GHOSTS

Brooks, relieved that his explanation with Mr. Bullsom was over, was sufficiently entertaining at dinner-time.  He sat between Selina and Louise, and made himself agreeable to both.  Mr. Bullsom for half the time was curiously abstracted, and for the remainder almost boisterous.  Every now and then he found himself staring at Brooks as though at some natural curiosity.  His behaviour was so singular that Selina commented upon it.

“One would think, papa, that you and Mr. Brooks had been quarrelling,” she remarked, tartly.  “You seem quite odd to-night.”

Mr. Bullsom raised his glass.  He had lately improved his cellar.

“Drink your health, Brooks,” he said, looking towards him.  “We had an interesting chat, but we didn’t get quarrelling, did we?”

“Nor are we ever likely to,” Brooks answered, smiling.  “You know, Miss Bullsom, your father was my first client of any importance, and I shan’t forget how glad I was to get his cheque.”

“I’m very pleased that he was useful to you,” Selina answered, impressively.  “Will you tell me something that we want to know very much?”

“Certainly!”

“Are you really not coming back to Medchester to live?”

Brooks shook his head.

“No.  I am settling down in London.  I have found some work there I like.”

“Then are you the Mr. Brooks who has started what the Daily Courier calls a ‘Whiteby’s Charity Scheme’ in the East End?”

“Quite true, Miss Bullsom.  And your cousin is helping me.”

Selina raised her eyebrows.

“Dear me,” she said, “I had no idea that Many had time to spare for that sort of thing, had you, father?

“Many can look after herself, and uncommonly well too,” Mr. Bullsom answered.

“She comes mostly in the evening,” Brooks explained, “but she is one of my most useful helpers.”

“It must be so interesting to do good,” Louise said, artlessly.  “After dinner, Mr. Brooks, will you tell us all about it?”

“It seems so odd that you should care so much for that sort of thing,” Selina remarked.  “As a rule it is the frumpy and uninteresting people who go in for visiting the poor and doing good, isn’t it?  You seem so young, and so—­oh, I don’t think I’d better go on.”

“Please do,” Brooks begged.

“Well, you won’t think I was trying to flatter, will you, but I was going to say, and too clever for that sort of thing.”

Brooks smiled.

“Perhaps,” he said, “the reason that social reform is so urgently needed in so many ways is for that very reason, Miss Bullsom—­that the wrong sort of person has been going in for it.  Looking after the poor has meant for most people handing out bits of charity on the toasting-fork of religion.  And that sort of thing doesn’t tend to bridge over the gulf, does it?”

“Toasting-fork!” Selina giggled.  “How funny you are, Mr. Brooks.”