FullReads

“And then?” said Gabriel, with a smile.

“Don’t give him either! But, I say, haven’t we had enough business this morning? Let’s talk of something else. Who’s the French girl?”

“Marie? She’s the daughter of Jules du Page–don’t you remember?–father’s friend. When Jules died, it was always thought that father, who had half adopted her as a child, would leave her some legacy. But you know that father died without making a will, and that–rich as he was–his actual assets were far less than we had reason to expect. Kitty, who felt the disappointment as keenly as her friend, I believe would have divided her own share with her. It’s odd, by the way, that father could have been so deceived in the amount of his capital, or how he got rid of his money in a way that we knew nothing of. Do you know, Sylvester, I’ve sometimes suspected”–

“What?” said Uncle Sylvester suddenly.

The bored languor of his face had abruptly vanished. Every muscle was alert; his gray eyes glittered.

“That he advanced money to Du Page, who lost it, or that they speculated together,” returned Gabriel, who, following Uncle Sylvester’s voice only, had not noticed the change of expression.

“That would seem to be a weakness of the Lane family,” said Uncle Sylvester grimly, with a return of his former carelessness. “But that is not YOUR own opinion–that’s a suggestion of some one else?”

“Well,” said Gabriel, with a laugh and a slight addition of color, “it WAS Gunn’s theory. As a man of the world and a practical financier, you know.”

“And you’ve talked with HIM about it?”

“Yes. It was a matter of general wonder years ago.”

“Very likely–but, just now, don’t you think we’ve had enough financial talk?” said Uncle Sylvester, with a bored contraction of his eyebrows. “Come,” looking around the room, “you’ve changed the interior of the old house.”

“Yes. Unfortunately, just after father’s death it was put in the hands of a local architect or builder, one of father’s old friends, but not a very skillful workman, who made changes while the family were away. That’s why your present bedroom, which was father’s old study, had a slice taken off it to make the corridor larger, and why the big chimney and hearthstone are still there, although the fireplace is modernized. That was Flint’s stupidity.”

“Whose stupidity?” asked Uncle Sylvester, trimming his nails.

“Flint’s–the old architect.”

“Why didn’t you make him change it back again?”

“He left Lakeville shortly after, and I brought an architect from St. Louis after I returned from Europe. But nothing could be done to your room without taking down the chimney, so it remained as Flint left it.”

“That reminds me, Gabriel, I’m afraid I spoke rather cavalierly to Kitty, last night, about the arrangements of the room. The fact is, I’ve taken a fancy to it, and should like to fit it up myself. Have I your permission?”

“Certainly, my dear Sylvester.”

“I’ve some knickknacks in my trunks, and I’ll do it at once.”

“As you like.”

“And you’ll see that I am not disturbed; and you’ll explain it to Kitty, with my apologies?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m off.”

Gabriel glanced at his brother with a perplexed smile. Here was the bored traveler, explorer, gold-seeker, soldier of fortune, actually as pleased as a girl over the prospect of arranging his room! He called after him, “Sylvester!”

“Yes.”

“I say, if you could, you know, just try to interest these people to-night with some of your adventures–something told SERIOUSLY, you know, as if you really were in earnest–I’d be awfully obliged to you. The fact is,–you’ll excuse me,–but they think you don’t come up to your reputation.”

“They want a story?”

“Yes,–one of your experiences.”

“I’ll give them one. Ta-ta!”

For the rest of the day Uncle Sylvester was invisible, although his active presence in his room was betrayed by the sound of hammering and moving of furniture. As the remainder of the party were skating on the lake, this eccentricity was not remarked except by one,–Marie du Page,–who on pretense of a slight cold had stayed at home. But with her suspicions of the former night, she had determined to watch the singular relative of her friend. Added to a natural loyalty to the Lanes, she was moved by a certain curiosity and fascination towards this incomprehensible man.