Whither Thou Goest. Le Queux William

who did not appeal greatly to his more robust father.

      “Well, Guy, my dear boy, delighted to see you. Have you brought us any news?”

      Mary shot a warning glance at her father. Lord Saxham was always preaching reticence to other people, but he never observed it himself. If Guy had been just a little more subtle than he was, he would have smelt a rat at once.

      Guy spoke in his frank, almost boyish voice.

      “Splendid news, sir, but so good that I want to keep it to myself for a little bit. Shall we say till after dinner, when the servants have gone, and we are quite by ourselves.”

      “By all means.” It was Mary’s sweet, gentle voice that answered. “I am sure I should like to keep very good news to myself for a time; hug it as it were. After dinner, Guy!”

      Later on, they went into the dining-room. The meal was a somewhat tedious and long repast. Lord Saxham, who was a bit of a gourmet, liked to take a small portion of several dishes. Guy was a hearty trencherman.

      Poor Lady Mary, whose thoughts inclined towards a convent, would have been satisfied with a cup of tea and a slice of bread and butter, but she had to preside over these prolonged meals.

      When the ponderous banquet – no lesser word could describe it – had drawn to a close, the footman withdrew. It was a family party, the two men sat round the table and smoked. Lady Mary waited to hear the great news. And then Guy unburthened himself.

      “The biggest stroke of luck in the world, sir. After fooling about in the Foreign Office for all these years, Greatorex sent for me to go into his private room. A very short interview: Greatorex doesn’t waste words. I am to go to the Embassy at Madrid.”

      Lady Mary preserved her sweet calm. The Earl did not move an eyelid. He lifted his glass of port.

      “Success to you, my boy. You have got a chance now. And I am sure you will make good.”

      The young man drained his glass also.

      “Yes, I think I shall make good. What I just wanted was a chance.”

      Mary shot a warning glance at her father. It was just on the cards that he might have blurted out something that would have hurt his son’s pride, led him to understand that it was his father’s secret influence that had got him this post.

      But, fortunately, at this stage the Earl’s mental faculties were not very acute. He was already beginning to nod over his port.

      A few moments later, Lord Saxham’s somnolent faculties became more fully developed. Mary pointed to the terrace which was approached by the dining-room windows. She leaned across the table and whispered.

      “Shall we take a stroll? I would like to talk all this over with you.”

      Guy nodded and rose. They went noiselessly to the terrace, and sat down on one of the numerous seats, overlooking the lovely gardens beneath.

      Mary opened the conversation at once.

      “Is this – this good news – going to make any difference to you, Guy?”

      There was just a note of anxiety in her voice.

      Guy looked at her squarely.

      “What do you mean, Mary? Difference in what way?”

      “Difference between you and Isobel?” answered Mary, in a voice that shook a little. “You love each other so dearly. I would hate to think that anything could come between you.”

      Guy laughed his hearty, boyish laugh.

      “Dear old girl, you know I have always told the truth to you. I would sooner go to the devil with Isobel Clandon, than to heaven with some delightful bride that our dear old dad had chosen for me. As soon as I am on my feet, Isobel will be my wife.”

      Mary patted his hand affectionately.

      “I am so delighted to hear you say that. But one never quite knows men. There is father, in a way sentimental, but on certain things he can be as hard as granite.”

      Guy Rossett frowned.

      “Oh, I know. He hates the idea of my marrying Isobel. I suppose when I do he will forbid me the house, and cut me off with a shilling, eh?”

      Mary looked at him, with a soft gleam in her kind, beautiful eyes.

      “Oh, no, he will not do that. And if he wanted to, I should not let him. You know, I have more influence over him than anybody.”

      “Except, perhaps, Ticehurst?” suggested Guy, in a tone that was not quite free from bitterness. He was not over-fond of his elder brother.

      Mary shook her head.

      She was fond of both her brothers, but she was not oblivious of Ticehurst’s faults.

      “Don’t worry about that, dear old boy. Eric has no influence over him at all. And when the dreadful deed is done, and Isobel is your wife, dear old dad will rage and fume, and all that. But he will come round in the end, and finish by loving Isobel as much as he does me. Don’t worry. Go on with it.”

      Guy kissed her.

      “By Jove, you are a pal, Mary. Then I can count on you to back me up.”

      “Of course,” was Mary’s confident reply.

      There was silence between them for a little while, while Guy puffed at his cigarette, and his sister was cogitating as to her next method of attack. Brought up in a household of three men, she knew it was somewhat difficult to storm the masculine citadel.

      Presently she spoke.

      “And what about finance, Guy? Are things easy there?”

      The boyish look disappeared from the young man’s face. Her question had seemed to disturb his equanimity. He was quite frank.

      “That’s the devil of it, Mary. You know my old friend Jackson?”

      Mary gave a little sigh. Yes, she had heard of Jackson from both brothers. He was a high-class moneylender, who accommodated young men of good family.

      “Yes, I know all about Jackson. How much do you owe him?”

      Her brother reflected.

      “Something between five and six hundred,” he said, after a pause.

      Mary spoke decidedly.

      “You must clear that off before you go to Spain – you must have a clean sheet.”

      She reflected also, before she spoke again.

      “I can let you have two hundred and fifty out of what I have saved.”

      Guy interrupted.

      “You sweet little soul, you never spend anything except in charities.”

      “I know,” answered his sister quietly. “Anyway, there is my two hundred and fifty, and I must coax the rest out of dad. You must go to Spain with a clean sheet. That is absolutely essential.”

      Guy answered with his boyish laugh and with his boyish exuberance.

      “It is too awfully dear and kind of you, and you can guess how I appreciate it. But I am not going to let my sister waste her money on two graceless scamps like Ticehurst and myself. And I don’t sponge on my father, either.”

      Mary protested gently.

      “Oh, Guy, how unjust of both yourself and Eric. You know that is not my opinion of either of you.” Guy took her slender hand in his own.

      “You dear old girl, you are only just a little bit lower than the angels; you have always had wings growing since you were a wee toddler. But I am going to see this thing through on my own. Jackson is an old scoundrel of course, but he never presses one very hard. I shall square him all right.”

      Mary said no more on the subject. Both her brothers inherited the paternal obstinacy. When they had once made up their minds, nothing could move them.

      But she sighed a little. It would have been so much better if Guy could have got rid of this odious moneylender, and have landed