Salthaven

Mr. Vyner bent a little lower, but so slowly that Miss Hartley was compelled to notice it. She got up suddenly and confronted him. He took both her hands in his, but so gently that she offered no resistance.

"That is a bargain," he said, trying to steady his voice. "I will soon arrange matters with my father."

Joan smiled faintly and shook her head.

"You'll see," said Robert confidently. "I've been a good son to him, and he knows it. And I always have had my own way. I'm not going to alter now. It wouldn't be good for him."

"You are holding my hands," said Joan.

"I know," said Mr. Vyner. "I like it."

He released them reluctantly and stood looking at her. Miss Hartley after a brave attempt to meet his gaze, lowered her eyes. For a time neither of them spoke.

"I'm as bad as Trimblett," said Robert at last. "I am beginning to believe in fate. It is my firm opinion that we were intended for each other. I can't imagine marrying anybody else, can you?"

Miss Hartley, still looking down, made no reply.

CHAPTER XXV

ROBERT VYNER walked home slowly, trying as he went to evolve a scheme which should in the first place enable him to have his own way, and, in the second to cause as little trouble as possible to everybody. As a result of his deliberations he sought his father, whom he found enjoying a solitary cup of tea, and told him that he had been to Hartley's with the news of Captain Trimblett's illness. He added casually that Mrs. Trimblett was looking remarkably well. And he spoke feelingly of the pleasure afforded to all right-minded people at being able to carry a little sympathy and consolation into the homes of the afflicted.

Mr. Vyner senior sipped his tea. "She has got her father and the children if she wants sympathy," he said gruffly.

Robert shook his head. "It's not quite the same thing," he said gravely.

"The children ought to be with her," said his father. "I never understood why they should have gone to Mrs. Chinnery; still that's not my affair."

"It was to assist Mrs. Chinnery for one thing," said Robert. "And besides they were awfully in the way."

He heard his father put his tea-cup down and felt, rather than saw, that he was gazing at him with some intentness. With a pre-occupied air he rose and left the room.

Satisfied with the impression he had made, he paid another visit to Hartley's on the day following and then, despite Joan's protests, became an almost daily visitor. His assurance that they were duty visits paid only with a view to their future happiness only served to mystify her. The fact that Hartley twice plucked up courage to throw out hints as to the frequency of his visits, and the odd glances with which his father favoured him, satisfied him that he was in the right path.

For a fortnight he went his way unchecked, and, apparently blind to the growing stiffness, of his father every time the subject was mentioned, spoke freely of Mrs. Trimblett and the beautiful resignation with which she endured her husband's misfortunes. His father listened for the most part in silence, until coming at last to the conclusion, that there was nothing to be gained by that policy he waited until his wife had left the dining-room one evening and ventured a solemn protest.

"She is a very nice girl," said the delighted Robert.

"Just so," said his father, leaning toward a candle and lighting his cigar, "although perhaps that is hardly the way to speak of a married woman."

"And we have been friends for a long time," said Robert.

Mr. Vyner coughed dryly.

"Just so," he said again.

"Why shouldn't I go and see her when I like?" said Robert, after a pause.

"She is another man's wife," said his father, "and it is a censorious world."

Robert Vyner looked down at the cloth. "If she were not, I suppose there would be some other objection?" he said gloomily.

Mr. Vyner laid his cigar on the side of a plate and drew himself up. "My boy," he said impressively, "I don't think I deserve that. Both your mother and myself would—ha—always put your happiness before our own private inclinations."

He picked up his cigar again and placing it in his mouth looked the personification of injured fatherhood.

"Do you mean," said Robert, slowly, "do you mean that if she were single you would be willing for me to marry her?"

"It is no good discussing that," said Mr. Vyner with an air of great consideration.

"But would you?" persisted his son.

Mr. Vyner was a very truthful man as a rule, but there had been instances—he added another.

"Yes," he said with a slight gasp.

Robert sprang up with a haste that overturned his coffee, and seizing his father's hand shook it with enthusiasm. Mr. Vyner somewhat affected, responded heartily.

"Anything possible for you, Bob," he said, fervently, "but this is impossible."

His son looked at him. "I have never known you to go back on your word," he said emphatically.

"I never have," said Mr. Vyner.

"Your word is your bond," said Robert smiling at him. "And now I want to tell you something."

"Well," said the other, regarding him with a little uneasiness.

"She is not married," said Robert, calmly.

Mr. Vyner started up and his cigar fell unheeded to the floor.

"What!" he said, loudly.

"She is not married," repeated his son.

Mr. Vyner sank back in his chair again and looking round mechanically for his cigar, found it tracing a design on the carpet.

"D–n," he said fervently, as he stooped to remove it. He tossed it in his plate and leaning back glared at his son.

"Do you mean that she didn't marry Trimblett?" he inquired in a trembling voice.

"Yes."

Mr. Vyner drew the cigar-box toward him and selecting a cigar with great care, nipped off the end and, having lighted it, sat smoking in silence.

"This is very extraordinary," he said at last watching his son's eyes.

"I suppose she had a reason," said Robert in a matter-of-fact voice.