Lucy was glad that they had come there, and the restful grandeur of the place fitted in with the emotions that had filled her mind during the walk from Blackstable. Her spirit was enlarged, and she felt that her own small worries were petty. The consciousness came to her that the man with whom she had been speaking was making history, and she was fascinated by the fulness of his life and the greatness of his undertakings. Her eyes were dazzled with the torrid African sun which had shone through his words, and she felt the horror of the primeval forest and the misery of the unending swamps. And she was proud because his outlook was so clear, because he bore his responsibilities so easily, because his plans were so vast. She looked at him. He was standing by her side, and his eyes were upon her. She felt the colour rise to her cheeks, she knew not why, and in embarra.s.sment looked down.
By some chance they missed d.i.c.k Lomas and Mrs. Crowley. Neither was sorry. When they left the cathedral and started for home, they spoke for a while of indifferent things. It seemed that Alec"s tongue was loosened, and he was glad of it. Lucy knew instinctively that he had never talked to anyone as he talked to her, and she was curiously flattered.
But it seemed to both of them that the conversation could not proceed on the strenuous level on which it had been during the walk into Tercanbury, and they fell upon a gay discussion of their common acquaintance. Alec was a man of strong pa.s.sions, hating fools fiercely, and he had a sardonic manner of gibing at persons he despised, which caused Lucy much amus.e.m.e.nt.
He described interviews with the great ones of the land in a broadly comic spirit; and, when telling an amusing story, he had a way of a.s.suming a Scottish drawl that added vastly to its humour.
Presently they began to speak of books. Being strictly limited as to number, he was obliged to choose for his expeditions works which could stand reading an indefinite number of times.
"I"m like a convict," he said. "I know Shakespeare by heart, and I"ve read Boswell"s _Johnson_ till I think you couldn"t quote a line which I couldn"t cap with the next."
But Lucy was surprised to hear that he read the Greek cla.s.sics with enthusiasm. She had vaguely imagined that people recognised their splendour, but did not read them unless they were dons or schoolmasters, and it was strange to find anyone for whom they were living works. To Alec they were a deliberate inspiration. They strengthened his purpose and helped him to see life from the heroic point of view. He was not a man who cared much for music or for painting; his whole aesthetic desires were centred in the Greek poets and the historians. To him Thucydides was a true support, and he felt in himself something of the spirit which had animated the great Athenian.
His blood ran faster as he spoke of him, and his cheeks flushed. He felt that one who lived constantly in such company could do nothing base. But he found all he needed, put together with a power that seemed almost divine, within the two covers that bound his Sophocles. The mere look of the Greek letters filled him with exultation. Here was all he wanted, strength and simplicity, and the greatness of life, and beauty.
He forgot that Lucy did not know that dead language and could not share his enthusiasm. He broke suddenly into a chorus from the _Antigone_; the sonorous, lovely words issued from his lips, and Lucy, not understanding, but feeling vaguely the beauty of the sounds, thought that his voice had never been more fascinating. It gained now a peculiar and entrancing softness. She had never dreamed that it was capable of such tenderness.
At last they reached Court Leys and walked up the avenue that led to the house. They saw d.i.c.k hurrying towards them. They waved their hands, but he did not reply, and, when he approached, they saw that his face was white and anxious.
"Thank G.o.d, you"ve come at last! I couldn"t make out what had come to you."
"What"s the matter?"
The barrister, all his flippancy gone, turned to Lucy.
"Bobbie Boulger has come down. He wants to see you. Please come at once."
Lucy looked at him quickly. Sick with fear, she followed him into the drawing-room.
V
Mrs. Crowley and Robert Boulger were standing by the fire, and there was a peculiar agitation about them. They were silent, but it seemed to Lucy that they had been speaking of her. Mrs. Crowley impulsively seized her hands and kissed her. Lucy"s first thought was that something had happened to her brother. Lady Kelsey"s generous allowance had made it possible for him to hunt, and the thought flashed through her that some terrible accident had happened.
"Is anything the matter with George?" she asked, with a gasp of terror.
"No," answered Boulger.
The colour came to Lucy"s cheeks as she felt a sudden glow of relief.
"Thank G.o.d," she murmured. "I was so frightened."
She gave him, now, a smile of welcome as she shook hands with him. It could be nothing so very dreadful after all.
Lucy"s uncle, Sir George Boulger, had been for many years senior partner in the great firm of Boulger & Kelsey. After sitting in Parliament for the quarter of a century and voting a.s.siduously for his party, he had been given a baronetcy on the celebration of Queen Victoria"s second Jubilee, and had finished a prosperous life by dying of apoplexy at the opening of a park, which he was presenting to the nation. He had been a fine type of the wealthy merchant, far-sighted in business affairs and proud to serve his native city in every way open to him. His son, Robert, now reigned in his stead, but the firm had been made into a company, and the responsibility that he undertook, notwithstanding that the greater number of shares were in his hands, was much less. The partner who had been taken into the house on Sir Alfred Kelsey"s death now managed the more important part of the business in Manchester, while Robert, brought up by his father to be a man of affairs, had taken charge of the London branch. Commerce was in his blood, and he settled down to work with praiseworthy energy. He had considerable shrewdness, and it was plain that he would eventually become as good a merchant as his father. He was little older than Lucy, but his fair hair and his clean-shaven face gave him a more youthful look. With his spruce air and well-made clothes, his conversation about hunting and golf, few would have imagined that he arrived regularly at his office at ten in the morning, and was as keen to make a good bargain as any of the men he came in contact with.
Lucy, though very fond of him, was mildly scornful of his Philistine outlook. He cared nothing for books, and the only form of art that appealed to him was the musical comedy. She treated him as a rule with pleasant banter and refused to take him seriously. It required a good deal of energy to keep their friendship on a light footing, for she knew that he had been in love with her since he was eighteen. She could not help feeling flattered, though on her side there was no more than the cousinly affection due to their having been thrown together all their lives, and she was aware that they were little suited to one another. He had proposed to her a dozen times, and she was obliged to use many devices to protect herself from his a.s.siduity. It availed nothing to tell him that she did not love him. He was only too willing to marry her on whatever conditions she chose to make. Her friends and her relations were anxious that she should accept him. Lady Kelsey had reasoned with her. Here was a man whom she had known always and could trust utterly; he had ten thousand a year, an honest heart, and a kindly disposition.
Her father, seeing in the match a resource in his constant difficulties, was eager that she should take the boy, and George, who was devoted to him, had put in his word, too. Bobbie had asked her to marry him when he was twenty-one, and again when she was twenty-one, when George went to Oxford, when her father went into bankruptcy, and when Hamlyn"s Purlieu was sold. He had urged his own father to buy it, when it was known that a sale was inevitable, hoping that the possession of it would incline Lucy"s heart towards him; but the first baronet was too keen a man of business to make an unprofitable investment for sentimental reasons.
Bobbie had proposed for the last time when he succeeded to the baronetcy and a large fortune. Lucy recognised his goodness and the advantages of the match, but she did not care for him. She felt, too, that she needed a free hand to watch over her father and George. Even Mrs. Crowley"s suggestion that with her guidance Robert Boulger might become a man of consequence, did not move her. Bobbie, on the other hand, had set all his heart on marrying his cousin. It was the supreme interest of his life, and he hoped that his patience would eventually triumph over every obstacle. He was willing to wait.
When Lucy"s first alarm was stayed, it occurred to her that Bobbie had come once more to ask her the eternal question, but the anxious look in his eyes drove the idea away. His pleasant, boyish expression was overcast with gravity; Mrs. Crowley flung herself in a chair and turned her face away.
"I have something to tell you which is very terrible, Lucy," he said.
The effort he made to speak was noticeable. His voice was strained by the force with which he kept it steady.
"Would you like me to leave you?" asked Alec, who had accompanied Lucy into the drawing-room.
She gave him a glance. It seemed to her that whatever it was, his presence would help her to bear it.
"Do you wish to see me alone, Bobbie?"
"I"ve already told d.i.c.k and Mrs. Crowley."
"What is it?" she asked.
Bobbie gave d.i.c.k an appealing look. It seemed too hard that he should have to break the awful news to her. He had not the heart to give her so much pain. And yet he had hurried down to the country so that he might soften the blow by his words: he would not trust to the callous cruelty of a telegram. d.i.c.k saw the agitation which made his good-humoured mouth twitch with pain, and stepped forward.
"Your father has been arrested for fraud," he said gravely.
For a moment no one spoke. The silence was intolerable to Mrs. Crowley, and she inveighed inwardly against the British stolidity. She could not look at Lucy, but the others, full of sympathy, kept their eyes upon her. Mrs. Crowley wondered why she did not faint. It seemed to Lucy that an icy hand clutched her heart so that the blood was squeezed out of it. She made a determined effort to keep her clearness of mind.
"It"s impossible," she said at last, quietly.
"He was arrested last night, and brought up at Bow Street Police Court this morning. He was remanded for a week."
Lucy felt the tears well up to her eyes, but with all her strength she forced them back. She collected her thoughts.
"It was very good of you to come down and tell me," she said to Boulger gently.
"The magistrate agreed to accept bail in five thousand pounds. Aunt Alice and I have managed it between us."
"Is he staying with Aunt Alice now?"
"No, he wouldn"t do that. He"s gone to his flat in Shaftesbury Avenue."
Lucy"s thoughts went to the lad who was dearest to her in the world, and her heart sank.
"Does George know?"
"Not yet."
d.i.c.k saw the relief that came into her face, and thought he divined what was in her mind.
"But he must be told at once," he said. "He"s sure to see something about it in the papers. We had better wire to him to come to London immediately."
"Surely father could have shown in two minutes that the whole thing was a mistake."