CHAPTER XXIV

THE BLOW FALLS

“Now, what is it?” he asked.  “Half of my fortune if you will, fair lady, so that you forgive that blunder of mine and look kindly on me.”

“It is about a girl in whom I am interested—­Nora Brady.”  I felt him start at my side.  “I saw you together in our woods the other day.  She is a good girl.  Mr. Dawson, will you let her be and not make her unhappy?”

“Why,” he said, “I have never meant to make her unhappy.  I’m sorry for what I did.  It was only idle love-making.  But she’s fond of me, poor child.  And she’d be just as fond of me if I wore a ragged coat and earned a shilling a day.  I’ve always pleased myself, and I don’t like giving up Nora.  By the way, she has rather given up me.  She is keeping out of my way.  Her keeping out of my way has been more likely to inflame me than the other thing.  But, if you’ll forgive me and be a little kind to me, I promise you that I won’t seek her out.”

“What do you want me to do?” I asked.

“More than I dare tell you at present.  But for the present—­shake hands and say you forgive my rudeness in the wood.”

I put my hand in his, and felt his lips upon it, but I bore it.

“Then it is a bargain,” he said.  “We are enemies no longer, and I promise to let Nora alone.  If only the women would always let me alone!  What, are you going back to that hot room?  And the May moon in the sky, the lovers’ moon!  Stay with me a little while, because I’ve been a good boy and promised you what you asked.  You could wind me round your little finger.  There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to please you.”

The end of his protestations fell on empty air, for I had lifted the curtain and re-entered the drawing-room.

When I came in, with Richard Dawson following me, I was annoyed to find that my grandfather and Mr. Dawson had come into the drawing-room, and were standing near the fireplace.  Both looked round, and I thought my grandfather’s face wore a startled look, while Mr. Dawson’s for an instant beamed excessive gratification.

I hoped that Lord and Lady St. Leger could not think that I tolerated with any patience the attentions of Richard Dawson.  Seeing that they believed me bound by some childish promise to my cousin Theobald that was not very likely.  And I could not explain to them why I had gone out on the balcony alone with Richard Dawson.

My memory of the time after that seems to consist of nothing but a string of Dawsons coming and going.  I did not know what to make of it.  Surely the propitiation of the Dawsons did not mean that we should see so very much of them.  They were alone now, their fine friends having gone back to London, and their being alone involved an intimacy which need not have been if there were a crowd.

My godmother at this time was much occupied, her cousin, Miss Joan, having developed a disease which in time was to prove mortal, so she knew less of how much the Dawsons came and went, though she must have known it, for I’ve no doubt the county talked of it.  We had been so sure that we would never admit the Dawsons no matter what any one else did, nor any persons who were merely rich.  We had always been very proud and exclusive at Aghadoe.