Chapter 34

SIR LIONEL PENDRAGON TO COLONEL O'HAGAN

County Hotel, Newcastle, September 5th

My Dear Pat: You'll be surprised to get another letter from me on the tail of the last, but there have been developments in which I think you will be interested.

The sale of the ring was a mere preface to what has followed.

We arrived at Newcastle this afternoon, finding Burden already here. I didn't think the meeting between him and Ellaline particularly cordial, but appearances are deceiving where girls are concerned, as I have lately been reminded in more ways than one. About an hour ago, while I was getting off some letters and telegrams, I received a message from my ward asking if she could see me in the hotel drawing-room—the place is so full I couldn't get a private one.

I went down at once, of course, dimly (and foolishly) hoping that she wanted to "confess" about the ring. But it was quite a different confession she had to make; her desire to be engaged to Mr. Burden!

Naturally, after our last conversation on that subject, I was somewhat surprised, and on the spur of the moment was tempted to remind her that not long ago Young Nick had appeared as suitable in her eyes, as young Dick. However, I stopped in time to save myself from being both bounder and brute. I did inquire whether she were now sure of her own mind; but it was the duty of a guardian and not the malice of a disappointed man which prompted the question.

Her manner was singularly dry and businesslike, and she came as near to looking plain as it is possible for a beautiful girl to come; so love isn't always a beautifier.

"I am sure of my mind for the moment," she replied, with repulsive prudence. "I suppose a girl need never say more."

This answer and her manner puzzled me, so I ventured to ask, in a guardianly way, if she thought she were enough in love with Burden to be happy with him.

"I haven't to think about being with him at all yet," she temporized.

"You seem to have an extraordinary idea of an engagement," I said, perhaps rather sneeringly, for I felt bitter, and had never approved of her less.

"Perhaps I have," she returned, in such an odd, muffled sort of tone that I feared she was going to cry, and glanced at her sharply. But she was looking down and there were no tears visible, so that fear was relieved.

"You do, at all events, wish to be engaged to Burden?" I persisted. "Am I to understand that?"

"I have asked for your consent," she said, with a queer stiffness. And it was on my tongue to say as stiffly, "Very well: you have it. What pleases you should please me." But the words stuck in my throat, as if they'd been lumps of ice; and instead I answered, almost in spite of myself, that I couldn't give my consent unconditionally. I must have another talk with Burden, and whatever my decision might be, I would prefer that she didn't consider herself engaged until after the tour was ended.

"We'll bring it to a close as soon as possible now," I added, trying not to sound as bitter as I felt, "so as not to keep you waiting."

She made no response to this, except to give me a singular look which even now I find it impossible to understand. It was as if she had something to reproach me for, and yet as if she were more pleased than sad.

Girls are very complicated human beings, if indeed they can be classified thus—though perhaps some men's lives would be duller if they were simpler. As for my life, the less girls have to do with it when my ward is off my hands, the better.

Since the above conversation, I have been drawn into a talk with Burden. He appeared anxious to find out exactly what had passed between Ellaline and me, almost as if he suspected her of not "playing straight," but I replied, briefly, that she had asked my permission to be engaged to him, having evidently changed her mind since our last discussion on the subject. This appeared to content him more or less, although I repeated what I'd said to the girl: that I was not prepared to consent officially until I had communicated with his mother, and satisfied myself that my ward would be welcomed in the family. This he evidently thought old-fashioned and over-scrupulous, but when I admitted being both, he ceased to protest, only saying that he wished to write to his mother first. I suggested talking with his aunt, also, and he did not object to the idea, so Mrs. Senter and I have already had a short conversation concerning her nephew's love affair. She cried a little, and said that she would be "horribly alone in the world" when her "only real pal" was married, but that of course she wished for his happiness above everything, and she meant to give him a wedding present worth having, if she beggared herself for years. The poor little woman showed a great deal of heart, and I was touched. I'm afraid she's not too happy, under her air of almost flippant gaiety and "smartness," for she rather hinted that she liked some man who didn't care for her—someone she met in the East. I suppose she can't be cherishing a hidden passion for you? Rather cruel of us, accusing her of being a flirt in those days, if she were in earnest all the time, eh?

In case I "pump" her a little about this mysterious disappointment, and find it's you she's thinking of, I may turn the tables, and give you some good advice—better than you gave me. You might do worse than get leave and have another look at this pretty and agreeable lady before deciding to let her slip.

Yours always,

Pen.

Good old Owen enjoyed his two days in Cumberland. He, too, tried his hand on advising me. Said I ought to marry. Not I!