*VII.*
Trevelyan’s father walked slowly down the stairs and out into the longtwilight.
"For all the good I’ve done, for all I’ve saved her, or learned abouther real feelings for the boy, I might have spared myself the call. Gad!but she has pride though, and damn me if I don’t like it! The boyhasn’t got half bad taste anyway. Heaven bless the boy—and spare thewoman he marries!"
Then he pressed his lips together suddenly as though all had been said,and he planted his cane very firmly on the pavement with each step,swinging it very high when he raised it again. But he kept on thinkingof Robert, and all the memories he had ever cherished of him, assailedhim now, as though charging against the breastworks he had raised ofduty. And every memory had those reproachful eyes. He, his father, hadgone to plead with the woman he loved. What right had he to do thisthing, questioned the eyes.
The old officer walked slower.
She had told him that she thanked him, but that his call had beenunnecessary. How _dared_ she tell him so; how dared she be indifferentto his son, or sit in judgment on him!
Yet, hadn’t she a right?
The old British officer paused on the corner and stared at the carriagesgoing by, beating his cane on the curb.
But he loved him, as he was, with all his faults; he loved him for hisfaults; and the whole thing was hard—harder than the charge at Inkerman.
Then he began to think of Cary, and the more he thought of Cary, themore resolved he became on the course to be pursued, and with thestrengthening resolve the reproachful eyes retreated. The boy wasruining his life here. His career of which he had once thought so muchhad become dwarfed by his love for a woman. In India—but there, hecould prove the stuff he was made of. An officer who has seen Indianservice is always a bit better than he was before, or a bit worse. Hewas never quite the same again. And Cary—well, that girl was worthsaving, even if the boy was his own.
The British officer turned into Grosvenor Square, and went up the broadsteps of the house the Stewarts had rented for the past five years. Hefound the older Stewart in his library, as he knew he would, absorbed inthe latest political news. The Scotchman looked up as he entered.
"Well, what do you want? I can see it is something by your face."
"Yes. I want you to use your influence with the Secretary and getRobert transferred to the regiment that sails for India next month."
"_What?_"
Trevelyan’s father flung himself into one of the big chairs, leaned hiselbow on the edge of the table and shaded his eyes, "It could be done—Isuppose, without his knowing?"
"Why, y-e-s, but—" Stewart broke off doubtfully.
Trevelyan’s father leaned forward, still shading his eyes and staringhard at his boots.
"I’m not much of a talker, as you know, Malcolm," he said concisely."And what I’ve once done for a man I don’t generally remind him of, butat Inkerman, years ago when you were a bit of a boy lieutenant, I didyou a slight service—"
"You saved my life," said the Scotchman briefly.
"I suppose I did. Well, you are always harping on that, and a serviceto me. If you will get the boy ordered off without his suspecting—" theolder Trevelyan broke off and then went on, "You’re a power in politicsand could do it better than I. Politics count three-fourths,now-a-days, even with the army."
"I’ll do it, but may I know your reason? I always fancied you likedhaving Robert stationed in England—"
Trevelyan’s father dropped the hand that was shading his eyes, with adull thud on the table.
"I have. But the boy’s ruining himself. He will never make even a tinsoldier at this rate. He is throwing his chance of a career to thewinds—and he don’t care. He was reprimanded a month ago for negligenceof duty, and again yesterday," the old soldier flushed, "and he don’tcare! It is not the easiest thing for a man to talk so about his fleshand blood, but—the boy’s whole future depends on what he makes of hislife now; and I would not give a penny for what it will turn out to be,if he is not hauled up with a sharp turn and gotten out of England. Theboy will do the Queen and the Service honor, where there is danger to befaced and courage needed, but the idleness of barrack life—" he brokeoff.
The elder Stewart nodded.
"True," he said.
"There is something else that has decided me. I went to call on thelittle American this afternoon."
"Ah?"
"She’s game, and worth the best fellow born."
"Is not your Robert good enough for her?"
"No; but your John is."
There was a long silence. Somewhere outside a carriage drove into theSquare, the echo of its wheels deadened by the heavy curtains. Somewherein the house a door closed noisily.
"I always used to fancy I would want a Scotch lassie, for John," saidthe Scotchman with a slow smile, "but lately I have not been so sure;not—so—sure!"
Trevelyan’s father sat silent.
"Out in India," he said after a while, "there will be something for himto do and think of besides the little American girl—" he rose, "You willsee to it then?"
The elder Stewart looked thoughtfully down at the table.
"Since you think it wisest—yes."
* * * * *
"Out in India," said Trevelyan’s father, to himself as he paused on thesteps of the Grosvenor Square house, and stared hard into the darkness,"But, God, how I’ll miss the boy."
The Potter and the Clay: A Romance of Today Page 9