Sir Peter gave a dry chuckle. “No doubt! Do you find your present employment congenial?”
“Not entirely,” returned the Captain. “I think it would soon grow to be excessively irksome. One’s movements are so restricted! I must own, however, that there is more to gatekeeping that I had previously supposed. I had no notion how many people there were in the world bent on cheating the tolls, for instance!”
Nell saw that her grandfather was looking amused. Her inward agitation grew less; she found herself able to put in a word, encouraging the Captain to continue on these lines. Her meetings with him had all been informal; she now realized that his manners, on more conventional occasions, had just that well-bred ease which she knew must please Sir Peter. He talked like a sensible man, and with a great deal of humour; and she soon saw that there was no need for her to feel anxious lest he should let fall some remark which would perturb her grandfather. Her heart did indeed take a jump into her mouth when Sir Peter asked him what he supposed had become of Brean; but he replied without hesitation, and with a twinkle in his eye, saying: “I’m much afraid, sir, that he may be languishing in gaol, and I trust, for his sake, it won’t come to the ears of his employers. It seems pretty plain that he went off on the spree, dipped rather too deep, and ended the night by falling foul of the watch. I expect there was a lively milclass="underline" four out of five of my troopers were always fatally ready to sport their canvases as soon as they became top-heavy!”
“You were in the cavalry, Captain Staple?”
“3rd Dragoon Guards, sir. I sold out in ’14.”
“You should be a hunting-man. Shires?”
The Captain shook his head. “Above my touch. I’ve had a day or two with the Quorn, but the most of my hunting is provincial. My home is in Hertfordshire. I find I get very good sport there with a modest stable. A friend of mine, who hunts regularly with the Quorn, assures me that a minimum of ten horses is necessary to him—and, having ridden over his country, I can readily believe it.”
“Twelve! Better, fourteen!” said Sir Peter, roused to animation. “I remember . . .”
His granddaughter, calling down silent blessings on her lover’s head, leaned back in her chair, and was content to listen to Sir Peter enjoying himself. His stories, which she had heard many times, she did not much attend to: it was enough to know that he was happy, forgetting present trouble in memories of bygone and better days. Had he shown clumsiness in his dealings with Sir Peter, she must still have loved Captain Staple; but his tact, which sprang, she knew, from kindliness, could not but enhance his value in her eyes. She fell into a pleasant reverie, from which she was aroused presently by hearing Sir Peter say: “Staple . . . There was a Staple up at Oxford in my time. Are you related to Saltash?”
“I’m his cousin, sir.”
“You are, are you?” Sir Peter picked up his snuffbox, and placed it in his enfeebled left hand, flicking it open. “The man I knew must have been his grandfather. We made the Grand Tour at much the same time. I remember meeting him in Rome, in ’63, or ’64—I forget. He had some kind of a tutor in tow, but he was getting his education from a charming little barque of frailty. Called herself a Contessa. No such thing, of course, but nobody cared for that. First and last, she cost him a pretty penny, but he used to be very well blunted. Gave capital parties, too: all the bucks and the Cyprians used to go. Iced champagne punch: he had a way of mixing it he learned from some fellow in Frankfurt: made you devilish castaway, if you weren’t accustomed to it. Staple was, of course: carried his wine very well. Never saw him really shot in the neck, though he wasn’t often stone sober, in those days. Believe he settled down when he came into the title.”
Captain Staple, who had listened with great enjoyment to these engaging reminiscences, said: “From anything I’ve ever heard of him, that sounds very like my grandfather, sir. Didn’t they call him Mops-and-Brooms?”
“Mops-and-Brooms!” echoed Sir Peter. “That was it! So you’re his grandson!”
It was plain that his relationship to this erratic peer did Captain Staple no disservice in the eyes of his host. Sir Peter, saying regretfully that there were few men of his stamp alive today, lapsed into a silence charged with memory, and sat staring into the fire until Winkfield came into the room to remove the tea-tray. John, who had been watching him, exchanged a glance with Nell, nodded in response to the message in her eyes, and rose to his feet.
The movement seemed to bring Sir Peter back with a jerk to the present. He raised his head from his breast, and said authoritatively: “Time you were off to your bed, Nell! Captain Staple will excuse you.”
“I think it is time I too was off, sir,” John said.
“Nonsense! Sit down! Don’t humbug me you go to bed at this hour!”
“May I not come to see you again tomorrow?” John suggested.
“You might not find me, young man,” Sir Peter said, with a grim smile. “I don’t know how much time I have left to me, and I can’t afford to waste it. Set out the brandy, Winkfield, and then take yourself off! I’ll ring when I want you.”
“I shall be in the dressing-room, sir,” said Winkfield.
He appeared to address his master, but his eyes were on John’s face. John nodded, and he bowed very slightly.
“You may kiss me good-night, Nell, and then be off to Rose. You will not go downstairs: do you hear me, girl?”
She bent over him, and kissed his brow. “Very plainly, dearest! Indeed, I do not mean to go downstairs. Pray do not keep Captain Staple too long from his gate!”
He waved her away impatiently. She crossed the room to the door, which John was holding open, and paused, holding out her hand. “Good-night—Captain Staple!”
He carried her hand to his lips. “Good-night—Miss Stornaway!” he returned, smiling down at her.
She went out, and he closed the door behind her, and turned to see Sir Peter’s quizzing-glass raised again.
“H’m! Pour yourself out some brandy!”
“Later, perhaps, sir, if I may.”
“Well-primed, eh? Think if you drink it, I shall—and damn the doctor!”
“No, I’ve not been primed. Am I to pour some for you, sir?”
“No. There’s some damned cordial or other: Winkfield will bring it, if I ring—or even if I don’t. Sit down! Now then, young man! We’ll have the gloves off, if you please! I was never one to stand on ceremony, and there’s too little time left—perhaps not even enough for what I must do. But, by God, I’ll make a push to see it out! What do they say of the Squire in the village? Queer as Dick’s hatband, eh?”
“They speak of you with affection, sir.”
“Don’t you bamboozle me! I know ’em! I’m baked, but not backed yet, and not queer in my attic, I assure you! Did you think I sent for you out of an idle curiosity? I didn’t.”
“I think you sent for me to see what kind of a man it might be who had fallen in love with your granddaughter,” said John.
“Here’s a high flight! In three days?” said Sir Peter, on a jeering note.
“No, in three seconds.”
“Do you fall out of love as easily as you fall into it?” demanded Sir Peter.
“I can’t tell that, sir, for I never did it before,” John replied, laughter in his eyes.
“Good God, boy, are you telling me you were never in love before?”
“Oh, no! I have thought myself in love, but I never before met a woman whom I knew to be the one above all others I wanted to call my wife.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine, sir.”
“Well, you ought to know your own mind—and you look as though you did, in all conscience!”