When Hugh got back to his quarters the first thing he did was to hunt up his great friend Jack Pomfret. He found that young gentleman stretched in front of a blazing fire—ft was a very chilly March—and smoking a cigar nearly as big as himself. Jack Pomfret, it may be said, was quite a small man, of about the size and weight that would be associated with the coxswain of a 'Varsity boat.
Next to Murchison, perhaps Pomfret was the most popular man in the regiment. He was certainly the poorest, for although he came of an aristocratic family, the said family had very little to bless themselves with.
If it had been left to his immediate relatives, Jack would have had to enter a line regiment, and subsist on his pay, supplemented by more or less regular small remittances from his hard-up father.
But fortune had smiled on Jack when he was in his cradle. A rich great-aunt had been his godmother, and from the date of his christening had taken him under her wing. She had been crossed in love when quite a girl, would never marry. Jack Pomfret had a handsome, but not an extravagant, allowance now, and he would come into his great-aunt's fortune when she died.
Jack always complained that his aunt was a bit thrifty, and did not fully understand the imperative necessities of a young subaltern in an expensive regiment like the Twenty-fifth.
As a matter of fact, Miss Harding, his mother's youngest sister, suffered from acute indigestion, existed principally on soda-water and biscuits, lived in a comparatively small house with one manservant and two maids, and saved a great deal every year out of a large income. She loved Jack very much, but she had little or no sympathy with the follies and indiscretions of youth. She had a hazy sort of idea that an officer should live within his pay, as she lived well within her income. Needless to say that Jack had long disabused her of this silly idea.
"Great tidings, old man," cried Murchison, breaking in upon the meditative little man, blowing great clouds of smoke. "I'll give you six guesses."
"Not in a guessing mood," returned Jack shortly. "All my brain-power is used up. I am trying to concoct a letter to the dear old aunt—God bless her, she is one of the best!—insinuating gently that a cheque for a couple of hundred would be very convenient at the present moment."
Murchison took a seat. "Silly old ass," he said in a kindly tone, "if you want a couple of hundred have it from me, and don't worry about the aunt. You can pay me when she stumps-up. From what you have told me about your respected relative, it might be a lengthy business. I suppose you will plead debts. She might offer to discharge them, and ask the names of the creditors. In that case, old chap, you wouldn't handle much personally, would you?"
Pomfret laughed genially. He was always very hard-up, but he was never depressed for very long. There was always a silver lining to every cloud.
"She's the sweetest, dearest soul on God's earth," he said in a tone of conviction. "But you know, Hughie old man, she doesn't understand—I say emphatically, she doesn't understand—you know what I mean. She is early Victorian. As to your suggestion, I appreciate it very much, but emphatically, no." He added, with a whimsical smile: "Yours is a loan, I should have to pay back; Heaven knows when I could do so. The dear old aunt, well, it is a gift, no question of paying back. I haven't thought it all out yet, but in the early cool of to-morrow morning, I shall write her a beautiful and touching letter. I know by experience it will bring a cheque."
"You're an artful young devil, I know," said Murchison. Straight as a die himself, he was not too appreciative of his friend's diplomatic methods.
On the other hand, was he justified in criticising? He had a magnificent allowance from his opulent father. Poor Jack, with a somewhat puritanical and niggardly aunt at his back, had just to worry along, and live in this expensive regiment from hand to mouth.
There was no more to be said on this subject.
"Well, Jack, are you in a mood to listen to my news?"
Pomfret leaned forward, and flicked the ash oft his cigar. "Yes, I think I am. Begone dull care! I shall write that letter the first thing to-morrow morning."
"Well, I have made the acquaintance of that pretty Burton girl, whom nobody in Blankfield visits."
Mr. Pomfret emitted a little chuckling sound. "Lucky devil. How did you do it? I thought she was unapproachable. She walks down the High Street, 'with a haughty stare, and her nose in the air,' and looks neither to left nor right. How did you manage it, old man?"
Hugh laughed. "Oh, as easy as anything. Just dropped in to Winkley's, expecting to see a lot of you fellows with your best girls. Not a soul there I knew. Room full—every table full, save for one at which Miss Burton was sitting alone—sat at the one table, vis-à-vis with Miss Burton. There it is in a nutshell."
Mr. Pomfret grinned broadly. "Oh, Hughie, what I would have given for your chance. You know I am awfully gone on that girl, she is so sweet and dainty, far and away the prettiest girl in Blankfield. What did you make of your chance?"
"As much as could be made in five or ten minutes. She told me a lot about things, her disappointment in finding that the Blankfield people would not call upon her, and that, excepting her brother, she had not a soul to speak to."
"Poor little soul!" said Mr. Pomfret, in a voice of the deepest sympathy. "Poor little soul!" he repeated.
"Well, we talked for some little time, some ten minutes perhaps, I don't think it could have been much longer. And then—then—you will never believe it, Jack—she asked me to call, and be introduced to her brother."
Mr. Pomfret was quite young, in fact he was the baby of the regiment. But having been educated at a public school, he had learned a certain amount of worldly wisdom rather early. He gave expression to it now.
"If she were living with her mother, or a maiden aunt, Hughie, the thing would be so easy. But the brother, we have seen him walking beside that lovely girl. It would be difficult to class him. It would be perhaps too much to say he was either a bounder or a cad—he's not boisterous enough for the one or common enough for the other. But clearly, he's not a gentleman or the imitation of one."
"No," answered Hugh. "Your description of the brother quite fits. He is neither fish, flesh, fowl, nor good red-herring, as the old saw has it. Then the girl is so different. She is, to an extent, frank and unconventional."
"She must be, or she wouldn't have asked you to call upon her," interrupted the astute Mr. Pomfret.
"Quite so, I perfectly agree. But upon my soul, Jack, she has the most perfect manners. She does these sort of things in such a way that you cease to wonder why she does them."
"I understand." Mr. Pomfret looked very wise. "There's a wonderful fascination about the girl. She radiates it, even when you pass her in the street. By Gad, there's not a young woman in Blankfield who can hold a candle to her. Well, Hughie, what are you going to do about the invitation?"
"I'm in two minds, old man, to go or stay away. There's the brother, you see."
"There's the brother," repeated Mr. Pomfret, "and a dashed disappointing sort of a brother, too. If it had only been a mother, or a maiden aunt! what a priceless opportunity! And yet it seems a bit too good to be lost."
"But the brother, what about him?" Hugh insisted.
"The brother is, of course, a stumbling-block. You can't ask him to Mess. 'Old Fireworks' will stand more from you than anybody, but he would never stand Burton. He would be calling him 'Your Grace' or 'Your worship' or something."
"Old Fireworks," it may be explained, was the nickname of the respected Colonel of the gallant Twenty-fifth Lancers. It had been conferred upon him, on account of his explosive temper. He was also a rigid disciplinarian.
"I shall not go," said Hugh after a brief pause.
Mr. Pomfret was thinking deeply. He pulled at his big cigar in a meditative fashion. Then at length, out of his wisdom, he spoke:
"Let us reason this out, my well-beloved friend. A very pretty girl asks you to go and see her, she is unfortunately hampered by an undesirable brother. You accept their hospitality, but you know he is not a man you can ask to Mess. But you can take him to an hotel, and feed him up there. Tell him the Colonel's kicked up rough about guests, any lie you like, to save his amour propre."
"A good idea, Jack. Have you anything more to say? Don't forget that if I go to Rosemount, the news will be all over Blankfield in five minutes."
Mr. Pomfret snapped his fingers. "Who cares a fig for the Blankfield people? Everybody knows, or ought to know, that a soldier loves and rides away. And the Blankfield girls are dull enough, Heaven knows, I wouldn't give a thought to them."
"Then you advise me to call, and be introduced to the brother, eh?"
"Of course, we shall be off in another two months, and leave only tender memories behind us." Mr. Pomfret was a practical person, if ever there was one. "Let us seize the passing day. By the way, have you any objection to taking me up to call with you, when you go? Say no, if you have the slightest objection."
Hugh Murchison looked at him squarely. "No, old chap, not the slightest. The girl interests me in a way, chiefly, I think, because I can't quite make her out, can't determine whether she is very cunning or very simple, but I am not attracted in the ordinary sense. I take it you are."
Pomfret's look of indifference changed to one of gravity. "Yes, Hughie, I am. I would like to see that girl at close quarters."
Hugh rose. "Right, we will call together, and in the meantime we will keep it from the other fellows?"
"Good Heavens, I should think so, we should be chaffed to death," was Jack's fervent answer.
A few days later, the two young men walked to Rosemount. It was a villa sort of house, set in a small garden, very carefully kept. The windows were ornamented with boxes of flowers. Small as the establishment was, there was an air of elegance about it, an elegance perhaps of restricted means but of refined taste.
Pomfret nudged his senior officer. "I say, they've turned it into a very decent sort of little crib, haven't they? I should say that is due to the girl."
Hugh laughed. "Perhaps it is the brother after all. He might be an artist, you know. Artists are often very rum-looking chaps."
"Artist be hanged," said Pomfret emphatically. "I'll bet you a fiver he isn't an artist, whatever he is. A 'bookie' or a 'bookie's' tout, more likely."
At the end of this short colloquy, they had reached the hall door. A very smart maidservant, in a becoming cap and apron, opened it. In answer to their inquiry, Miss Burton was in.
They were shown into the drawing-room. The young mistress of the house was reclining in an easy-chair; an open book lay on her lap.
She advanced towards them with that peculiar air of self-possession which had so impressed Hugh on his first meeting in the tea-shop. A hostess with years of social experience could not have been more at her ease than this young girl.
"How nice of you to come, after that very vague invitation," she said, in her clear, silvery voice.
She addressed Murchison first, and then turned swiftly to Pomfret, in whose eyes she doubtless recognised frank admiration of her peculiar attractiveness.
"I know your friend is going to introduce you in proper form. But it is really quite unnecessary. I know you are Mr. Pomfret. I have learned the names of all the officers from the tradespeople, also, my only friends in Blankfield. Perhaps Captain Murchison has told you what I confided to him the other day, that we are as isolated here as if we were on a desert island."
Mr. Pomfret sat down beside her on a small Chesterfield. From his vantage point he could gaze into the beautiful eyes, he could note the lustre of that fair, wavy hair.
"A beastly shame," growled the young subaltern, at a loss for appropriate words to express the enormities of Blankfield Society.
She turned away lightly, as if the subject interested her no further.
"I think we will have tea. My brother is engaged in scientific pursuits. when he can tear himself away, he will join us. Captain Murchison, will you kindly ring the bell?"
Truly, she had the manners of a woman of the world. She took the homage of the two men as an accomplished fact. The villadom of Blankfield could not produce such a hostess, so free from fussiness or exaggerated hospitality. You would have to go to the "county" to find her parallel. The two men exchanged appreciative glances. Whatever her origin, Miss Burton could shine in any circle in which she found herself permanently, or temporarily, located.
The tea was served, and over the tea-cups they chatted in desultory fashion. Then the drawing-room door opened, and Mr. Burton appeared. From the moment of his appearance, the atmosphere seemed to be changed. He advanced towards them with outstretched hands. His manner was extremely cordial, but it went beyond the limits of good taste. His tones were breezy but blusterous. There was a rasping and a vulgar ring in his voice.
"Welcome to our humble abode, gentlemen. It is very brave of you to come and visit the boycotted ones."
Hugh and Jack Pomfret fidgeted in their chairs. This common-looking young man was a bit too communicative about his private affairs. They had a slight suspicion that he had been indulging in alcohol, his manner was so unrestrained.
Mr. Burton sank down in his chair, and took a cup of tea from the hands of his attentive sister. The visitors did not see it, but she shot a warning glance at him, and in face of that warning glance, Mr. Burton, by a strong effort, pulled himself together.
"You see, gentlemen, I feel very sore about this matter; my sister has a calmer temperament, and she takes things as they come. Here we came from the North of Ireland, from a little town where we were highly looked up to, where we knew every man, woman and child in the place. We came here, and, as I say, we are boycotted."
Miss Burton looked at him severely. "George, I do not think it is very good taste of you to inflict your grievances upon these gentlemen, who have just come to make an afternoon call. Don't you think you could soothe your nerves better by getting back to your laboratory, or whatever you call it?"
Mr. Burton accepted the hint, and rose. He waved a genial hand towards the visitors.
"You will excuse me for a few moments. I have a most important experiment on. But I shall be back very shortly: I shall see you again before you leave."
The two young men devoutly wished that they might not see him again. The man was a confirmed and innate vulgarian. Both he and his sister, no doubt, felt very sore about their social ostracism, but how different were the methods of expression indulged in by the two. She explained the situation with a proud dignity, hiding her chagrin with a show of indifference. He was exposing his gaping wounds to the public eye with an air of ostentation.
"I must ask you to excuse my brother," said Miss Burton when her ebullient relative had left the room. "He has the true Irish temperament, it is impossible for him to conceal his feelings. He would like to go down the High Street, trailing his coat behind him, and inviting the residents to tread upon it, in real Irish fashion, so that he could indulge in a free fight with them."
The young men laughed cordially. They felt that a somewhat awkward situation had been saved by her ready tact, her rather humorous explanation.
But Murchison, the more level-headed of the two, looked at her very fixedly, as he said, "But you are Irish, too. How is it that you have learned to control your feelings so successfully?"
At such a direct question, he would have expected her to flush a little; at any rate, show some slight symptoms of embarrassment. But this remarkably self-possessed girl of twenty or thereabouts was as cool as a cucumber. She laughed her little silvery laugh.
"My brother and I are as wide apart as the North and South Poles," she said lightly. "Many people have commented on the fact. Would you like to know the reason?"
She directed a rather challenging glance in the direction of Pomfret, whom she rightly judged to be more susceptible to feminine influence than his friend.
"I should like to very much," was the subaltern's answer. That eloquent glance had completely subjugated the young man.
"Well, listen. My father was a hard-riding, gambling, hard-drinking Irish squire, who squandered his money and left little but debts behind him. My brother takes after him in certain qualities, thank Heaven not his least desirables ones. My mother was an Englishwoman, rather a puritanical sort of woman, who fell in love, perhaps a little injudiciously, and I think wore her life out in the attempt to curb my father's unhappy propensities. I take after my mother. You understand? George is really my half-brother by my father's first wife."
Pomfret nodded his head gravely. "I quite understand," he said, and his tone was one of conviction. Murchison preserved a benevolent attitude of neutrality. He was still thinking it all out.
Miss Burton was very pretty, nay, more than pretty, very charming, very attractive, gifted with a marvellous self-possession, very clever, very adroit. But was she as genuine and frank as she seemed? Pomfret evidently thought so, but Murchison was not quite sure.
Mr. George Burton, who took after his Irish father in several respects, according to his sister's account, made a re-appearance before the visitors left. There had been just a little suspicion at first that he had been indulging in the hard-drinking habits of his male parent. If so, that suspicion must be at once removed. He was bright, breezy and blusterous, but he was certainly master of himself. He advanced with the most cordial air.
"Gentlemen, I feel I owe you an apology. I had no right to intrude my private grievances upon you, even although I am very possessed with them. Please put it down to my Irish temperament. You will forgive me, I am sure."
He stretched out appealing hands, the hands of the plebeian as Murchison was quick to notice, nails bitten to the quick, coarse fingers and thumbs.
Murchison quietly ignored the outstretched hand. So did Pomfret, subjugated as he was with the charm and attractiveness of Miss Burton. He did not quite feel that he wanted to shake hands with this very terrible brother, who took after his Irish father.
"I apologise most sincerely, gentlemen," he repeated, "for my outburst just now. I had no right to inflict upon you a recital of my private grievances against the inhabitants of this wretched town. But I am a wild, excitable Irishman, whatever is in my mind has to come out. Please forgive me; I know my sister Norah never will."
He looked appealingly at the girl who sat there, calm and self-possessed as always, with a slight expression of contempt upon her charming face.
"I have already made excuses for you to Captain Murchison and Mr. Pomfret," she said coldly.
The visitors were very much embarrassed. What could they say to this dreadful person who seemed so utterly lacking in all the qualities of good breeding? Hugh remained silent, Pomfret opened his lips and murmured something about the whole affair being very regrettable.
But these somewhat incoherent remarks were quite enough to restore Mr. Burton to his normal state of easy buoyancy. He smiled affably.
"So that is all over. Well, I am delighted to see you, and it will not be my fault if your first visit is your last. Now, I propose you come round and have a little bit of dinner with us soon, so that we may get to know each other better. Any night that you are at liberty will suit us. We are not overwhelmed with invitations, as you can understand from what I have told you."
If Murchison had been by himself, he would have politely shelved the invitation. Miss Burton, who took after her English mother, was quite decent and ladylike. The brother was insufferable. Vulgarity, so to speak, oozed from him. He was offensive even in his geniality. In short, he was impossible.
But Pomfret took the wind out of his senior's sails.
"Sorry we are quite full up this week, but hardly anything on next. Shall we say Monday?"
Miss Burton took the matter out of her brother's hands by turning directly to Murchison.
"Monday, of course, will suit us. Will it suit you?" she asked him pointedly.
Taken by surprise, the unhappy young man could only mutter a reluctant affirmative. A few minutes later they left, pledged to partake of the Burtons' hospitality on the following Monday.
When they were safely outside, Murchison spoke severely to his brother officer.
"You've let us in for a nice thing. If you had left it to me, I would have got out of that dinner somehow."
"But I didn't want to get out of it," replied the unabashed junior. "We knew the brother was pretty bad all along. I don't know that on the whole he is much worse than we imagined. But she's a ripping girl. I want to see more of her."
"You silly young ass," growled Murchison; "I believe you've fallen head over ears in love with her."
And Pomfret, one of the most mercurial and light-hearted of subalterns, answered quite gravely:
"I rather fancy I have. I've never met a girl who appealed to me in quite the same sort of way."
As a result of his visit to Rosemount, Hugh Murchison was very perturbed in his mind. He blamed himself severely for having been tempted into that rather intimate conversation at the tea-shop. Miss Burton was attractive enough, and lady-like enough, to excuse any man for taking advantage of his obvious opportunities, but he had been a fool to go farther. He ought never to have set his foot in the house of people of whom he knew nothing.
It was all Jack Pomfret's fault, he decided hastily. It was his influence, his keen desire to make the girl's acquaintance, that had weighed down his friend's prudence. For, if left to himself, Hugh was quite sure that he would have dallied and dallied till all inclination to call at Rosemount had died down.
And Pomfret had owned to being greatly impressed with the fair young chatelaine. He had admitted that he had never met a girl who had appealed to him in quite the same sort of way. In fact, it was easy to see he had fallen desperately in love with her.
And Jack was just one of those light-hearted, susceptible sort of chaps who have not an atom of common-sense in their composition, who will obey their impulses, regardless of consequences.
And he was not his own master. His career was practically at the disposal of his somewhat puritanical aunt. It was just on the cards that Jack would be mad enough to propose to this girl who had so bewitched him. One could imagine how the aunt would receive such a communication.
There was one little ray of hope, however. If Jack did commit such a crowning folly, he would be far too honourable not to acquaint Miss Burton with his circumstances. Hugh was fairly convinced that the young lady knew how to take care of herself. And, even if she did fall in love with Jack, as he had done with her, and be inclined to make a fool of herself, there was the objectionable brother to be reckoned with. He would certainly not allow his sister to engage herself to a man, except with the consent of that man's family.
All the same, it was as well to avoid any embarrassing entanglements, if possible. It is easy to retrace your steps when you have only just started.
With this object in view, Murchison sought his friend on the Sunday preceding the day on which they were to present themselves at Rosemount.
"Jack, old man, I have been thinking——" he began.
Mr. Pomfret lifted a warning finger. "My dear friend and mentor, don't indulge in such violent processes. It's very bad for you."
"Don't be an ass, Jack. You are not really funny when you say that sort of thing. I've been thinking over this business to-morrow, and, frankly, I don't relish the prospect. We had better cut it out."
Pomfret's face took on an obstinate expression. "You are speaking for yourself, of course. For my part, I don't intend to break my appointment. In my opinion, it would be an awfully low-down thing to do. If you didn't want to go, you shouldn't have accepted."
It was evident the young man was not in a very reasonable frame of mind, equally evident he would require very careful handling.
"Now, Jack, don't get off the handles. You know you are an awfully impetuous chap, and that I have much the cooler head of the two. I have been thinking it all out the last day or two, and I don't like the look of it."
"You informed me just now that you had been thinking," replied Mr. Pomfret in the same sarcastic strain. "There is no need to dwell upon the fact. It is obvious."
But the elder man was not to be ruffled. If anything unpleasant came of this sudden acquaintance he would lay the blame on himself for having mentioned that little incident of the tea-shop, and inspired the mercurial Jack's love of the daring and adventurous.
"I don't know that I did accept, as a matter of fact, except by implication. I was about to return an evasive answer, leave it in the air, so to speak, when you cut in and jumped at the invitation for both."
This was true, and Mr. Pomfret's air lost a little of its jaunty confidence. "Well, if you think I lugged you in, get out of it yourself. Of course you will have to tell some beastly lie that they will see through at once. Anyway I am going, and that's flat."
"If you go, I shall go," said Hugh firmly. "But I would like you to listen to me for a few moments, and put things before you as they present themselves to me."
"Fire away, then," was Pomfret's answer, but it was delivered in a very ungracious tone.
"Of course we are both agreed about the brother," began Hugh mildly.
The other interrupted impatiently: "The brother be hanged. We are not going to the house for the brother's sake, but because of the sister. what's the use of blinking the fact? If you had met him in the tea-shop instead of her, I don't suppose you would have wasted a word on him, no more should I. But I don't see why that pretty girl should be ostracised because of him."
"I don't quite see, under the circumstances, how you can separate them," pursued the obstinate Hugh. "I should like to turn off, just for a moment to the sister, and consider her."
"Go ahead," said Mr. Pomfret in a somewhat sullen tone. He was keeping his impulsive and fiery nature under control, out of his great respect for his friend. But it was very doubtful if he would stand much criticism even from one so respected.
"I have not a word to say against her appearance or her manners. I will go further, and say there is not a girl in Blankfield, or for the matter of that in the 'county' itself, who gives the impression of a thorough gentlewoman more convincingly than she does." Pomfret's face brightened at these words. "Oh, then you admit that, and you have knocked about the world a few years longer than I have. I am of the same opinion, but if you say it, it must be so."
"I do say it unhesitatingly, but mind you, I am only judging from outside appearances. Now, how comes it that such a refined and ladylike girl as that should have such a bounder of a brother? There is a mystery there."
Jack Pomfret prepared to argue. "I don't quite agree that he is a bounder, he is not quite boisterous enough for that. Let us agree on a common definition—namely, that he is bad form. That fits him, I think."
"And the sister is very good form. You can't deny that there is a mystery."
But the young subaltern developed a quite surprising ingenuity in argument.
"She just simply calls him her brother," sharply, "but she has told you he is her halfbrother by a first marriage—father a gentleman, mother a common person, hence the bad form. A second time, the father married a woman of his own class, hence Norah Burton. Norah knows him for a good sort, if a bit rough, and sticks to him. That's a reasonable theory, anyway."
"More ingenious than reasonable perhaps," commented Murchison with an amused smile.
Pomfret went on, warming to his subject. "And, hang it all, if we speak of bounders—and mind you, I won't admit he is a bounder in the strict sense of the term—is there a family in England without them?"
"Quite the same sort, do you think?" was Hugh's question.
"Look here, I'm not going to be impertinent, and ask if you can point to any amongst your own connections, but I know something of my own family. I've got a cousin, good blood on both sides. He's been a bounder from the time he learned to talk, sets your teeth on edge; as some fellow said, every time he opens his mouth he puts his foot into it. By Gad, this fellow Burton is a polished gentleman to him. If George showed his nose in this regiment they would send him to Coventry in five minutes."
"As they did that chap last year," remarked Hugh, alluding to an offensive young man who had been compelled to send in his papers, owing to the fact that his general demeanour had not come up to the somewhat exalted standard of the gallant Twenty-fifth.
"Precisely," assented Pomfret. "But you were going to give me some views about the girl. Again I say, fire away."
"Well, to go back to that meeting in the tea-shop. It was, to say the least, a little unconventional for a young girl to invite an utter stranger to call upon her."
"You were not an utter stranger," retorted Jack doggedly. "She had heard who you were, perhaps from the tradespeople. She knew you were a gentleman, she knew your name, Captain Murchison. Hang it all, if you had met her in one of these dull Blankfield houses, and she had been introduced by a hostess about whom you both knew precious little, and asked you to call, being the mistress of her brother's house, you would have thought it quite the correct and proper thing. So would every man in the barracks. Don't people strike up acquaintances in hotels, and sometimes trains?"
"They generally find out something about each other before they pursue the acquaintance," suggested Murchison. "Look here, old man, you know as well as I do, you are arguing all round the point. It would be precious easy for the Burtons to say who and what they were, and furnish some proper credentials. If they did that, I daresay all Blankfield would call upon them, and swallow the brother for the sake of the very charming sister."
"Well, I'll pump her to-night, and get out all you want to know," retorted Mr. Pomfret confidently. "I don't go so far as to say they will be able to refer us to Burke or Debrett. Decent middle-class people, I expect."
It was useless to argue with such an optimist. "You've accounted for the brother, I remember, by your ingenious theory. Well, you've made up your mind to go then?"
"Most certainly I have. You do as you like, but while we are on the subject of good form, it is not a pretty thing to accept an invitation, and then excuse yourself at the eleventh hour by an obvious lie."
"Under ordinary circumstances, you would be quite right. It has not occurred to you that we were rather rushed into this dinner, then—that we were, so to speak, jumped at?"
"It might look like it at first blush," admitted Mr. Pomfret reluctantly. "But here are two poor devils, marooned, as it were, in this snobbish town, and they naturally jump at the first people who show them the slightest civility. They must simply be aching to exchange a word with their fellow-creatures. Well, I am going to exchange several with them, I promise you."
Hugh felt it was useless. When Pomfret got in these moods, it was waste of time to reason with him. He felt uneasy, however. He had promised his family to look after him, and he felt a certain responsibility. It was to be hoped the sudden infatuation for a pretty face would expire as quickly as it had been born.
Perhaps a closer association with the bounder brother would produce a chastening influence. But then Jack seemed bounder-proof. Had he not alluded to a well-born cousin, beside whom Burton shone as a polished gentleman?
Anyway, he must not desert his young and very impulsive friend. But it was with considerable reluctance that he accompanied him to Rosemount on the Monday night.
Eight o'clock was the hour appointed for dinner, this fact scoring in the Burtons' favour, as evincing a knowledge of the habits of good society. Even a few of the most select hostesses in Blankville, who ought to have known better, made a base compromise with half-past seven.
The two men arrived about five minutes before the time. The young hostess was awaiting them in the drawing-room, attired in some filmy creation that made her look very charming and ethereal. Soft lights from shaded lamps played about her, and lent a touch of perfection to the picture.
Mr. Burton was attired in the usual conventional evening dress of the English gentleman. One would have guessed him the sort of man who would wear a ready-made tie. Not at all. He had tied the bow himself, and with a masterly hand. Pomfret even, who was admitted to be the Beau Brummel of his regiment, could not have done it better.
It is generally supposed that a common man looks more common still when he dons evening attire. "George" was an exception to the rule. His black clothes became him, and lent him a certain air of dignity, which was wanting when he assumed everyday garments. Even Murchison, prejudiced as he was against him, was forced to admit to himself that the "bounder" for once looked quite respectable. Pomfret, ever leaning to the charitable side, felt quite enthusiastic over him, and contrasted him favourably with his own cousin, who could boast blue blood on both sides.
Norah Burton played the hostess as to the manner born, greeting the visitors with just the right degree of cordiality, quite free from the effusiveness of most of the Blankfield hostesses. And Burton, taking his cue from her, was hearty without boisterousness.
The young subaltern's heart warmed to her, she was so gracious, so sweet, and about her there hovered such an air of calm dignity. Rosemount, no doubt, was honoured by the introduction of such distinguished visitors, viewed merely from the social point of view, but she did not permit a suspicion of this to escape her. Rather, judging by her demeanour, the visitors were honoured by being admitted to Rosemount.
"Rather reminds me of a young queen entertaining her subjects," Pomfret remarked afterwards to his friend in a rather enthusiastic outburst. "I'm not speaking of the 'county' of course, but these Blankfield women make you feel they are overwhelmed with your condescension in coming to their houses, that they are hardly fit to sit at the same table with you."
The dinner was plain, but well cooked. The appointments were perfect, snowy napery, elegant glass and cutlery. One neat-handed maidservant waited, and waited well. Mr. Burton carved the dishes that were carvable, there was no pretence at an à la Russe banquet. Their small establishment could not cope with that, and they did not attempt it. There was a generous supply of wines: hock, burgundy and champagne.
And Mr. Burton, strangely subdued, was quite a good host, hospitable but not pressing. Murchison thought he must have been having some lessons from his sister, who seemed intuitively to do the right thing Still suspicious, he was sure that she had been steadily coaching him how to comport himself on this important night.
For, after all, it must be a feather in their caps, that after having been coldly cast aside by the élite of Blankfield, they had captured for their dining acquaintance two of the most popular officers of the exclusive Twenty-fifth.
And Murchison, ever on the watch for any little sign or symptom to confirm his suspicions, had to admit the pair were behaving perfectly. Not the slightest sign of elation at the small social triumph manifested itself in the demeanour of either. Dinner-parties like this might be a common occurrence for all they showed to the contrary.
The substantial portion of the meal was over. Dessert was brought in, with port, claret and sherry, all of the most excellent vintage. The house was a small one, and not over-staffed, but there was no evidence of lack of means. Perhaps the Burtons were wise people in not keeping up a great show, but spending the greater part of their income on their personal enjoyments.
While the men were still lingering over their dessert, Miss Burton rose.
"There are no ladies to support me, so I shall feel quite lonely by myself," she said in her pretty, softly modulated voice. "Shall we have coffee in the drawing-room? You men can smoke. It is quite Liberty Hall here. My brother smokes in every room of the house."
Murchison noted the subtle difference between the brother and sister. If Burton had given the invitation, he would certainly have said, "you gentlemen." The beautiful Norah would not make a mistake like that.
Five minutes afterwards, the three men trooped into the pretty drawing-room with its subdued, shaded lights. Norah was sitting at a small table, on which were set the coffee equipage with an assortment of liqueurs. Decidedly, the Burtons knew how to do things when they received guests.
The "bounder" brother, as Hugh always called him to himself, had drunk very heavily at dinner of every wine: hock, burgundy and champagne. But evidently he could carry a big quantity. It would take more than a small dinner-party like this to knock him over. When he entered the drawing-room his mien was as subdued as when he had first received his visitors.
They drank their coffee round the fair-sized octagonal table, and then they broke up. Miss Burton retired to a Chesterfield, whither Pom-fret followed her, as he was bound to do.
Burton bustled out of the room, and returned with a huge box of expensive cigars. He offered the box to Hugh, who took one with a deprecating look at the young hostess.
"We dare not, Miss Burton. Think of your curtains in the morning."
"Don't trouble, Captain Murchison," she said, with her charming smile. "The curtains have to take what comes in this house. George doesn't often sit in this room, but when he does he always smokes cigars. I told you this was Liberty Hall, you know."
The box was offered to Pomfret, who took one. "Do you smoke, Miss Burton?" he asked.
"Once in a blue moon. I think I will have one to-night, as a little treat. It is terribly tempting, when I see all you men smoking." The enamoured Pomfret fetched her a cigarette, hovered over her with a match, till it was properly lighted, and settled himself again on the Chesterfield. If that silly old Hugh didn't butt in, he was going to have a nice little chat with this charming girl, who had played the young hostess to such perfection.
But Hugh was safely out of the way. Burton had piloted him to a comfortable easy-chair at the extreme end of the drawing-room, and these two antipathetic persons were apparently engaged in an interesting conversation. Anyway, Murchison's laugh rang out frequently.
Pomfret, it must be confessed, was not very great at conversation. If the ball were opened, he could set it rolling, but he lacked initiative. He looked at Miss Burton with admiring eyes, but although he had got her comfortably to himself on that convenient Chesterfield, he could think of nothing to say to her.
And then a brilliant inspiration came to him. "I say, how gracefully you smoke." The young woman burst into a pleasant peal of quite spontaneous laughter. She always had a ready smile at command, but her laughter was generally a little forced. This time it was perfectly genuine.
"Oh, you are really comical," she cried. "How can any girl smoke a cigarette gracefully? In the first place, it is a most unfeminine thing to do. All people must smoke them in the same way, and there can never be anything graceful in the act."
"Women don't smoke them the same way," replied the young subaltern, with the air of a man who has observed and learned. "Most of them chew them, and hold them at arm's length, as if they were afraid of being bitten."
"It's because they don't like smoking, really, and only do it to be in the fashion. Now, when I am quite in the mood, I actually revel in a cigarette. I am in the mood to-night."
Pomfret leaned forward, with a tender expression on his rather homely, but good-humoured, countenance.
"That means that you feel happy to-night, eh?"
She nodded brightly. "Oh, ever so happy! It is seeing new faces, you know, after weeks of isolation," she added with a touch of almost girlish gaiety. "It seems such ages since we gave a dinner-party. And you and Captain Murchison are so nice. It seems almost like a family gathering."
"You like my friend Murchison, then? I am glad, because it is to him I owe the pleasure of your acquaintance."
"I think he is a dear, he seems so honest, straightforward, and so reliable." She spoke with apparent conviction. "Were you not dreadfully shocked when he told you, for of course he must have told you, how we got to know each other?"
"Not in the least," said Mr. Pomfret stoutly. "I explained to him that people can become acquainted, without being properly introduced in the conventional sort of way."
"Ah, then, he had some doubts himself?" flashed Miss Burton. "I expect he was a little shocked, if you were not."
"Not in the slightest, I assure you," replied Mr. Pomfret easily. He was not above telling a white lie upon occasions. He remembered too well the remarks that his friend had made upon the girl's unconventional behaviour, but he was not going to admit anything.
Miss Burton spoke softly, after a brief pause. "You and Captain Murchison are very great friends, are you not?"
"Awful pals," was the genuine response. "You see, he knows all my family. And when I joined the regiment, they deputed him to look after me. He has got a hard task," he added with a laugh.
"Oh, not so very hard really, I am sure of that." Norah's voice was very sweet, very caressing. "But you and your friend are of very different temperaments."
"In what way?"
She smiled. "Oh, in half a hundred ways. Captain Murchison is as true as steel, but also as hard as steel. You, now, are not in the least hard. You are very kind and compassionate, you think the best of everybody."
"Don't flatter me too much, please," interjected the bashful Pomfret.
"Oh, pardon me, I know just the kind of man you are." The sweet face was very close to his own, the beautiful, rather sad eyes were looking steadily into his. "You are a rich man, or you would not be in this expensive regiment. But, if you were a poor man, and you had only ten pounds in your pocket, you would lend an impecunious friend five of them, and not trouble whether he repaid you or not."
"I think you have fitted me, Miss Burton. My dear old chum Hugh is never tired of telling me I am an awful ass."
"You are both right, really," answered Miss Burton.
"You see, we look at life from two different standpoints."
"I fancy you come from two different classes?" queried the charming young woman.
Pomfret felt a little embarrassed. He did not want to give away his particular chum. But there were no doubt certain inherited commercial instincts in Hugh that sometimes offended the descendant of a more careless and aristocratic family.
"You see, Hugh has come from the trading class, originally. His ancestors, no doubt, were close-fisted people. Hugh is not close-fisted himself: he is, in a certain way, the soul of generosity, but sometimes the old Adam peeps out in little things."
He had a swift pang of remorse when he had said this. For he suddenly remembered Hugh's generous offer of the two hundred which Pomfret, by a very diplomatic letter, was going to cajole out of the octogenarian great-aunt.
"Believe me," added he fervently, "Hugh is one of the best. He is a little peculiar sometimes in small things. I ought not to have spoken as I have done. I am more than sorry if I have conveyed a wrong impression of him."
"But you have not," cried Norah Burton swiftly. "He would be hard in some things: I am sure—for instance—he would never forgive a really dishonourable action, even in the case of his best friend."
"No, I am sure he would not," assented Pomfret. "But I don't fancy he has been much tried that way. We don't get many 'rotters' amongst our lot."
"Noblesse oblige," quoted Miss Burton, lightly. Then she added more seriously: "And I am sure he is very kind-hearted and thoughtful. I was impressed with his reluctance to smoke because of the curtains. Of course, he did not remember that it did not matter in the least, as we never have callers."
She was getting on the theme of their social isolation, but Pomfret was sure that, unlike her brother, strangely subdued to-night from his usual boisterousness, she would handle the subject with her customary tact and good taste.
"Ah, of course, all that is very regrettable. It is not so much your loss, as the loss of Blankfield. I suppose you won't stay very long here."
For a moment there came a blazing light in the soft, beautiful eyes. "A few days ago, I advised my brother to pack up and clear out. The snobbish plutocracy of Blankfield had beaten us, made up of retired shopkeepers and merchants. To-night, with you and Captain Murchison as our guests, I think we have beaten Blankfield with its fat mothers and plain daughters."
She looked superb, as she drew her slender form up to its full height, the glow of indignant triumph blazing on her cheek. At the moment she was extremely beautiful. If Pomfret had been attracted before, he was infatuated now.
"I will help you to beat the Blankfield people, for whom I don't care a row of pins. I will come, whenever you want me."
"And your friend Captain Murchison, will he come, too?"
Pomfret smiled whimsically. "Oh yes, he will come, if I make a point of it. Old Hugh thinks he leads me, but I really lead him." She leaned forward eagerly. "Can you bring some of your brother officers, Mr. Pomfret? Please don't think I am bold and forward and presumptuous. But I do long to be even with these Blankfield people. I would love to make a little sort of salon of my own. I know it is useless to expect the women at present, but they might come in time. Mind you, I don't want them."
"I will try," said Pomfret slowly. "I think I may say that Hugh and I are the two most popular men in the regiment; I say it without vanity. And I don't suppose we care a snap of the fingers about the Blankfield people. Still, I don't want to raise hopes that may never be fulfilled. I can only say, I will try." There was a pause. Then she spoke, and there was a far-away look in her eyes. "You hesitate, I see. Oh, I quite believe you when you say you will try. But there is some stumbling-block in the way, isn't there?" Pomfret had perforce to dissemble. "There is no stumbling-block that I know of, except running the risk of offending Blankfield. That is not a great one, as we shall be out of here in about two months."
She leaned closer to him, and her voice sank to a whisper. "There is a stumbling-block, I know. You are too kind and generous to state what it is, you could not, as to-night he is your host. It is my brother."
And then poor, infatuated Pomfret sought no further refuge in subterfuge. He blurted out the truth. "Some of our chaps wouldn't stand him, you know," he said simply.
There was a little convulsive movement of the delicate hands. "And he is such a dear good fellow at heart, wanting I know in the little delicacies that mark a real gentleman. You see a great difference between us, don't you?"
"A very distinct difference," assented Pomfret.
"I will explain it to you in a few words. My father was a harum-scarum sort of person, as I told you last time you were here, hard-riding and hard-drinking. When he was a boy of twenty-five he married a woman out of his own class, a shop-girl or a barmaid, I am not quite sure which. George is many years older than myself, as I told you he is really my halfbrother. The first wife died, my father married again, this time a lady. I am the daughter of the second marriage. Now, I think you understand."
Pomfret was delighted at this avowal, it proved his own prescience.
"I am so glad you told me, but as it happens, it was just what I guessed."
Miss Burton looked at him with admiring eyes. "You are really very clever, you know. Well, I will not exactly say this is a secret, but you will whisper it about discreetly. You need not be quite so frank as I have been about details, but you can hint at a mésalliance. I hate to have to tell you so much, for my brother has been so good to me."
"Ah!" Mr. Pomfret's air plainly showed that he was eager for further information.
And Miss Burton was quite willing to gratify him. The young man was a pleasant, comfortable sort of person to talk to. He was an admirable listener, and never broke in with unnecessary, or irritating interruptions.
"When my father died he left little behind him but debts; my mother had preceded him some ten years. Poor George had gone into a stockbroker's office, through the good offices of a distant connection. His salary was very small, but he made a home for me. He would not hear of my earning my own living."
"That could not have been very long ago," remarked Pomfret, "because you are not very old now."
"No, it was not long," answered the girl, not committing herself to any definite dates. "Well, we had a very hard time, as you can imagine. Then suddenly our luck changed. An uncle of George's on his mother's side had gone out to Australia as a boy, and amassed, we won't say a fortune from your point of view, but what we should look upon as wealth. He had never married, and when he died, a will was found in which he left all he was possessed of to his sister's children. George was the only child, so he took it all."
"So he threw up business and went in for a country life."
"Well, he has thrown it up for a time. I am not quite certain he will not get tired of inactivity, and go back to it. Now that he has capital, it would be easy for him to embark in something that would keep him occupied, and pay him well."
"Not a sportsman, I suppose, he doesn't care for hunting or shooting? The country is slow for a man if he doesn't do something in that line."
The pretty girl smiled; there was a faint touch of humour in the smile. "Oh, he's not rich enough to indulge in luxuries of that sort. Besides," she added hastily, "he has such wretched sight, he would be no good at sport."
Pomfret thought it had been a very pleasant, enlightening conversation. Norah seemed to have been perfectly frank about their past and their present position. She did not pretend to be anything but what she was, the daughter of a spendthrift father, living on what was practically the charity of a good-hearted brother. And that brother was indebted for his good fortune to a relative who must have been a man of the people.
While the two young people were having this confidential chat, Mr. Burton was making himself agreeable to the other guest, in his doubtless well-meant, but somewhat undiplomatic, fashion.
"I do envy you young fellows when I see you walking about as if the world belonged to you."
Hugh drew himself up stiffly. "I was not in the least aware that any one of us conveyed that impression."
"No offence meant, I assure you." Hugh's tone showed him that he had been guilty of bad taste: a blessing Norah had not heard—she would have given him a bad quarter of an hour later on. "But all army men, I think, get a certain kind of swagger. Oh, nothing overbearing or unpleasant about it, of course. They are made so much of that there is no wonder if they do fancy themselves a bit. I'm sure I should if I were one of them."
Murchison made no comment on this frank statement, and the other man rambled on in desultory fashion.
"It's the life I wanted. As a boy I longed to grow up quickly and go into the army. There was a fair chance of it then, when the old man had still got a bit of money left. But by the time I was old enough the idea had to be knocked on the head. I had to go into a dingy stockbroking office instead."
Hugh pricked up his ears at the announcement. He had not suspected that the man would be so communicative about his past. Of course he had gone as a clerk. If his father was not well-off enough to put him in the army neither could he have afforded to buy him a share in a business.
"Yes," pursued Mr. Burton, "it was an awful come down after the dreams I had indulged in."
"It must have been a very bitter disappointment," assented Hugh politely, in spite of his firm conviction that the army was the very last profession in the world suited to a man of his host's obvious peculiarities.
"I should have been awfully keen on soldiering," pursued Mr. Burton, under the impression that he had discovered a sympathetic listener. "Don't you consider it a splendid life?"
"There are many things in its favour, certainly," was the rather frigid reply.