housekeeper at Wyverston.And her affections seem divided between the two families."
"I don't think she cares much about Bernard Gresham, _our_ Mr Gresham,"says Evelyn. "It is Michael she is so devoted to, and that is natural,I suppose, as it was in _his_ family she was nurse, though she had agood deal to do with Bernard too--he was so much with his relations as achild. She told me some interesting things about the Greshams,by-the-by. Did you know that _Michael's_ father was the elder brother,not Bernard's, and that the grand-uncle--grand-uncle to these young men,I mean--from whom Bernard inherited Merle and all his wealth, left itaway from Michael on purpose?"
"N-no," Philippa replied. "At least I don't know anything distinctly.Mr Gresham, in talking of his cousin one day, alluded to his having hadtroubles, and spoke of him as having behaved very well, or veryunselfishly or something."
How clearly she remembered the very spot at which they were standing--inthe grounds of the old chateau--when Mr Gresham had alluded to Michael!"A bit of a hero," he had called him, though he had added what, thoughvaguely, pleased her less, something about "quixotry."
"That was nice of Bernard Gresham," said Evelyn, "for the position is adelicate one, and many men without his good feeling and _perfect_ goodtaste might almost have taken a dislike to Michael; the association ofhaving in a sense supplanted him must be rather painful."
"Supplanted him!" repeated Philippa. "I don't understand what youmean?"
"Oh, no, of course--you know so little. It was this: _Michael's_ fatherwas the elder brother, and though, by all accounts, very charming, hewas terribly wild. He ran through all he had and half or wholly brokehis wife's heart. He died when Michael was about eighteen, leaving anyamount of debts. They _had_ been very well off, much better thanBernard's parents, who were in India or somewhere--his father, that isto say--his mother died when he was born, and he was practically broughtup at his uncle's. Then his father died, just before Michael's, so thetwo young men came next, though the property was not entailed. Well,the old uncle was furious at the way Michael's father had behaved, butthat would not have made any difference to Michael, whom he liked andrespected. But he would do nothing to help to pay his dead nephew'sdebts, and Michael and his mother were broken-hearted about them. Bothon account of the disgrace to Mr Henry Gresham's memory and alsobecause some of the debts were unusually bad ones; he had borrowed moneyfrom all sorts of people who could ill afford to lose it, poor relationsof his wife's, even poorer people still, whom he had cajoled by hischarming manners. It was actual ruin to several. Michael pleaded andpleaded with the old uncle till at last he got into a sort of rage andsaid that for peace sake he would pay them off, if Michael wouldrenounce all expectation of being his heir. And Michael _did_, for hismother's sake more even than for the other reasons, and he never let herknow at what a cost his father's memory had been cleared. She died soonafter, in comparative peace of mind. And he had to face the worldpractically penniless. He knew it; he knew the old man would keep towhat he had said, and he did."
"Did he leave Michael _nothing_?" said Philippa.
"Nothing. His name was not mentioned in the will. The uncle might havemodified it if he had lived longer, but he was very old and he diedsuddenly."
"And," Philippa went on, with some hesitation, "has her--has Mr Greshamdone nothing for his cousin?"
Evelyn shook her head.
"I can't say. I didn't like to ask Mrs Shepton anything that she didnot tell, but she is a very fair, just-minded woman. She did not sayanything about Mr Gresham--Bernard, I mean--one way or the other. Butshe said a great deal about how proud Michael is. I should think it ismost probable that Bernard has offered to help him, but that he hasrefused it."
"Yes," said Philippa, consideringly. "And then besides if--if he lookedupon his arrangement with his grand-uncle as a compact, I daresay hewould think it not strictly honourable to take any of his money, evenfrom its present possessor. Still--"
"Still what?" said Evelyn, with some impatience.
"I was only going to say that I think Mr Gresham might have done--well_something_ to help Michael on."
"And how do we know that he has not? I feel almost certain he has_tried_ to do so at any rate. You remember he used the word `quixotry'in talking to you of Michael. Ten to one he was thinking of hiscousin's refusal to take anything from him."
"Perhaps so," said Philippa, somewhat absently. Evelyn felt slightlyirritated with her, and half inclined to blame herself for her owncommunicativeness.
"Philippa is so fantastic," she thought. "Very likely she will nowbegin making a hero in earnest of Michael Gresham, and blaming Bernardfor what he probably deserves no blame for."
But she scarcely understood her sister. Philippa's thoughts werecertainly occupied with the two men, but not exactly to thedisparagement of the elder. She was only comparing the two in her mindand saying to herself how little she would have credited Michael withthe delicacy and sensitiveness of _feeling_ he evidently possessed.
"He must be almost a grand character," she thought. "And I only saw hisroughness and hardness. I never would have thought him so capable ofdevotion as he must have been to his mother. What a hard life he hashad! It makes it seem easy for any one to be kind and considerate asMr Gresham is, when one knows how smooth things have been for him incomparison. Still, prosperity _might_ have made him hard andindifferent; it often does. And that I cannot think he would ever be."
She was right--right, that is to say, so far as a large nature can everfairly judge a small one. Careless or indifferent to his cousin it wasnot in Bernard Gresham to be, nor forgetful of the kindness shown himthroughout his youth by Michael's parents. And Evelyn's belief that thestruggles the latter had gone through were far more due to his owndetermined independence than to Bernard's selfishness or neglect, hitthe mark pretty closely.
The very evening of the day on which the sisters had had this talk aboutthe Greshams, a _tete-a-tete_, in which they themselves--Miss Raynsworthmore especially--were the principal subject of discussion, took place inMichael Gresham's rooms.
He had dined and was preparing for an evening's study, for he wasworking very hard just then at the higher branches of technicalknowledge connected with his profession, when the sound of a hansomstopping at his door made him glance out of the window with a touch ofcuriosity. For the street was a quiet one, and the neighbourhood wasnot fashionable and callers on himself were rare.
But that this caller was one of such, there could be no doubt, forstanding on the pavement as he paid the cab, Michael recognised thefamiliar figure of his cousin Bernard.
He stepped back from the window with a murmur of impatience. Bernard'svisits, though infrequent, were not flying ones, and Michael had mappedout his evening's work. There was no use in grumbling, however, and hemet the new-comer pleasantly, as the door opened and the small boy whoacted as page on such occasions announced Mr Gresham.
"Lucky to find you in, Mike," was Bernard's first greeting. "I wouldhave telegraphed to say I was coming, but I only made up my mind to tryto see you half an hour ago, so I thought I would just chance it."
"I am not often out in the evening," said Michael. "I don't go in fordinner-parties and that sort of thing, as you know."
"I have missed you sometimes, however," said his cousin. "Last year Ilooked you up two or three times, don't you remember? without everfinding you in."
"Last year I stayed later at the office. I very often didn't come hometo dinner," said Michael, quietly. "This year it is different. I havework that I can do better at home."
Bernard glanced round the room as his cousin ceased speaking. Michael's"home" was a somewhat dreary one, and somehow, though he had honestlymeant to do his best for the man who had been all but a brother to himin bygone days, Bernard Gresham never realised Michael's uphill life andstruggles without a twinge of something like self-reproach.
"Are you satisfied with the berth you have got?" he said, abruptly."Are these fellows--Matters
on and Wheeler, I mean--treating youproperly?"
"Quite properly--quite fairly, that is to say, thanks to you," Michaelreplied, for the one thing he had accepted at his cousin's hands was asubstantial guarantee, which in due course was to pave the way towardshis being taken in as a working partner. "One does not look for morethan that in business matters. I have never expected ready roastedlarks to fall to my share; but I am quite satisfied. Once I amthoroughly qualified in this special department," and he glanced at thepapers strewn on the table, "I have no doubt the permanent
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