Denzil Quarrier | Page 7

town that has changed a good deal of late years. It used to
be only an agricultural market, but about twenty years ago a man
started a blanket factory, and since then several other industries have
shot up. There's a huge sugar-refinery, and a place where they make

jams. That kind of thing, you know, affects the spirit of a place.
Manufacturers are generally go-ahead people, and mill-hands don't
support high Tory doctrine. It'll be interesting to see how they muster.
If Liversedge knows how to go to work"--he broke into laughter.
"Suppose, when the time comes, I go down and harangue the mob in
his favour?"
Lilian smiled and shook her head.
"I'm afraid you would be calling them 'the mob' to their faces."
"Well, why not? I dare say I should do more that way than by talking
fudge about the glorious and enlightened people. 'Look here, you
blockheads!' I should shout, 'can't you see on which side your interests
lie? Are you going to let England be thrown into war and taxes just to
please a theatrical Jew and the howling riff-raff of London?' I tell you
what, Lily, it seems to me I could make a rattling good speech if I gave
my mind to it. Don't you think so?"
"There's nothing you couldn't do," she answered, with soft fervour,
fixing her eyes upon him.
"And yet I do nothing--isn't that what you would like to add?"
"Oh, but your book is getting on!"
"Yes, yes; so it is. A capital book it'll be, too; a breezy book-- smelling
of the sea-foam! But, after all, that's only pen-work. I have a notion that
I was meant for active life, after all. If I had remained in the Navy, I
should have been high up by now. I should have been hoping for war, I
dare say. What possibilities there are in every man!"
He grew silent, and Lilian, her face shadowed once more, conversed
with her own thoughts.

CHAPTER II

In a room in the west of London--a room full of pictures and
brie-a-brac, of quaint and luxurious furniture, with volumes abundant,
with a piano in a shadowed corner, a violin and a mandoline laid
carelessly aside--two men sat facing each other, their looks expressive
of anything but mutual confidence. The one (he wore an overcoat, and
had muddy boots) was past middle age, bald, round-shouldered,

dressed like a country gentleman; upon his knees lay a small hand-bag,
which he seemed about to open, He leaned forward with a face of stern
reproach, and put a short, sharp question:
"Then why haven't I heard from you since my nephew's death?"
The other was not ready with a reply. Younger, and more fashionably
attired, he had assumed a lounging attitude which seemed natural to
him, though it served also to indicate a mood of resentful superiority.
His figure was slight, and not ungraceful; his features --pale, thin, with
heavy nose, high forehead--were intellectual and noteworthy, but
lacked charm.
"I have been abroad till quite recently," he said at length, his fine accent
contrasting with that of the questioner, which had a provincial note.
"Why did you expect me to communicate with you?"
"Don't disgrace yourself by speaking in that way, Mr. Glazzard!"
exclaimed the other, his voice uncertain with strong, angry feeling.
"You know quite well why I have come here, and why you ought to
have seen me long ago!"
Thereupon he opened the bag and took out a manuscript-book.
"I found this only the other day among Harry's odds and ends. It's a
diary that he kept. Will you explain to me the meaning of this entry,
dated in June of last year: 'Lent E. G. a hundred pounds'?"
Glazzard made no answer, but his self-command was not sufficient to
check a quivering of the lips.
"There can be no doubt who these initials refer to. Throughout, ever
since my nephew's intimacy with you began, you are mentioned here as
'E. G.' Please to explain another entry, dated August: 'Lent E. G. two
hundred pounds.' And then again, February of this year: 'Lent E. G. a
hundred and fifty pounds'--and yet again, three months later: 'Lent E. G.
a hundred pounds'--what is the meaning of all this?"
"The meaning, Mr. Charnock," replied Glazzard, "is indisputable."
"You astound me!" cried the elder man, shutting up the diary and
straightening himself to an attitude of indignation. "Am I to understand,
then, that this is the reason why Harry left no money? You mean to say
you have allowed his relatives to believe that he had wasted a large sum,
whilst they supposed that he was studying soberly in London"----
"If you are astounded," returned the other, raising his eyebrows, "I
certainly am no less so. As your