It was like him: only such a man can be capable of such an
underhand act. And now I suppose he will be welcomed by his neighbours,
and the Vaynes and the Bannerdales, and made much of. They'll eat his
dinners, and their women will go to his balls and concerts--they whose
fathers would have refused to sit at the same table with him. But there
is one house at which he will not be welcome; one man who will not
acknowledge him, who will not cross the threshold of Sir Stephen Orme's
brand-new palace, or invite him to enter his own. He shall not darken
the doors of Heron Hall."
He rose as he spoke and left the room with a quicker step than usual.
But half an hour later when Ida went into the library she found him
absorbed in his books as usual, and he only glanced up at her with
absent, unseeing eyes, as she stood beside him putting on her gloves,
her habit skirt caught up under her elbow, the old felt hat just a
little askew on the soft, silky hair.
"Do you want anything before I go out, father?" she asked.
"No, no!" he replied abstractedly, and bending over his book again as
he answered. Ida crossed the hall in the sunlight, which lit up her
beauty and made it seem a more striking contrast than usual to the dull
and grim surroundings of the dark oak, the faded hangings and the
lack-lustre armour, and Donald and Bess bounded, barking, before her
down the terrace at which Jason was holding thy big chestnut.
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