The Raft
a fringe along her forehead. It gave her an old-fashioned look of prim
severity. Jehane retained for Nan an affection which was partly genuine
and partly habit; but she resented Nan's youthful appearance with slow
jealous anger, attributing it to freedom from anxiety and the possession
of money. As for Nan, her attitude was one of gentle and atoning apology
for her happiness. “I'm so glad you brought the children yourself,
Janey.”
“And who could have brought them? I'm not like you--I only keep two
servants. When this scheme of Ocky's has turned out all right, perhaps
it may be different.”
She turned swiftly on Nan with latent defiance, as though challenging
her to express doubt.
“I'm sure both Billy and I hope it will. Wouldn't it be splendid to see
Ocky really a big man?”
“It would be a good deal more than splendid. It would mean the end of
little houses and cheap servants and neighbors that you can't introduce
to your father's friends. It would mean the end of pinching and scraping
to save a penny. And it would mean a chance for my girls.”
Nan slipped an arm into hers and hugged it. “Dear old thing, I think
I understand. And when is Ocky coming over to tell us all about it? He
gave us hardly any details in his letter.”
Jehane became evasive. “He's naturally very busy. The chance developed
so suddenly that he's hardly had time to turn round. It came to him
through a client at the office. Mr. Playfair had noticed him at his desk
as he passed in and out to see Mr. Wagstaff. He's told Ocky since that
he spotted him at once and said to himself, 'If ever I want a chap
with-business push and legal knowledge, that's my man.'”
“And he's never talked with him?”
“Hardly. Not much more than to say 'How d'you do?' or 'Good-morning'.”
“Wasn't it wonderful that he should have sized him up in a flash?”
Jehane glanced at her narrowly. “It may be wonderful to _you_; it isn't
to _me_. I'm well aware that you and Billy don't think much of Ocky. Oh,
where's the sense in disowning it? You both think he's a born fool.”
“I'm sure you never heard Billy say that.”
“Heard him say it! Of course I didn't. I'd like to hear him dare to
say anything like that about my husband. But actions speak louder
than words. He thinks it just the same; he thinks that Ocky's good for
nothing But to sit at a desk, taking a salary from another man. P'rhaps,
you didn't know that for years Ocky's been the brains of that office?”
Nan lifted her honest eyes; she was filled with discomfort. This kind of
controversy was always happening when they met; they drifted into some
sort of feud for which Jehane invariably held her responsible. “The
brains of the office! No, indeed, I never heard that. Why didn't you
tell us?”
“Because you and Billy thought he was incompetent, and it didn't seem
worth the trouble to correct you.”
“I'm sure I've always thought him very kind, especially to Peter.”
“Kind! What's kindness got to do with being clever?” Nan pressed Jehane
to stay to dinner. She would send a telegram to Ocky; she would send her
home in a cab. But Jehane was in an ungracious mood and eager to take
offense. She resented the implication that a cab was a luxury. No, she
couldn't stay; there was too much to do. She had intended to return in
a cab, anyhow. In reality she was anxious to avoid Barrington's shrewd
questioning. She was rising to take her departure, when she saw him
descending the garden steps.
“Ha, Jehane! This is luck. I've had thoughts of you all day. That
letter's got on my nerves. I couldn't work; so I came home early.--Oh
no, we're not going to let you off now. You've got to stop and tell us.
By the way, before Ocky actually decides, I'd like to talk the whole
matter over with him.”
“He's decided already.”
“You don't mean-------”
“Yes. Why not? He's given Wagstaff notice. Things so happened that he
had to make up his mind in a hurry or lose it.--But I really ought to be
going. Nan knows everything now.”
Barrington placed his hand on her shoulder arrestingly. At his touch she
drew back and colored. “This thing's too serious, Jehane,” he said, “to
be dismissed in a sentence. I have a right to know.”
He spoke kindly, but she answered him hotly. “What right, pray?”
“Well, if anything goes wrong, there's only me to fall back on. And then
there's the right of friendship.”
“I can't say you've shown yourself over friendly. If you've had to meet
Ocky, you've let all the world see you were irritated. If you've ever
invited him to your house, you've taken very good care that no one
important was present. One would judge that you thought he lowered you.
I can't see that you have the right to know anything.”
“That can only be because your husband hasn't told you. To quote one
instance, it was through my influence that he got this position that
he's now thrown over--Wagstaff is my lawyer.”
Jehane tossed her head. “You always want to make out that he owes you
everything---- Well, what is it that I'm forced to tell you?”
Barrington kept silence while they walked down the path to where chairs
were spread beneath the cedar. The children ran up boisterously to greet
him; having kissed them, he told Grace to take them away and to keep
them quiet. When he spoke, his tones were grave and measured: “It wasn't
fair of Ocky to send you to tell us; he ought to have come himself.”
“He didn't send----”
Barrington held up his hand. “You can't tell me anything on that score;
from the first he's shirked responsibility. He would never fight if he
could get anyone else to fight for him. Many and many's the time I've
had to dohis dirty work. Now you're doing it. This is unpleasant
hearing, Jehane; but you know it's true. I'd take a wager that you spent
hours trying to screw up his courage to make him come himself.”
She lifted her head to deny it, but his quiet gray eyes met hers. Their
sympathy and justice disturbed her. She refused to be pitied by this
man----. A great fear rose in her throat. What if his opinion of her
husband were correct? It was the opinion she herself had had for
years and had tried to stifle. Time and again she had listened to his
plausibility--his boastings that he was the brains of the office, that
luck was against him and that one day he would show the world. She had
used his arguments to defend him to her relations and friends. In public
she had made a parade of being proud of him. In private she had tried to
ridicule him out of his shame-faced manners. And now she was trying
so hard to believe that he had found his opportunity.--It was cruel of
Barrington, especially cruel when he knew quite well that it was him she
had loved. She could not endure to sit still and hear him voice her own
suspicious and calmly analyze the folly of her marriage.
“If you think that my husband was afraid to come and tell you, the only
way to prove the contrary is to let him come himself to-morrow.”
“I shall be more than glad to see him.”
But Ocky did not come to-morrow, nor the next day. The day after that
Barrington went to see his lawyer.
“Good-morning, Mr. Wagstaff. I should like to speak to you about my
cousin, Mr. Waffles.”
Mr. Wagstaff twitched his trousers up to prevent them from rucking as he
crossed his legs. “If there's anything I can do to help you, Mr.
Barrington----”
“I understand he's given you notice.”
Mr. Wagstaff sat up suddenly. “Understand what? He told you that?”
“No, he did not tell me. His wife did.”
“Ah, his wife! He left her to make the explanations. Just what one might
expect.”
“Then he didn't give you notice?”
“Course not.” Mr. Wagstaff spoke testily, as though for an employee to
give him notice was an event beyond the bounds of possibility.
“Then he left without notifying you?”
“Well, hardly.”
The lawyer noticed that the door leading into the main office was ajar;
he got up and closed it. When he returned he did not re-seat himself,
but straddled the hearth-rug, holding up his coat-tails although no fire
was burning.
“Mr. Barrington, sir, I put up with your cousin's shiftlessness for
longer that I ought to have done; I did it out of respect for you, sir.
There was a time when I hoped I might make something of him. He can be
nimble-witted over trifles and his own affairs; but he never put
any interest into my work. He was insubordinate--not to my face, you
understand, but when my back was turned; he wasn't a good influence in
the office. I tell you this, sir, to prove that I haven't acted without
consideration.”
The lawyer waggled his coat-tails and seemed to find a blemish in his
boots, so earnestly did he regard them. When he received no help from
Barrington, he suddenly came to the point and looked up sharply.
“He betrayed professional confidence; so I sacked him.”
“Had it happened before?”
“Possibly. He was always garrulous. This time it was an affair of some
property at Sandport. Our client had two competing purchasers, one of
whom was a Mr. Playfair. Your cousin leaked to Mr. Playfair--kept him
informed as to what the other purchaser was doing. Not a nice thing to
occur, Mr. Barrington.”
This last remark was as much an interrogation as an assertion. The
lawyer waited for his opinion to be indorsed.
“Not at all nice,” Barrington assented. “If it's lost you any money, I
must refund it.”
“'Tisn't a question of money. Wouldn't hear of that.” As Mr. Wagstaff
shook hands at parting, he offered a crumb of comfort: “Mind, I don't
say your cousin is dishonest, Mr. Barrington; that would be _too, too_
strong. Perhaps, it would be better stated by saying that his sense of
honor is rudimentary.”
“Perhaps,” said Barrington brusquely. “I think I catch your meaning.”
CHAPTER XI--THE HOME LIFE OF A FINANCIER
People who loved Ocky Waffles always loved him for his good; he
would have preferred to have been loved for almost any other purpose.
Affection, in his experience, turned friends into schoolmasters. There
was Barrington, a fine chap and all that; but why the dickens did he
take such endless pains to be so uselessly unpleasant?
Ocky was on the lookout for Jehane when she returned from Topbury. As
she turned the corner, he espied her from behind the curtains and lit
his pipe to give himself confidence. No sooner had she entered than she
commenced an account of her visit, indignantly underlining her interview
with Barrington. Ocky seated himself on the edge of the table, puffing
away and swinging his legs.
“Wants to see me, does he? He can go on wanting. I'm sick of his
interfering. A fat lot he's ever done to help me! And with his position
and friends he could have helped me--instead of that he gives me his
advice. Truth is, Jehane, he doesn't want to see us climb; he'd rather
be the patron of the family. With the best intentions in the world, he's
out to put a spoke in my wheel. Oh, I know him!--If he's so anxious for
information, he can come here to get it.”
While he spoke he scrutinized his wife, judging the effect of his
blustering independence. She was suspicious of some hidden knowledge; he
felt it. Something had been said behind his back at Topbury--something
derogatory. Could Barrington have heard already.
Pressing down the ashes in the bowl of his pipe, he struck a match.
Jehane was between himself and the door; he wondered whether he could
slip past her and make his exit if things became unpleasant. He detested
being cornered; he could be so much braver when the means of escape lay
behind him. Meanwhile, it seemed good policy to continue talking.
“I don't like the way they treat you at Topbury; you always come home
down-hearted. There's too much condescension. Nan overdoes it when she
tries to be kind. The rich relation attitude! It riles me. When she