“Oh yes, yes. Of course, I’ve not forgotten. Thank you so much, Lord Mountry.”
“Rather a good scheme occurred to me, that is, if you haven’t thought over the idea of that trip on my yacht and decided it would bore you to death. You still feel like making one of the party—what?”
Mrs. Ford shot a swift glance at the clock.
“I’m looking forward to it,” she said.
“Well, then, why shouldn’t we kill two birds with one stone? Combine the voyage and the portrait, don’t you know. You could bring your little boy along—he’d love the trip—and I’d bring Stanborough—what?”
This offer was not the outcome of a sudden spasm of warmheartedness on his lordship’s part. He had pondered the matter deeply, and had come to the conclusion that, though it had flaws, it was the best plan. He was alive to the fact that a small boy was not an absolute essential to the success of a yachting trip, and, since seeing Ogden’s portrait, he had realized still more clearly that the scheme had drawbacks. But he badly wanted Stanborough to make one of the party. Whatever Ogden might be, there was no doubt that Billy Stanborough, that fellow of infinite jest, was the ideal companion for a voyage. It would make just all the difference having him. The trouble was that Stanborough flatly refused to take an indefinite holiday, on the plea that he could not afford the time. Upon which his lordship, seldom blessed with great ideas, had surprised himself by producing the scheme he had just sketched out to Mrs. Ford.
He looked at her expectantly, as he finished speaking, and was surprised to see a swift cloud of distress pass over her face. He rapidly reviewed his last speech. No, nothing to upset anyone in that. He was puzzled.
She looked past him at the portrait. There was pain in her eyes.
“I’m afraid you don’t quite understand the position of affairs,” she said. Her voice was harsh and strained.
“Eh?”
“You see—I have not—” She stopped. “My little boy is not—Ogden is not living with me just now.”
“At school, eh?”
“No, not at school. Let me tell you the whole position. Mr. Ford and I did not get on very well together, and a year ago we were divorced in Washington, on the ground of incompatibility, and—and—”
She choked. His lordship, a young man with a shrinking horror of the deeper emotions, whether exhibited in woman or man, writhed silently. That was the worst of these Americans! Always getting divorced and causing unpleasantness. How was a fellow to know? Why hadn’t whoever it was who first introduced them—he couldn’t remember who the dickens it was—told him about this? He had supposed she was just the ordinary American woman doing Europe with an affectionate dollar-dispensing husband in the background somewhere.
“Er—” he said. It was all he could find to say.
“And—and the court,” said Mrs. Ford, between her teeth, “gave him the custody of Ogden.”
Lord Mountry, pink with embarrassment, gurgled sympathetically.
“Since then I have not seen Ogden. That was why I was interested when you mentioned your friend Mr. Stanborough. It struck me that Mr. Ford could hardly object to my having a portrait of my son painted at my own expense. Nor do I suppose that he will, when—if the matter is put to him. But, well, you see it would be premature to make any arrangements at present for having the picture painted on our yacht trip.”
“I’m afraid it knocks that scheme on the head,” said Lord Mountry mournfully.
“Not necessarily.”
“Eh?”
“I don’t want to make plans yet, but—it is possible that Ogden may be with us after all. Something may be—arranged.”
“You think you may be able to bring him along on the yacht after all?”
“I am hoping so.”
Lord Mountry, however willing to emit sympathetic gurgles, was too plain and straightforward a young man to approve of wilful blindness to obvious facts.
“I don’t see how you are going to override the decision of the court. It holds good in England, I suppose?”
“I am hoping something may be—arranged.”
“Oh, same here, same here. Certainly.” Having done his duty by not allowing plain facts to be ignored, his lordship was ready to become sympathetic again. “By the way, where is Ogden?”
“He is down at Mr. Ford’s house in the country. But—”
She was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone bell. She was out of her seat and across the room at the receiver with what appeared to Lord Mountry’s startled gaze one bound. As she put the instrument to her ear a wave of joy swept over her face. She gave a little cry of delight and excitement.
“Send them right up at once,” she said, and turned to Lord Mountry transformed.
“Lord Mountry,” she said quickly, “please don’t think me impossibly rude if I turn you out. Some—some people are coming to see me. I must—”
His lordship rose hurriedly.
“Of course. Of course. Certainly. Where did I put my—ah, here.” He seized his hat, and by way of economizing effort, knocked his stick on to the floor with the same movement. Mrs. Ford watched his bendings and gropings with growing impatience, till finally he rose, a little flushed but with a full hand—stick, gloves, and hat, all present and correct.
“Goodbye, then, Mrs. Ford, for the present. You’ll let me know if your little boy will be able to make one of our party on the yacht?”
“Yes, yes. Thank you ever so much. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.”
He reached the door and opened it.
“By Jove,” he said, springing round—“Stanborough! What about Stanborough? Shall I tell him to wait? He’s down below, you know!”
“Yes, yes. Tell Mr. Stanborough I’m dreadfully sorry to have to keep him waiting, and ask him if he won’t stay for a few minutes in the Palm Room.”
Inspiration came to Lord Mountry.
“I’ll give him a drink,” he said.
“Yes, yes, anything. Lord Mountry, you really must go. I know I’m rude. I don’t know what I’m saying. But—my boy is returning to me.”
The
