“I am sorry,” bowed his Grace, and turned to my lord, who, with his arm about Diana’s waist, was watching him arrogantly.
“I see how the land lies,” he remarked. “I congratulate you, John. I cannot help wishing that I had finished you that day in the road. Permit me to say that you fence rather creditably.”
My lord bowed stiffly.
“Of course,” continued his Grace smoothly, “you also wish you had disposed of me. I sympathise. But, however much you may inwardly despise and loathe me, you cannot show it—unless you choose to make yourself and me the talk of town—not forgetting Mistress Diana. Also I abhor bad tragedy. So I trust you will remain here tonight as my guest—er, Andrew, pray do not omit to order bedchambers to be prepared—Afterwards you need never come near me again—in fact, I hope that you will not.”
My lord could not entirely repress a smile.
“I thank your Grace for your hospitality, which I fear,” he glanced down at Diana’s tired face, “I shall be compelled to accept. As to the rest—I agree. Like you, I dislike bad tragedy.”
Diana gave a tiny laugh.
“You are all so stiff!” she said “I shall go to bed!”
“I will take you to the stairs then,” said Jack promptly, and led her forward.
She stopped as they were about to pass his Grace, and faced him.
Tracy bowed very low.
“Good night, madam. Carstares will know which room I had assigned to you. You will find a servant there.”
“Thank you,” she said steadily. “I shall try to forget the happenings of this day, your Grace. I see the truth in what you say—we cannot afford to let the world see that we are at enmity, lest it should talk. And, I confess it freely, I find it less hard to forgive you the insults of—of today, since they brought—Jack—to me. An I had not been in such dire straits, I might never have seen him again.”
“In fact,” bowed his Grace, “everything has been for the best!”
“I would not say that, sir,” she replied, and went out.
For a moment there was silence in the room. No one quite knew what to say. As usual, it was Tracy who came to the rescue, breaking an uncomfortable pause.
“I suggest that we adjourn to the dining-room,” he said. “I gather we may have to wait some time before his lordship reappears. O’Hara, after you!”
“One moment,” replied Miles. “Jack’s mare is in a shed somewhere. I said I would see to her.”
“Andrew!” called his Grace. “When you have finished superintending the laying of the supper, give orders concerning Carstares’ mare!”
A casual assent came from outside, and immediately afterwards Lord Andrew’s voice was heard shouting instructions to someone, evidently some way off.
On the whole, the supper-party passed off quite smoothly. His Grace was smilingly urbane, Andrew boisterous and amusing, and O’Hara bent on keeping the conversation up. Richard sat rather silent, but my lord, already deliriously happy, soon let fall his armour and joined in the talk, anxious to hear all the news of town for the last six years.
O’Hara was several times hard put to it to keep from laughing out loud at his thoughts. The humour of the situation struck him forcibly. After fighting as grimly as these men fought, and after all that had transpired, that they should both sit down to supper as they were doing, appealed to him strongly. He had quite thought that my lord would incline to tragedy and refuse to stay an instant longer in the Duke’s house.
It was not until midnight, when everyone else had gone to bed, that the brothers came face to face, alone. The dining-room was very quiet now, and the table bore a dissipated look with the remains of supper left on it. My lord stood absently playing with the long-handled punch spoon, idly stirring the golden dregs at the bottom of the bowl. The candles shed their light full on his face, and Richard, standing opposite in the shadow, had ample opportunity of studying it.
It seemed to him that he could not look long enough. Unconsciously his eyes devoured every detail of the loved countenance and watched each movement of the slender hand. He found John subtly changed, but quite how he could not define. He had not aged much, and he was still the same laughter-loving Jack of the old days, with just that intangible difference. O’Hara had felt it, too: a slight impenetrability, a reserve.
It was my lord who broke the uncomfortable silence. As if he felt the other’s eyes upon him, he looked up with his appealing, whimsical smile.
“Devil take it, Dick, we’re as shy as two schoolboys!”
Richard did not smile, and his brother came round the table to his side.
“There’s nought to be said betwixt us two, Dick. ’Twould be so damned unnecessary. After all—we always shared in one another’s scrapes!”
He stood a moment with his hand on Richard’s shoulder; then Richard turned to him “What you must think of me!” he burst out. “My God, when I realise—”
“I know. Believe me, Dick, I know just what you must have felt. But pray forget it! It’s over now, and buried.”
There was another long silence. Lord John withdrew his hand at last, and perched on the edge of the table, smiling across at Richard.
“I’d well-nigh forgot that you were a middle-aged papa! A son?”
“Ay—John—after you.”
“I protest I am flattered. Lord, to think of you with a boy of your own!” He laughed, twirling his eyeglass.
At last Richard smiled.
“To think of you an uncle!” he retorted, and suddenly all vestige of stiffness had fled.
Next morning Richard went on to Wyncham, and Diana, Jack and O’Hara travelled back to Sussex. Jack would not go home yet. He protested that he was going to be married first, and would then bring home his Countess. But he had several instructions to give his brother concerning the preparation of his house. The last thing he
