“You mean Lord Drapier?” she asked.
“Yes—Drapier. That gave me money to finish off and begin in town. Oh, and I had got a first in my schools. I knew very little about anything except metaphysics, and I never went to tutors. I suppose I knew a good deal more than the examiners in my own subject, and anyhow they felt obliged to give me my first after some grumbling. Then I came up to town with just sixty pounds in my pocket, but I had had the education of a gentleman.”
Maitland looked out of the window, and the sight of the mist-clad hills recalled him to himself. He wondered why he was telling the girl this story, and he stopped suddenly.
“And what did you do in town?” she asked, with interest.
“I hung round and kept my eyes open. I nearly starved, for I put half my capital on a horse which I thought was safe, and lost it. By-and-by, quite by accident, I came across a curious fellow—Ransome; you probably have heard his name. I met him in some stables where he was buying a mare, and he took a fancy to me. He made me his secretary, and then, because I liked hard work, he let me see his business. It was enormous, for the man was a genius after a fashion; and I slaved away in his office and down at the docks for about three years. He paid me just enough to keep body and soul together and cover them with clothes; but I didn’t grumble, for I had a sort of idea that I was on my probation. And then my apprenticeship came to an end.”
“Yes,” said the girl.
“Yes; for you see Ransome was an odd character. He had a sort of genius for finance, and within his limits he was even a great administrator. But in everything else he was as simple as a child. His soul was idyllic: he loved green fields and Herrick and sheep. So it had always been his fancy to back out some day and retire with his huge fortune to some country place and live as he pleased. It seemed that he had been training me from the first day I went into the business, and now he cut the rope and left the whole enormous concern in my hands. I needed every atom of my wits, and the first years were a hard struggle. I became of course very rich; but I had to do more, I had to keep the thing at its old level. I had no natural turn for the work, and I had to acquire capacity by sheer grind. However, I managed it, and then, when I felt my position sure, I indulged myself with a hobby and went into politics.”
“You call it a hobby?”
“Certainly. The ordinary political career is simply a form of trifling. There’s no trade on earth where a man has to fear so few able competitors. Of course it’s very public and honourable and that sort of thing, and I like it; but sometimes it wearies me to death.”
The girl was looking at him with curious interest. “Do you always get what you want?” she asked.
“Never,” he said.
“Then is your success all disappointment?”
“Oh, I generally get a bit of my ambitions, which is all one can hope for in this world.”
“I suppose your ambitions are not idyllic, like Mr. Ransome’s?”
He laughed. “No, I suppose not. I never could stand your Corot meadows and ivied cottages and village church bells. But I am at home in this glen, or used to be.”
“You said that last night, and I thought it was affectation,” said the girl; “but perhaps you are right. I’m not at home in this scenery, at any rate in this weather. Ugh, look at that mist driving and that spur of Stob Ghabhar! I really must go and sit by the fire.”
