Washington, anyway,” he said.
“Of course not. Well”–Spennie moved toward the door–“I’m off
downstairs to see what Aunt Julia has to say about it all.”
A shudder, as if from some electric shock, shook Sir Thomas. He
leaped to his feet.
“Spencer,” he cried, “I forbid you to say a word to your aunt.”
“Oh!” said his lordship. “You do, do you?”
Sir Thomas shivered.
“She would never let me hear the last of it.”
“I bet she wouldn’t. I’ll go and see.”
“Stop!”
“Well?”
Sir Thomas dabbed at his forehead with his handkerchief. He dared
not face the vision of Lady Julia in possession of the truth. At one
time, the fear lest she might discover the harmless little deception
he had practised had kept him awake at night, but gradually, as the
days went by and the excellence of the imitation stones had
continued to impose upon her and upon everyone else who saw them,
the fear had diminished. But it had always been at the back of his
mind. Even in her calmer moments, his wife was a source of mild
terror to him. His imagination reeled at the thought of what depths
of aristocratic scorn and indignation she would plumb in a ease like
this.
“Spencer,” he said, “I insist that you shall not inform your aunt of
this!”
“What? You want me to keep my mouth shut? You want me to become an
accomplice in this beastly, low-down deception? I like that!”
“The point,” said Jimmy, “is well taken. Noblesse oblige, and all
that sort of thing. The blood of the Dreevers boils furiously at the
idea. Listen! You can hear it sizzling.”
Lord Dreever moved a step nearer the door.
“Stop!” cried Sir Thomas again. “Spencer!”
“Well?”
“Spencer, my boy, it occurs to me that perhaps I have not always
treated you very well–”
“‘Perhaps!’ ‘Not always!’ Great Scott, I’ll have a fiver each way on
both those. Considering you’ve treated me like a frightful kid
practically ever since you’ve known me, I call that pretty rich!
Why, what about this very night, when I asked you for a few pounds?”
“It was only the thought that you had been gambling–”
“Gambling! How about palming off faked diamonds on Aunt Julia for a
gamble?”
“A game of skill, surely?” murmured Jimmy.
“I have been thinking the matter over,” said Sir Thomas, “and, if
you really need the–was it not fifty pounds?”
“It was twenty,” said his lordship. “And I don’t need it. Keep it.
You’ll want all you can save for a new necklace.”
His fingers closed on the door-handle.
“Spencer, stop!”
“Well?”
“We must talk this over. We must not be hasty.”
Sir Thomas passed the handkerchief over his forehead.
“In the past, perhaps,” he resumed, “our relations have not been
quite–the fault was mine. I have always endeavored to do my duty.
It is a difficult task to look after a young man of your age–”
His lordship’s sense of his grievance made him eloquent.
“Dash it all!” he cried. “That’s just what I jolly well complain of.
Who the dickens wanted you to look after me? Hang it, you’ve kept
your eye on me all these years like a frightful policeman! You cut
off my allowance right in the middle of my time at college, just
when I needed it most, and I had to come and beg for money whenever
I wanted to buy a cigarette. I looked a fearful ass, I can tell you!
Men who knew me used to be dashed funny about it. I’m sick of the
whole bally business. You’ve given me a jolly thin time all this
while, and now I’m going to get a bit of my own back. Wouldn’t you,
Pitt, old man?”
Jimmy, thus suddenly appealed to, admitted that, in his lordship’s
place, he might have experienced a momentary temptation to do
something of the kind.
“Of course,” said his lordship; “any fellow would.”
“But, Spencer, let met–”
“You’ve soured my life,” said his lordship, frowning a tense,
Byronic frown. “That’s what you’ve done–soured my whole bally life.
I’ve had a rotten time. I’ve had to go about touching my friends for
money to keep me going. Why, I owe you a fiver, don’t I, Pitt, old