Stella Fregelius | Page 6

be saved, and half a
mile of sea-walling costs something. Also very extensive repairs to the
house were necessary, and I was forced to take three farms in hand
when I retired from the army fifteen years ago. This has involved a net
loss of about ten thousand pounds, while all the time the interest had to
be paid and the place kept up in a humble fashion."
"I thought that my uncle Porson took over the mortgage after my
mother's death," interrupted Morris.
"That is so," answered his father, wincing a little; "but a creditor
remains a creditor, even if he happens to be a relative by marriage. I
have nothing to say against your uncle John, who is an excellent person
in his way, and well-meaning. Of course, he has been justified,
perfectly justified, in using his business abilities--or perhaps I should
say instincts, for they are hereditary--to his own advantage. In fact,
however, directly or indirectly, he has done well out of this property
and his connection with our family--exceedingly well, both financially
and socially. In a time of stress I was forced to sell him the two miles
of sea-frontage building-land between here and Northwold for a mere
song. During the last ten years, as you know, he has cut this up into
over five hundred villa sites, which he has sold upon long lease at
ground-rents that to-day bring in annually as much as he paid for the
whole property."
"Yes, father; but you might have done the same. He advised you to
before he bought the land."
"Perhaps I might, but I am not a tradesman; I do not understand these
affairs. And, Morris, I must remind you that in such matters I have had
no assistance. I do not blame you any more than I blame myself--it is
not in your line either--but I repeat that I have had no assistance."
Morris did not argue the point. "Well, father," he asked. "what is the
upshot? Are we ruined?"

"Ruined? That is a large word, and an ugly one. No, we are no more
ruined than we have been for the last half-dozen years, for, thank
Heaven, I still have resources and--friends. But, of course, this place is
in a way expensive, and you yourself would be the last to pretend that
our burdens have been lessened by--your having abandoned the very
strange profession which you selected, and devoted yourself to
researches which, if interesting, must be called abstract----"
"Forgive me, father," interrupted Morris with a ring of indignation in
his voice; "but you must remember that I put you to no expense. In
addition to what I inherited from my mother, which, of course, under
the circumstances I do not ask for, I have my fellowship, out of which I
contribute something towards the cost of my living and experiments,
that, by the way, I keep as low as possible."
"Of course, of course," said the Colonel, who did not wish to pursue
this branch of the subject, but his son went on:
"You know also that it was at your express wish that I came to live here
at Monksland, as for the purposes of my work it would have suited me
much better to take rooms in London or some other scientific centre."
"Really, my dear boy, you should control yourself," broke in his father.
"That is always the way with recluses; they cannot bear the slightest
criticism. Of course, as you were going to devote yourself to this line of
research it was right and proper that we should live together. Surely
you would not wish at my age that I should be deprived of the comfort
of the society of an only child, especially now that your mother has left
us?"
"Certainly not, father," answered Morris, softening, as was his fashion
at the thought of his dead mother.
Then came a pause, and he hoped that the conversation was at end; a
vain hope, as it proved.
"My real object in troubling you, Morris," continued his father,
presently, "was very different to the unnecessary discussions into which

we have drifted."
His son looked up, but said nothing. Again he knew what was coming,
and it was worse than anything that had gone before.
"This place seems very solitary with the two of us living in its great
rooms. I, who am getting an old fellow, and you a student and a
recluse--no, don't deny it, for nowadays I can barely persuade you to
attend even the Bench or a lawn-tennis party. Well, fortunately, we
have power to add to our numbers; or at least you have. I wish you
would marry, Morris."
His son turned sharply, and answered:
"Thank you, father, but I have no fancy that way."
"Now, there's Jane