“Miles—in my place—would you not have done the same?”
“Well—”
“You know you would. Was it likely that I should inflict myself on you at such a time? What would you have thought of me had I done so?”
O’Hara brought his hand down smartly on the other’s knee.
“I’d have thought ye less of a young fool! I would have gone away with ye, and nothing would have stopped me!”
Jack looked up and met his eyes.
“I know,” he said. “ ’Twas the thought of that—and—and—I could not be sure. How should I know whether you would even receive me? Last night—last night—I was horribly afraid. …”
The hand on his knee tightened.
“Ye foolish boy! Ye foolish boy!”
Bit by bit he drew the story of the past six years out of Carstares, and though it was a very modified version, Miles understood his friend well enough to read between the lines.
“And now,” said Jack, when the recital was over, “tell me about yourself. When did you marry the attractive lady whom I have just been kissing?”
“Ye rogue! I married Molly three years ago. ’Tis a real darling she is, isn’t she? And upstairs there’s a little chap—your godson.”
“You lucky fellow! My godson, you say? Could you not find anyone more worthy for that? I want to see him.”
“So ye shall presently. Have ye seen Richard?”
“A year ago I held up his coach. ’Twas dark, and I could scarce see him, but I thought he seemed aged.”
“Aged! Ye wouldn’t be afther knowing him! ’Tis an old man he is. Though I swear ’tis no wonder with that hussy about the house! Lord, Jack, you were well out of that affair with her ladyship!”
Carstares nursed his foot reflectively.
“Lavinia? What ails her?”
“Nought that I know of, save it be her shrewish temper. ’Tis a dog’s life she leads poor Dick.”
“Do you mean to say she does not love Dick?”
“I cannot say—sometimes she’s as affectionate as you please, but at others she treats him to a fine exhibition of rage. And the money she spends! Of course, she married him for what she could get. There was never anything else to count with her.”
Jack sat very still.
“And anyone but a young fool like yourself would have seen that!”
A gleam of amusement shot into the wistful blue eyes.
“Probably. Yourself, for instance?”
O’Hara chuckled.
“Oh, ay, I knew! ’Twas the money she was after all along; and now there’s not so much, it seems, as Dick won’t touch a penny that belongs to you.”
“M’m. Warburton told me. Foolish of him.”
A grunt was the sole response.
Jack’s eyes narrowed a little as he gazed out of the window. “So Lavinia never cared? Lord, what a mix-up! And Dick?”
“I’m afraid he still does.”
“Poor old Dick! Devil take the woman! Does she bully him? I know what he is—always ready to give in.”
“I am not so sure. Yet I’ll swear if ’twere not for John his life would be a misery. He misses you, Jack.”
“Who is John?”
“Did not Warburton tell you? John is the hope of the house. He’s four and a half, and as spoilt a little rascal as you could wish for.”
“Dick’s child? Good Lord!”
“Ay, Dick’s child and your nephew.” He broke off and looked into the other’s face. “Jack, cannot this mystery be cleared up? Couldn’t ye go back?” He was clasping Jack’s hand, but it was withdrawn, and the eyes looking down into his were suddenly bored and a little cold.
“I know of no mystery,” said Carstares.
“Jack, old man, will ye be afther shutting me out of your confidence?”
A faint, sweet smile curved the fine lips.
“Let us talk of the weather, Miles, or my mare. Anything rather than this painful subject.”
With an impatient movement O’Hara flung back his chair and strode over to the window with his back to my lord. Jack’s eyes followed him seriously.
“If ye cannot trust me, sure I’ve no more to say, thin!” flashed O’Hara. “It seems ye do not value your friends too highly!”
My lord said never a word. But the hand that rested on the desk clenched suddenly. O’Hara wheeled about and came back to his side.
“Sure, Jack, I never meant that! Forgive me bad temper!”
Carstares slipped off the table and straightened himself, linking his arm in the Irishman’s.
“Whisht, Miles, as you’d say yourself,” he laughed, “I know that. ’Tis not that I don’t trust you, but—”
“I understand. I’ll not ask ye any more about it at all. Instead, answer me this: what made ye come out with unloaded pistols?”
The laugh died out of Carstares’ face.
“Oh, just carelessness!” he answered shortly, and he thought of the absent Jim with a tightening of the lips.
“ ’Twas that very same reason with meself thin!” Jack stared at him.
“Miles, don’t tell me yours were unloaded, too?”
“ ’Deed an’ they were! Ecod, Jack! ’tis the best joke I’ve heard for a twelvemonth.” They both started to laugh. “Sure ’twas bluff on my part, Jack, when I told ye yours was unloaded. And me lady was determined to set you free from the moment I told her all about it this morning. We were sure ye were no ordinary highwayman, though I was a fool not to have known ye right away. But now I have found ye out, ye’ll stay with us—Cousin Harry?”
“I cannot thank you enough, Miles, but I will not do that. I must get back to Jim.”
“And who the devil is Jim?”
“My servant. He’ll be worried nigh to death over me. Nay, do not press me, I could not stay here, Miles. You must see for yourself ’tis impossible—Jack Carstares does not exist; only Anthony Ferndale is left.”
“Jack, dear man, can I not—”
“No, Miles, you can do nothing, though ’tis like you to want to help, and I do thank you. But—oh well! … What about my mare?”
“Plague take me if I’d not forgotten! Jack, that scoundrel of mine let her strain her fetlock. I’m demmed sorry.”
“Poor Jenny! I’ll swear she gave him an exciting ride, though.”
“I’ll be trying to buy
