The Morals of Marcus Ordeyne | Page 2

I winced. His conjecture hurt me horribly.
"Oh, it's nothing to do with my incompetence," I interrupted.
"What is it, then?"
"My grandfather, two uncles, two nephews and a valet were drowned a
day or two ago in the Mediterranean," I answered, calmly.
I have since been struck by the crudity of this announcement. It took
my chief's breath away.
"I deeply sympathise with you," he said at last.
"Thank you," said I.
"A terrible catastrophe. No wonder it has upset you. Horrible! Six
living human beings! Three generations of men!"
"That's just it," said I. "Three generations of my family swept away,
leaving me now at the head of it."
At this moment the chief's wife came into the library with the morning
paper in her hand. On seeing me she rushed forward.
"Have you had bad news?"
"Yes. Is it in the paper?"

"I was coming to show my husband. The name is an uncommon one. I
wondered if they might be relatives of yours."
I bowed acquiescence. The chief looked at the paragraph below his
wife's indicating thumb, then he looked at me as if I, too, had suffered a
seachange.
"I had no idea--" he said. "Why, now--now you are Sir Marcus
Ordeyne!"
"It sounds idiotic, doesn't it? " said I, with a smile. "But I suppose I
-am."
And so came my release from captivity. I was profoundly affected by
the awful disaster, but it would be sheer hypocrisy if I said that I felt
personal grief. I knew none of the dead, of whom I verily believe the
valet was the worthiest man. My grandfather and uncles had ignored
my existence. Not a helping hand had they stretched out to my
widowed mother in her poverty, when one kindly touch would have
meant all.
They do not seem to have been a lovable race, the Ordeynes. What my
father, the youngest son, was like, I have no idea, as he died when I was
two years old, but my mother, who was somewhat stern and puritanical,
spoke of him very much as she would have spoken of the prophet Joel,
had he been a personal acquaintance.
Seven years to-day have I been a free man.
Feeling at peace with all the world I called this afternoon on my Aunt
Jessica, Mrs. Ordeyne, who has borne me no malice for stepping into
the place that should have been the inheritance of her husband and of
her son. Rather has she devised to adopt me, to guide my ambitions and
to point out my duties as the head of the house. If I refuse to be adopted,
avoid ambitions and disclaim duties, the fault lies not with her
good-will. She is a well-preserved worldly woman of fifty-five, and
having begun to dye her hair in the peroxide of hydrogen era has not
the curiosity to abandon the practice and see what colour will result. I

wish I could like her. I can't. She purrs. Some day I feel she will scratch.
She received me graciously.
"My dear Marcus. At last! Didn't you know I have been in town ever
since Easter?"
"No," said I. "I am afraid I didn't." Which was true. "Why didn't you
tell me?"
"I would have asked you to dinner, but you will never come. As for At
Home cards I never dream of sending them to you. It is a waste of
precious half-penny stamps."
"You might have written me a nice little letter about nothing at all," I
suggested.
"For you to say 'What is that woman worrying me with her silly letters
for?' I know what you men are." She looked arch.
This is precisely what I should have said. As I am not an inventive liar,
I could only smile feebly. I am never at my ease with Aunt Jessica. I
am not the kind of person to afford her entertainment. I do not belong
to her world of opulence, and if even I desired it, which the gods forbid,
my means would not enable me to make the necessary display. My
uncle, thinking to retrieve the fallen fortunes of the title, amassed
enormous wealth as a company promoter, while I, on whom the title
has descended, am perfectly contented with its fallen fortunes. I have
scarcely a thought or taste in common with my aunt. In fact, I must
bore her exceedingly. Yet she hides her boredom beneath a radiant
countenance and leads me to understand that my society gives her
inexpressible joy. I wonder why.
She is always be-guide-philosopher-and-friending me. I resent it. A
man of forty does not need the counsels of an elderly woman destitute
of intellect. I believe there are some women who are firmly convinced
that their sheer sex has imbued them with all