Cursed by a Fortune Part 7

"Yes, to my sorrow; but you coaxed him to stay."

"Really, my dear, I could not help it without being rude."

"Then why weren't you rude? Do you want him here, fooling about that girl till she thinks he loves her and marries him?"

"Oh, no, dear, it would be horrid. But you don't think--"

"Yes, I do, fortunately," snapped Wilton. "Why don't you think?"

"I do try to, my dear."

"Bah! Try! Then you want to bring in those locusts of Morrisons. It's bad enough to know that the money goes there if Kate dies, without having them hanging about and wanting her to go."

"I'm very, very sorry, James. I wish I was as clever as you."

"So do I. Then, as soon as you are checked in that, you dodge round and invite that Doctor, who's a deuced sight too good-looking, to come again, and ask him to bring his sister."

"But, my dear, it will do Kate so much good, and she really seems very nice."

"Nice, indeed! I wish you were. I believe you are half mad."

"Really, James, you are too bad, but I won't resent it, for I want to go up to Kate; but if someone here is mad, it is not I."

"Yes, it is. Like a weak fool I spoke plainly to you about my plans."

"If you had always done so we should have been better off and not had to worry about getting John Garstang's advice, with his advances and interests, and mortgages and foreclosures."

"You talk about what you don't understand, woman," said Wilton, sharply.

"Can't you see that it is to our interest to keep the poor girl here?

Do you want to toss her amongst a flock of vulture-like relatives, who will devour her?"

"Why, of course not, dear."

"But you tried to."

"I'm sure I didn't. You said she was so ill you were afraid she'd die and slip through our fingers."

"Yes, and all her money go to the Morrisons."

"Oh, yes, I forgot that. But I gave in directly about not having them here; and what harm could it do if Miss Leigh came? I'm sure it would do poor Kate a lot of good."

"And Claud, too, I suppose."

"Claud?"

"Ugh! You stupid old woman! Isn't she young and pretty? And artful, too, I'll be bound; poor Doctor's young sisters always are."

"Are they, dear?"

"Of course they are; and before she'd been here five minutes she'd be making eyes at that boy, and you know he's just like gunpowder."

"James, dear, you shouldn't."

"I was just as bad at his age--worse perhaps;" and Mr James Wilton, the stern, sage Squire of Northwood Manor, J.P., chairman of the Quarter Sessions, and several local inst.i.tutions connected with the morals of the poor, chuckled softly, and very nearly laughed.

"James, dear, I'm surprised at you."

"Humph! Well, boys will be boys. You know what he is."

"But do you really think--"

"Yes, I do really think, and I wish you would too. Kate does not take to our boy half so well as I should like to see, and nothing must occur to set her against him. It would be madness."

"Well, it would be very disappointing if she married anyone else."

"Disappointing? It would be ruin. So be careful."

"Oh, yes, dear, I will indeed. I have tried to talk to her a little about what a dear good boy Claud is, and--why, Claud, dear, how long have you been standing there?"

"Just come. Time to hear you say what a dear good boy I am. Won't father believe it?"

CHAPTER SIX.

Claud Wilton, aged twenty, with his thin pimply face, long narrow jaw, and closely-cropped hair, which was very suggestive of brain fever or imprisonment, stood leering at his father, his appearance in no wise supporting his mother's high encomiums as he indulged in a feeble smile, one which he smoothed off directly with his thin right hand, which lingered about his lips to pat tenderly the remains of certain decapitated pimples which redly resented the pa.s.sage over them that morning of an unnecessary razor, which laid no stubble low.

The Vicar of the Parish had said one word to his lady re Claud Wilton--a very short but highly expressive word that he had learned at college.

It was "cad,"--and anyone who had heard it repeated would not have ventured to protest against its suitability, for his face alone suggested it, though he did all he could to emphasise the idea by adopting a horsey, collary, cuffy style of dress, every article of which was unsuited to his physique.

"Has Henry Dasent gone?"

"Yes, guvnor, and precious glad to go. You were awfully cool to him, I must say. He said if it wasn't for his aunt he'd never darken the doors again."

"And I hope he will not, sir. He is no credit to your mother."

"But I think he means well, my dear," said Mrs Wilton, plaintively.

"It is not his fault. My poor dear sister did spoil him so."

"Humph! And she was not alone. Look here, Claud, I will not have him here. I have reasons for it, and he, with his gambling and racing propensities, is no proper companion for you."

"P'raps old Garstang says the same about me," said the young man, sulkily.

"Claud, my dear, for shame," said Mrs Wilton. "You should not say such things."

"I don't care what John Garstang says; I will not have his boy here.

Insolent, priggish, wanting in respect to me, and--and--he was a deal too attentive to Kate."