Cora Prodmore, who had a great deal of colour in her cheeks and a great deal more in the extremely high pitch of her new, smart clothes, was too much out of breath, too much flurried and frightened, to do more than stammer. “Waited, papa? Oh, I’m sorry!” Her father considered both the idea and her substantial form. “Well, as I shall expect you to put forth all your powers—yes! Some tea.”
The girl’s regret struck her parent as an impertinence. “Why the dickens are you so late?” She protested against any such picture. “I walked up, you know, also, from the station—there’s such a lovely footpath across the park.” “You’ve been roaming the country then alone?” “Oh, dear no, not alone! There were ever so many people about.” “But where, among them all, is your trusty maid?” “I didn’t bring her.” “Wasn’t she to understand from the first that we don’t permit——” “Anything of that sort? Oh, yes, papa—I thought she did.” “What on earth’s the matter with her?” “I really don’t quite know, but I think that at Granny’s she eats too much.” “I’ll soon put an end to that!”
She had by this begun a little to find her feet. “Exactly as I came, papa dear—under the protection of a new friend I’ve just made, a lady whom I met in the train and who is also going back by the 6.19.” Mr. Prodmore chilled any such expectations. “What does she want at this place?” “She wants to see it.” “Today won’t do.” “So I suggested. But do you know what she said?” “How should I know what a nobody says?” “She’s not a nobody. She’s an American.” Mr. Prodmore, for a moment, was struck. “An American?” “Yes, and she’s wild——” “Americans mostly are!” “I mean, wild to see this place. ‘Wild’ was what she herself called it—and I think she also said she was ‘mad.’” “She gave a fine account of herself! But she won’t do.”
“When she does arrive, I’ll tackle her; and I shall thank you, in future, not to take up, in trains, with indelicate women of whom you know nothing.” “Oh, I did know something, for I saw her yesterday at Bellborough.” “And what was she doing at Bellborough?” “Staying at the Blue Dragon, to see the old abbey. She just loves old abbeys. It seems to be the same feeling that brought her over, today, to see this old house.” “She just loves old houses? Then why the deuce didn’t she accompany you properly, since she is so pushing, to the door?” “Because she went off in a fly to see, first, the old hospital. She just loves old hospitals. She asked me if this isn’t a show-house. I told her I hadn’t the least idea.” “It is!” Mr. Prodmore cried almost with ferocity. “I wonder, on such a speech, what she thought of you!”
Miss Prodmore meditated with distinct humbleness. “I know. She told me.” “That you’re really a hopeless frump?” “That I’m not, as she rather funnily called it, a show-girl.” “Think of your having to be reminded—by the very strangers you pick up—of what my daughter should pre-eminently be! Your friend is evidently loud.” “Well, when she comes, you’ll certainly hear her. But don’t judge her, papa, till you do. She’s tremendously clever.” “And there seems to be nothing you do! I’m expecting Captain Yule.”
“The owner of this property?” Cora blinked. Her father’s tone showed his reserves. “That’s what it depends on you to make him!” “On me?” the girl gasped. “He came into it three months ago by the death of his great-uncle, who had lived to ninety-three, but who, having quarrelled mortally with his father, had always refused to receive either sire or son.” “But now, at least, doesn’t he live here?” “So little, that he comes here today for the very first time. I’ve some business to discuss with him that can best be discussed on this spot; and it’s a vital part of that business that you too should take pains to make him welcome.”
Miss Prodmore failed to ignite. “In his own house?” “That it’s not his own house is just the point I seek to make! The way I look at it is that it’s my house! The way I look at it even, my dear, is that it’s our house. The whole thing is mortgaged, as it stands, for every penny of its value.” Cora jumped. “Of holding the mortgages?” He caught her with a smile of approval. “You keep up with me better than I hoped. I hold every scrap of paper.”
“Are you going to be very hard?” she asked after a moment. “Hard with you?” “No—that doesn’t matter. Hard with the Captain.” “Hard is a stupid, shuffling term. What do you mean by it?” “I think I understand you, papa, enough to gather that you’ve got, as usual, a striking advantage.” “As usual, I have scored; but my advantage won’t be striking perhaps till I have sent the blow home. What I appeal to you, as a father, at present to do, is to nerve my arm. I look to you to see me through.”
“Through this most important transaction. I’ve brought you here to receive an impression, and I’ve brought you, even more, to make one.” “But on whom?” “On me, to begin with—by not being a fool. And then, Miss, on him.” Erect, but as if paralysed, she had the air of facing the worst. “On Captain Yule?” “By bringing him to the point.” “To what point?” “The point where a gentleman has to.” Miss Prodmore faltered. “Go down on his knees?” “No—they don’t do that now.” “What do they do?” Mr. Prodmore carried his eyes with a certain sustained majesty to a remote point. “He will know himself.”
“Oh, no, indeed, he won’t,” the girl cried; “they don’t ever!” “Then the sooner they learn—whoever teaches ’em!—the better: the better I mean in particular for the master of this house. I’ll guarantee that he shall understand that, for I shall do my part.” She looked at him as if his part were really to be hated. “But how on earth, sir, can I ever do mine? To begin with, you know, I’ve never even seen him.”
Mr. Prodmore took out his watch, consulted it, put it back. “You’ll see him now—from one moment to the other. He’s remarkably handsome, remarkably young, remarkably ambitious, and remarkably clever. He has one of the best and oldest names in this part of the country—a name that, far and wide here, one could do so much with that I’m simply indignant to see him do so little. I propose, my dear, to do with it all he hasn’t, and I further propose, to that end, first to get hold of it. It’s you, Miss Prodmore, who shall take it out of the fire.”
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