Drake knocked the ash off his cigarette and looked straight before him.
He could still save himself by telling the truth and sacrificing Lady
Luce. But that was not his way.
"I'm sorry, sir----" he began.
"Sorry be d----d!" broke in the earl tempestuously. "Will you, or will
you not?"
"I can't," said Drake quietly.
The old man rose to his feet, flinging his serviette aside.
"Then, by Heaven! I've done with you!" he exclaimed. "I made you a fair
offer. I've only asked you to act like a gentleman, a man of honor. Am I
to understand that you refuse?"
Drake had also risen slowly.
"I'm afraid I must, sir," he said.
"All right," said the earl, red with anger. "Then there's nothing more
to be said. You can go your own way. But permit me to tell you----"
"Oh, don't, sir!" said Drake, rather sadly. "I can't do what you ask.
God knows I would if I could, but--it's impossible. For Heaven's sake,
don't let us quarrel----"
"Quarrel! I am as cool as a cucumber!" exclaimed the earl, his face the
color of beetroot. "All I say is"--here a twinge of the gout checked his
utterance--"that you're behaving shamefully--shamefully! We'd better
join the ladies--I mean Lady Angleford----"
"I think I'll get you to excuse me, sir," said Drake. "There is no need
to upset Lady Angleford. She asked me here with the very best
intentions, and she would be disappointed if she knew we had--quarreled.
There is no need to tell her. I'll clear out. Make my excuse to her."
"As you like," said the earl shortly. "But let me tell you that I think
you are----"
"No end of a fool, I've no doubt," said Drake, with a rather weary
smile. "I dare say I am. But I can't help it. Good night, sir."
The earl muttered something that sounded like "good night," and Drake
left the house. He ought to have said good night to Lady Angleford, but
he shirked it. He bore her no animosity; indeed, he liked her very
much--so much that he shrank from telling her about this quarrel with
his uncle; and he knew that if he went to her she would get it out of
him.
He walked home, feeling very miserable and down on his luck. How he
hated London, and all that belonged to it! Like a whiff of fresh air the
memory of Shorne Mills wafted across his mind. He let himself in with
his latchkey, and, taking a sheet of note paper, made some calculations
upon it. There was still something remaining of his mother's fortune to
him. If he were not Lord Drake Selbie, but simply Mr. Drake Vernon, he
could manage to live upon it. The vision of a slim and graceful girl,
with soft black hair and violet-gray eyes, rose before him. It seemed to
beckon him, to beckon him away from the hollow, heartless world in which
he had hitherto lived. He rose and flung open wide the window of his
sitting room, and the breath of air which came through the London
streets seemed fragrant with the air which wafted over Shorne Mills.