Till the Clock Stops Part 47

"To J. Caw from A. Guidet.

To Be Faithful Is The Best Thing We Can Do."

"Ay," he murmured ruefully, "but I've made a pretty poor show of it."

At the same hour, in the doctor's study, Marjorie and Alan were awaiting--without any visible impatience--the return of the others for tea. Lancaster and Teddy were still Alan's guests, but Doris was now Marjorie's. On the day following the stoppage of the clock, Mrs.

Lancaster, finding it imperative that she should fulfil certain most important social engagements, had returned to London. She left Grey House in ignorance of all that had happened beyond the bare details of the division of the diamonds. Of Bullard's end she did not hear till a week later, and the particulars of his death were as vague as many of the particulars of the man's life. The "accident" had remained undiscovered for a couple of days, and the tides of the Firth had removed much. Mrs.

Lancaster had departed with sullen, smouldering eyes. She honestly considered her daughter thankless and undutiful, because the latter had not promised her a share of the diamonds on the spot.

It was of her that Alan and Marjorie had been talking for the past five minutes.

"I wouldn't be too pessimistic, Alan, if I were you," the girl was saying. "Mrs. Lancaster, given her own way and plenty of money, may be quite bearable, if not charming, to live with, and Doris is evidently bent on supplying the money--"

"For her father's sake. Doris will never forgive her mother, and I don't see why she should."

Marjorie smiled. "Let's wait and see. What will the Lancasters' income be from Doris's gift?"

"If Doris spends a hundred thousand on a joint annuity, as she threatens to do, they will have about 8,000 a year."

"Goodness! what a lot to have to spend in twelve months!"

"And, of course, Lancaster, though he will have retired from business, will have quite a decent income of his own when the mines come round again."

"Well, I prophesy that they will both be fairly happy. Mrs. Lancaster ought to be able to make a pretty good display in what she calls Society. Now and then Mr. Lancaster will have a s.h.i.+lling left to spend on a nice book for his library, poor dear; and, with no business worries, he will probably begin to admire his wife once more as well as love her, which he has always done; and when he gets a surfeit of her friends, as I fear he will now and then, he will just take a little holiday and pay you a visit--"

"Us, please!"

"I wonder," said Miss Handyside, becoming extremely grave, "I wonder whether we ought to marry, after all."

"What?"

"We're both of us far, far too rich. You know I have always despised very rich people."

"I'm sure I'll lose my bit in no time," said Alan, hopefully.

"On the other hand, I have never admired foolish people."

"I never said you were conceited, did I?" he retorted.

"You wouldn't have said a thing like that twenty-four hours ago, Mr. Craig!"

"Twenty-four hours ago I would not have interrupted you for the world."

"What do you mean?"

"Look at the clock! Twenty-four hours ago, in that dark pa.s.sage, you were whispering--"

"I wasn't!" cried Marjorie, blus.h.i.+ng adorably. "Hold your tongue and talk about something sensible."

"Right! Do you think you could be ready to marry me next month?"

When a minute or two had pa.s.sed, she said: "We're a pair of horrid, selfish things!"

"How so?"

"We're so wrapped up in happiness--at least, you are--that we have no thought for poor Doris, and poor, _poor_ Teddy. Oh, what is to be done about them? ... Why don't you answer?"

"Because it's a problem, dear girl. We know it's simply want of money that's holding Teddy back, but even a fellow with plenty can't say to his friend: 'Look here, old c.o.c.k, take this cheque and run away and get engaged!'"

"Certainly not! There's no need to be indelicate. Couldn't you put the cheque in his stocking at Christmas--or something?"

"While I am doubtful as to whether Teddy hangs up his sock, I know he's too sensitive and proud to accept a money gift, however delicately offered. As a matter of fact, Marjorie, I've tried--wanted him to take a quarter of the diamonds as a sort of souvenir, you know--"

"You dear, kind, generous man!" exclaimed Marjorie....

Order being restored--

"My only hope," he went on, "is that Teddy will, somehow, lose his head and take the plunge, and _then_ it would be a wedding present. One can't reject a wedding present, can one?"

"No--though every one of my sisters has fervently wished one could. And I could give him a wedding present, too!"

"We!"

"No, big!"

They both laughed, then sighed, and with one accord said--

"But he'll never do it!"

Dusk was falling on the loch. The figures of Lancaster and Handyside walking in front were becoming invisible.

"But why," asked Doris, "are you going back to London? I thought you had decided to spend the winter at Grey House and help Alan with his book about the Eskimos."

"I'm afraid it's a blue lookout for the Eskimos. You see, Alan hopes Marjorie will agree to marry him in January. The stopping of the clock has altered a good many things," he finished, rather drearily.

"It seems to have altered you, Teddy," she said shyly.

He did not respond, and there was another of the long pauses which had been frequent during the walk.

"Father and I must be going, too, before long," she said at last.

"Your father is looking a new man, Doris," he returned, with an effort.

"Thanks to you.... Oh, I know you have told me not to speak about it, but I implore you to tell me how you did that wonderful thing about the debt to the Syndicate. Tell me, Teddy."