Eli's Children Part 38

"Indeed?" said the lady, stiffly.

"I'm afraid that he is too ready to laugh and chat with any girl he meets, and I should be sorry if--er--if--"

"If you mean by that, Mr Mallow, sir, that you don't consider our niece good enough for your son," said Mrs Portlock, tartly, "please say so downright."

"I did not wish to imply anything of the kind, Mrs Portlock," replied the Rector, mildly. "I wish merely to warn you against his foolish, frivolous ways."

"If there's a difference at all it's on your side, Mr Mallow, sir,"

continued the lady. "Mr Cyril has been a deal too idle and roving to suit me, while our Sage--"

"Miss Portlock is a most estimable young lady, for whom I entertain the highest respect, Mrs Portlock," said the Rector, warmly; "and it was on her behalf, knowing as I do how foolish Cyril can be, that I came to speak to you this morning."

"I don't know anything about his foolishness, Mr Mallow," said the lady, who was growing irate; "but I've got to say this, that he comes here just as if he means something, and if he does not mean anything he had better stop away, and not behave like his brother Frank."

"Exactly so, my dear madam," cried the Rector, eagerly. "I am going to talk seriously to him."

This did not seem to meet the lady's ideas, and she looked hot and annoyed, beginning to stir the fire with a good deal of noise, and setting the poker down more loudly.

"I should be deeply grieved, I am sure, Mrs Portlock," began the Rector; "it is far from my wish to--really, my dear madam, this is a very unpleasant interview."

The lady said nothing; but she was so evidently of the same opinion that the Rector was glad to rise and offer his hand in token of farewell.

She shook hands, and the visitor left, to hurry home with his black stick hanging behind, and his soul hot within him as he mentally accused Cyril by his folly of getting him into the unpleasant predicament from which he had so lately escaped.

PART ONE, CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

"A ROW."

"Where are you going, Frank?"

"Don't know; perhaps as far as Lewby. John Berry said he would be glad to show me round his farm."

"Oh!" exclaimed Cyril, with a meaning look.

"Well, what do you mean by 'Oh'?" said Frank, roughly.

"Nothing at all, my dear boy--nothing at all," said Cyril.

"I never grin like an idiot at you when you are going over to Kilby, do I?"

"Oh, no: not at all. It's all right, I suppose," laughed Cyril. "But, I say, hadn't you better be off amongst the blacks? You have grown rather uncivilised lately."

"Mind your own business," growled Frank Mallow. "I say!"

"Well?"

"That blackguard regularly frightened Ju. She hasn't looked the same girl since."

"No," said Cyril. "Pity the shooting season's over."

"Why?"

"We might have peppered the blackguard by accident if he had shown himself here again."

"Master would like to see you, sir, in my mistress's room," said the butler, entering the study where the young men were smoking.

"Oh, all right, I'll come," said Cyril, impatiently. "Hang it, Frank, if you were half a brother you'd go halves with me, and take me back to your place. I'm sick of this life. There's a lecture about something, I suppose."

"Caning, I should think," said Frank, with a sneering laugh. "There, go and get it over; and look here, I'll give up Lewby to-day, and drive over with you to Gatley. Let's get a game at billiards and dine with Artingale. It's no use to have a lord after your sister if you don't make use of him."

"All right. No. I've an engagement to-night."

"Go and keep it then, and be hanged. I shall go to Lewby," growled Frank.

"Blackberrying?" sneered Cyril. "I say, mind you don't 'Rue' going."

"If you say that again, Cil, I'll get up and kick you," growled Frank.

"Every fellow isn't such a blackguard as you."

"Oh no," laughed Cyril, "especially not dear brother Frank. There, I'm off."

"You're a beauty, Cil!" growled Frank, and he lit a fresh cigar.

"Share! Go halves with me! Ha, ha, ha! I dare say he would. How people do believe in stories of the gold mines. I wonder whether anything is to be made out of that poet fool."

"Want to talk to me, father?" said Cyril, entering the room where his mother lay upon the couch, with a terrible look of anxiety upon her pallid face. "Oh, let's see; will my smoking worry you, mamma?"

"Always so thoughtful for me," said the fond mother to herself. Then aloud--

"I don't mind it, Cyril, but I don't think your father--"

She stopped short, for the Rector interrupted her, sternly.

"Is an invalid lady's room a suitable place for smoking pipes, Cyril?"

"Don't see that it matters what the place is so long as the invalid don't mind. But there, don't make a bother about it," he cried, tapping the burning tobacco out on to the hob; "I can wait until I go down again."

"Shall we go down, papa?" said Julia, rising with Cynthia from where they sat in the window.

"No, my dears; you must hear what I am going to say, so you may as well hear it now."

"Oh, no, Eli," moaned the invalid.

"Very well, my dears, you had better go," said the Rector, and he led his daughters to the door, which he opened and closed after them with quiet dignity.

"Row on!" muttered Cyril. "Well, ma, dear, how are you?"

"Not--not quite so well, Cyril," she said, fondly; and her voice trembled, as she dreaded a scene. "Will you come and sit down here by me?" she added, pointing to a chair.