Chapter VI: Bravado

It was, indeed, with a very similar sense of satisfaction to that enjoyed by a man who, when playing cut-throat euchre, finds the joker in his hand, that Melville contemplated the advent of Mrs. Sinclair into his life. In many respects she was a charming woman; vigorous and resourceful in consequence of her somewhat adventurous career, but womanly and free from affectation. Moreover, if she could not claim entire exoneration from the charge of being an adventuress, she was entitled to several important limitations in the term; she gambled, it is true, and led an extravagant life, but she did both out of her own resources, and did not prey upon society as do most of the evening-gowned frequenters of the Casino. What other skeletons might be hidden in the secret cupboard of her life, Melville did not yet trouble to surmise; he assumed that among them was the grisly relic of her marriage with his uncle. The marriage had been a failure; the couple had separated and agreed to let the story be forgotten; "Sinclair" was merely a _nom-de-guerre_, and everything was capable of a perfectly satisfactory explanation, with the exception of her financial independence. Melville could not understand the feeling which prompted her to refuse assistance from her husband, more especially in such a case as this, where she might dictate her own terms for consenting to suppress the fact of her existence. What her motive was in so doing was one of the first things Melville intended to ascertain; there might be money in the knowledge. But the first thing he intended to do was to tell Sir Geoffrey that he knew this amazing secret of the marriage, for he felt convinced that he could make money by holding his tongue on that subject to the world at large.

Such were the thoughts that passed through Melville's mind as he walked from the station to The Grange at Fairbridge, where the Austens lived. With him to decide was to act, and the previous night he had resolved to adopt a bold policy and face Sir Geoffrey and Ralph at once; they had had time to compare notes about the hundred pounds, and a stormy interview with them both was inevitable, but it possessed no terrors for Melville now. He guessed correctly that for the credit of the family neither of them would detail the facts to the Austens, with whom he was particularly anxious to stand well. Too selfish a man to be capable of real love for any woman, he yet liked Gwendolen better than any other woman he had ever seen, and he was quite willing to "range himself" if she would be his wife. That she was engaged to his brother troubled him very little. Engagements had been broken off before now, and the idea of cutting Ralph out had a certain piquancy that rendered the attempt worth making.

Looking delightfully cool and well-bred in his grey flannel suit and straw hat, with a turn-down collar that seemed to suggest an innocent simplicity of character, Melville walked slowly down the hill from the station and presented himself at the Austens' door. The ladies were in the garden, the servant informed him, and there Melville sought them, confident of a friendly greeting from them both.

Mrs. Austen was unaffectedly glad to see him. She had a tolerant feeling for nearly all young men, and Melville's marvellous gift as a musician had an especial charm for her. To Gwendolen he was Ralph's brother, and hitherto Ralph had championed Melville's cause, with the result that the girl was disposed to regard him as a somewhat maligned young man. So to-day they made much of him, and, under the influence of their warm welcome and gentle refinement, Melville was at his best.

"I've been sowing wild oats at Monte Carlo," he said gently, "and I found it vanity. So I've come home. No, I had no adventures and met nobody I knew. I lost all my money, and I'm very sorry for myself."

He congratulated Gwendolen on her engagement to Ralph, and there was a touch of pathos in his voice that proved him to be a consummate actor. Altogether, he enjoyed himself hugely, and awaited the critical moment of meeting his brother with actual pleasure. Ralph was expected early in the afternoon, and Melville lunched at the Grange and occupied the centre of its little stage with much complacency.

After luncheon Gwendolen remained indoors to watch for Ralph, and Melville sat in the verandah with Mrs. Austen and waxed confidential. She liked to be regarded as the recipient of the confidences of young men, and Melville played upon her amiable weakness, being careful to invent such peccadilloes only as would not strain her charity unduly.

"Heaven divides its gifts very unequally," he remarked presently.

"Why that platitude?" asked Mrs. Austen.

"I was thinking of Ralph and myself," he said. "Of course, Sir Geoffrey has been equally generous to us both, but I notice that Ralph gets all the affection. He was always Uncle Geoffrey's favourite, and now he is engaged to Gwen." He sighed pathetically, and Mrs. Austen considered.

"I think your uncle is just as fond of you as he is of Ralph," she said, "but you're not a home bird and your brother is. Really, I don't think Sir Geoffrey could have been kinder to you if you had been his own son."

"Not kinder," Melville said, "but fonder, more affectionate. You have known him a long time, Mrs. Austen. Why do you suppose he never married?"

"I have often wondered," Mrs. Austen said, "but I never met him until he came into the title and estates, and he was not a young man then. He may never have wanted to marry, or he may have had some disappointment. At all events, it's an excellent thing for you boys that he never did."

"Excellent," Melville assented heartily. Mrs. Austen evidently had no suspicion of the facts; that meant that Sir Geoffrey did not want her to know them, and that, too, was excellent. "Ah! here comes Ralph, dancing on air."

Judging by the expression on Ralph's face, dancing on air was a disagreeable mode of progression. He was, indeed, furious at finding Melville thus established in the heart of the citadel; he was conscious, too, of a disadvantage in being thus taken by surprise. Confident in the justice of his indignation, he could have invaded Melville's chambers and demanded explanations and apologies for the fraud; here all the force of his attack would be wasted in the interval before he could deliver it.

He made no offer to shake hands, and, flushed with anger, he compared unfavourably with Melville, sitting so imperturbable, and prepared for all contingencies.

Melville employed every little artifice of which he was capable to heighten the contrast between his brother and himself, of which he saw Mrs. Austen was conscious. He made room for Ralph upon the verandah, and chatted gaily of a hundred trifles, but to all his flippancies Ralph returned only monosyllabic answers, appearing awkward and ill-mannered even in Gwendolen's biassed judgment.

At last Melville rose to go, and with alacrity Ralph rose too.

Melville protested politely.

"Don't let me take you away, old man," he said.

"But I want to have a talk with you," Ralph answered.

"Thought you weren't particularly pleased to see me," Melville returned placidly, "but I'm glad I was wrong. Good-bye, Mrs. Austen, and thanks awfully for a jolly time. May I come again soon?"

"Do," she answered, "there's always cold luncheon and a warm welcome here for you." She made the remark pointedly, for she was a little vexed with Ralph. She even went so far as to restrain Gwendolen from accompanying the brothers to the gate, and as they disappeared at the end of the drive Ralph was conscious of almost being in disgrace with his future mother-in-law.

Outside, however, on the main road his embarrassment vanished.

"What the deuce do you mean by coming here like this?" he said angrily.

"My dear Ralph," said Melville coolly, "The Grange doesn't belong to you, nor does the Manor House--yet. I've been to The Grange because I wanted to see the Austens, and now I'm going to the Manor House because I want to see Sir Geoffrey."

Ralph was unfeignedly astonished.

"You want to see Sir Geoffrey?" he gasped.

"I do," said Melville. "Why not?"

"I wonder you have the audacity to look him in the face again," said Ralph hotly. "You are a liar and a thief."

"Go slow, Ralph," said Melville, "go slow. It seems to me you're off your chump. If your engagement hasn't turned your brain, tell me what all this pother is about, and leave mud-slinging till afterwards. What do you mean?"

Ralph was almost deceived by his brother's calmness; at any rate, it had the effect of making him struggle to regain command of his own temper.

"I wrote to you when you were at Monte Carlo," he said more quietly, "and asked you to lend me a hundred pounds."

"That's so," said Melville. "Sorry I couldn't oblige you, but I didn't even read your letter till I was on my way home, and then I was broke myself."

"But you got a hundred pounds out of Sir Geoffrey," spluttered Ralph.

"I did," said Melville. "I hope you did the same."

"Good heavens, man!" cried Ralph, as angrily as before; "don't try your vile swindles on me too. You told Sir Geoffrey you lent me that hundred pounds and got him to hand you over an open cheque for the amount in repayment of what you said was my debt, leaving him to get explanations from me afterwards."

"I hope the old man wasn't very crusty," said Melville sweetly.

"But your whole story was an infernal lie," roared Ralph, "and you got that money by a vulgar, low-down swindle. You are a liar, Melville, and a thief. I wish to heaven Sir Geoffrey had kicked you out of the house before he parted with the cheque."

"I daresay you do," Melville replied, unmoved; "but really, Ralph, you've had your whack out of the old buck, and now you're going to marry the Austen money you needn't grudge me a bit, need you? It's not exactly brotherly."

The sneering affront goaded Ralph almost to madness.

"You can thank me that you've not been arrested already for getting that money under false pretences," he said, livid with passion. "If Sir Geoffrey had had his own way you would have been, and 'pon my word, I'm beginning to be sorry I begged you off."

"Perhaps it isn't too late even yet," said Melville, no less calmly than before, "but I fancy you are exaggerating. Sir Geoffrey is always intemperate in his language, but I can't believe he would adopt such extremely unpleasant measures as the prosecution of his own nephew. However, I'll talk to him about it. I came down with the intention of doing so after I left The Grange."

Ralph was nonplussed. Such unlimited assurance as that displayed by Melville was outside his experience, and it even began to have some effect upon him.

"I think it was a mean and dirty trick," he said, "to make out that I owed you anything when I didn't, but that part of the business you can settle with your own conscience. What are you going to do now about the money?"

"How do you mean?" Melville enquired innocently.

"Well," said Ralph, "I persuaded Sir Geoffrey to drop the idea of legal proceedings by saying that as you had used my name the matter ought to be left in my hands. I've been to town to get the money, and I repaid him this morning."

"That's really awfully good of you," Melville said effusively. "I am infinitely obliged to you, but I'm afraid I shall have to owe it to you for a little while."

"It's simple waste of time to talk to you," said Ralph with scorn, "but there's one more remark I have to make, and you may as well remember it, for I mean what I say. I can't undo the fact that you are my brother, but I can do a good deal to prevent it from being forced on my attention, and one way is to avoid seeing you. Now, in future I'll trouble you to keep away from The Grange."

Melville coloured. This was a contingency he had not foreseen, and for a moment he lost his judgment.

"Jealous, eh?" he enquired, with ill-affected sarcasm. He was no coward physically, but he almost quailed before the blaze in his brother's eyes. Ralph did not trouble to fling back the taunt. With suppressed passion he spoke rapidly and distinctly, and each word flicked Melville on the raw.

"You are a contemptible swindler, and if you only have rope enough you'll hang yourself in the end. I'm quits with Sir Geoffrey over your last fraud, and it's worth every penny of the money to have learnt to know you as you are; but now I do know you I'll take jolly good care that you don't hang about my friends. Sir Geoffrey has ordered you out of the Manor House, and I order you out of The Grange. Go there again, and I'll tell Mrs. Austen all about this business and twist your neck into the bargain."

Melville forced a laugh.

"It will be time enough for you to order me out of houses when you possess any. When you are master of The Grange I shall keep clear of the place, you may be sure. Until then I shall call upon Mrs. Austen whenever I choose."

"If you go to The Grange I shall tell Mrs. Austen what has happened," Ralph repeated, "and she will order you out then herself."

"I dare you to do it," said Melville. In reality the idea filled him with uneasiness, but he was too shrewd to show it. Instead, he remarked reflectively, as if considering Ralph's interests only, "Mrs. Austen might begin to think she was allowing her daughter to marry into a queer family, supposing for the moment that she took everything you said for gospel."

Ralph drove his hands deep into his pockets. Honesty such as his often seems very stupid when confronted with the cleverness of a knave, and he felt unequal to a discussion with his brother. But he wished he had been less loyal to him in the past, less sturdy an advocate for his defence when Sir Geoffrey arraigned him. It was humiliating to think how completely Melville had taken him in. They walked in silence to the Manor House, and Ralph paused by the gate.

"I'm not going to argue with you, and I have nothing to add to what I said about The Grange. Go there and you'll see. Here is the Manor House. If you take my advice you will leave me here and get back to town by the next train."

"When I ask your advice I'll consider about taking it," Melville answered gently; he saw how his own coolness angered and flurried Ralph. "As for The Grange, Mrs. Austen has kindly invited me to dine there and bring my violin, and I need scarcely say I have accepted. And as for Sir Geoffrey, I have come down to see him, and if he's at home I will see him now; if he is out I shall wait."

"You are beyond me," Ralph said hopelessly. "Well, I don't want to keep you away from Sir Geoffrey if you are anxious to see him, but if I were in your shoes, which, thank heaven, I am not, I would blow out my brains rather than face him. I don't believe you have any shame left."

He opened the gate and, with Melville, walked up the drive. As they came in sight of the house, however, his mind shrank from the prospect of having to be present at so painful an interview between his uncle and brother as he felt sure this one must be. He stopped abruptly.

"You will probably find Sir Geoffrey in the library," he said. "I am going down to the houseboat."

"All right," said Melville unconcernedly. "I dare say I shall see you again later. If Sir Geoffrey asks me to stay, I will. By-bye," and noting with amusement the incredulous surprise written on Ralph's countenance he nodded cheerfully to him and walked in through the open doorway of the Manor House.