The Paradise Mystery | Page 4

a little--a forced laugh. "They say," she went on, "that it
doesn't matter, nowadays, if you can't tell who your grandfather
was--but, just think, we don't know who our father was--except that his
name was John Bewery. That doesn't convey much."

"You know more," said Ransford. "I told you--always have told
you--that he was an early friend of mine, a man of business, who, with
your mother, died young, and I, as their friend, became guardian to you
and Dick. Is--is there anything much more that I could tell?"
"There's something I should very much like to know --personally," she
answered, after a pause which lasted so long that Ransford began to
feel uncomfortable under it. "Don't be angry--or hurt--if I tell you
plainly what it is. I'm quite sure it's never even occurred to Dick--but
I'm three years ahead of him. It's this--have we been dependent on
you?"
Ransford's face flushed and he turned deliberately to the window, and
for a moment stood staring out on his garden and the glimpses of the
Cathedral. And just as deliberately as he had turned away, he turned
back.
"No!" he said. "Since you ask me, I'll tell you that. You've both got
money--due to you when you're of age. It--it's in my hands. Not a great
lot--but sufficient to--to cover all your expenses. Education--everything.
When you're twenty-one, I'll hand over yours--when Dick's twenty-one,
his. Perhaps I ought to have told you all that before, but--I didn't think
it necessary. I--I dare say I've a tendency to let things slide."
"You've never let things slide about us," she replied quickly, with a
sudden glance which made him turn away again. "And I only wanted to
know--because I'd got an idea that--well, that we were owing
everything to you."
"Not from me!" he exclaimed.
"No--that would never be!" she said. "But--don't you understand?
I--wanted to know--something. Thank you. I won't ask more now."
"I've always meant to tell you--a good deal," remarked Ransford, after
another pause. "You see, I can scarcely--yet --realize that you're both
growing up! You were at school a year ago. And Dick is still very
young. Are--are you more satisfied now?" he went on anxiously. "If

not--"
"I'm quite satisfied," she answered. "Perhaps--some day --you'll tell me
more about our father and mother?--but never mind even that now.
You're sure you haven't minded my asking --what I have asked?"
"Of course not--of course not!" he said hastily. "I ought to have
remembered. And--but we'll talk again. I must get into the surgery--and
have a word with Bryce, too."
"If you could only make him see reason and promise not to offend
again," she said. "Wouldn't that solve the difficulty?"
Ransford shook his head and made no answer. He picked up his letters
again and went out, and down a long stone-walled passage which led to
his surgery at the side of the house. He was alone there when he had
shut the door--and he relieved his feelings with a deep groan.
"Heaven help me if the lad ever insists on the real truth and on having
proofs and facts given to him!" he muttered. "I shouldn't mind telling
her, when she's a bit older--but he wouldn't understand as she would.
Anyway, thank God I can keep up the pleasant fiction about the money
without her ever knowing that I told her a deliberate lie just now. But
--what's in the future? Here's one man to be dismissed already, and
there'll be others, and one of them will be the favoured man. That man
will have to be told! And--so will she, then. And--my God! she doesn't
see, and mustn't see, that I'm madly in love with her myself! She's no
idea of it --and she shan't have; I must--must continue to be--only the
guardian!"
He laughed a little cynically as he laid his letters down on his desk and
proceeded to open them--in which occupation he was presently
interrupted by the opening of the side-door and the entrance of Mr.
Pemberton Bryce.

CHAPTER II

MAKING AN ENEMY
It was characteristic of Pemberton Bryce that he always walked into a
room as if its occupant were asleep and he was afraid of waking him.
He had a gentle step which was soft without being stealthy, and quiet
movements which brought him suddenly to anybody's side before his
presence was noticed. He was by Ransford's desk ere Ransford knew he
was in the surgery--and Ransford's sudden realization of his presence
roused a certain feeling of irritation in his mind, which he instantly
endeavoured to suppress--it was no use getting cross with a man of
whom you were about to rid yourself, he said to himself. And for the
moment, after replying to his assistant's greeting--a greeting as quiet as
his entrance--he went on