really understand what you were asking him to do, Philip?"
"Of course I did! Why, what"s Canada compared to England? Jolly good thing for him. Why he might be anything here! And as if I wouldn"t rather be a dustman in England than a--"
"Philip, my dear boy! do rest--do go to bed," cried his mother imploringly, coming into the room with her soft hurrying step. "It"s going on for one o"clock. Elizabeth mustn"t keep you talking like this!"
She smiled at him with uplifted finger, trying to hide from him all traces of emotion.
But her son looked at her steadily.
"Mother, is Anderson gone?"
"No," said Mrs. Gaddesden, with hesitation. "But he doesn"t want you to talk any more to-night--he begs you not. Please--Philip!"
"Ask him to come here!" said Philip, peremptorily. "I want to talk to him and Elizabeth."
Mrs. Gaddesden protested in vain. The mother and daughter looked at each other with flushed faces, holding a kind of mute dialogue. Then Elizabeth rose from her seat by the fire.
"I will call Mr. Anderson, Philip. But if we convince you that what you ask is quite impossible, will you promise to go quietly to bed and try to sleep? It breaks mother"s heart, you know, to see you straining yourself like this."
Philip nodded--a crimson spot in each cheek, his frail hands twining and untwining as he tried to compose himself.
Elizabeth went half-way down the stairs and called. Anderson hurried out of the drawing-room, and saw her bending to him from the shadows, very white and calm.
"Will you come back to Philip a moment?" she said, gently. "Philip has told me what he proposed to you."
Anderson could not find a word to say. In a blind tumult of feeling he caught her hand, and pressed his lips to it, as though appealing to her dumbly to understand him.
She smiled at him.
"It will be all right," she whispered. "My poor Philip!" and she led him back to the sick room.
"George--I wanted you to come back, to talk this thing out," said Philip, turning to him as he entered, with the tyranny of weakness.
"There"s no time to waste. You know--everybody knows--I may get worse--and there"ll be nothing settled. It"s my duty to settle--"
Elizabeth interrupted him.
"Philip darling!--"
She was hanging over his chair, while Anderson stood a few feet away, leaning against the mantelpiece, his face turned from the brother and sister. The intimacy--solemnity almost--of the sick-room, the midnight hour, seemed to strike through Elizabeth"s being, deepening and yet liberating emotion.
"Dear Philip! It is not for Mr. Anderson to answer you--it is for me. If he could give up his country--for happiness--even for love--I should never marry him--for--I should not love him any more."
Anderson turned to look at her. She had moved, and was now standing in front of Philip, her head thrown back a little, her hands lightly clasped in front of her. Her youth, her dress, her diamonds, combined strangely with the touch of high pa.s.sion in her shining eyes, her resolute voice.
"You see, dear Philip, I love George Anderson--"
Anderson gave a low cry--and, moving to her side, he grasped her hand.
She gave it to him, smiling--and went on:
"I love him--partly--because he is so true to his own people--because I saw him first--and knew him first--among them. No! dear Philip, he has his work to do in Canada--in that great, great nation that is to be. He has been trained for it--no one else can do it but he--and neither you nor I must tempt him from it."
The eyes of the brother and sister met. Elizabeth tried for a lighter tone.
"But as neither of us _could_ tempt him from it--it is no use talking--is it?"
Philip looked from her to Anderson in a frowning silence. No one spoke for a little while. Then it seemed to them as though the young man recognised that his effort had failed, and his physical weakness shrank from renewing it. But he still resisted his mother"s attempt to put an end to the scene.
"That"s all very well, Lisa," he said at last, "but what are you going to do?"
Elizabeth withdrew her hand from Anderson"s.
"What am I going to do? _Wait_--just that!"
But her lip trembled. And to hide it she sank down again in the low chair in front of her brother, propping her face in both hands.
"Wait?" repeated Philip, scornfully--"and what for?"
"Till you and mother--come to my way of thinking--and"--she faltered--"till Mr. Anderson--"
Her voice failed her a moment. Anderson stood motionless, bending towards her, hanging upon her every gesture and tone.