The Vision of Desire | Page 6

a foreboding as to Tony's ultimate future. And then, one day, shortly before the weak flame of her life flickered out into the darkness, she had sent for Ann, and solemnly, appealingly, confided the boy to her care.
"I hate leaving him, Ann," she had said between the long bouts of coughing which shook her thin frame so that speech was at times impossible. "He's so--alone. Philip represents nothing to him but an autocrat he is bound to obey. And Tony resents it. Any one who loves him can steady him--but no one will ever drive him. When I'm gone, will you do what you can for him--for him and for me?"
And Ann, holding the sick woman's feverish hands in her own cool ones, had promised.
"I will do all that I can," she said steadily.
"And if he does get into difficulties?" persisted Virginia, her eager eyes searching the girl's face.
Ann smiled down at her reassuringly.
"Don't worry," she had answered. "If he does, why, then I'll get him out of them if it's in any way possible."
Two days later, Ann had stood beside the bed where Virginia lay, straight and still in the utter peace and tranquillity conferred by death. Her last words had been of Tony.
"I've 'bequeathed' him to you, Ann," she had whispered. Adding, with a faint, humorous little smile: "I'm afraid I'm leaving you rather a troublesome legacy."
And now, nearly four years later, Ann had thoroughly realised that the task of keeping Tony out of mischief was by no means an easy one. Here, at Montricheux, however, she had felt that she could relax her vigilance somewhat. There was no temptation to back "a certainty" of which some racing friend had apprised him, and, as Tony himself discontentedly declared, the stakes permitted at the Kursaal tables were so small that if he gambled every night of the week he ran no risk of either making or losing a fortune.
The chief danger, she reflected, was that he might become bored and irritable--she could see that he was tending that way--and then trouble would be sure to arise between him and his uncle, with whom he was staying at the Hotel Gloria. She recalled his hesitation when she had asked him if he had been getting into mischief. Was trouble brewing already?
"Tony," she demanded shrewdly. "Have you been quarrelling with Sir Philip again? There's generally some disturbing cause when you feel driven into asking me to marry you."
"Well, why won't you? He'd be satisfied then."
"He? Do you mean your uncle?"--with some astonishment.
Tony nodded.
"Yes. Didn't you know he wanted it more than anything? Just as I do," he added with the quick, whimsical smile which was one of his charms.
Ann shook her head.
"You haven't answered my question," she persisted.
"Well," admitted Tony unwillingly, "he and I did have a bit of a dust-up this morning. I'm sick of doing nothing. I told him I wanted to be an architect."
"Well?"
"It was anything but well! He let me have it good and strong. No Brabazon was going to take up planning houses as a profession if he knew it! I'd got my duty to the old name and estate and the tenants, et cetera, et cetera. All the usual tosh."
Ann's face clouded. She devoutly wished that Sir Philip would allow his nephew to take up some profession--never mind which, so long as it interested him and gave him definite occupation. To keep him idling about between Lorne and the Brabazon town house in Audley Square was the worst thing in the world for him. Privately she determined to approach her godfather on the subject at the very next opportunity, though she could make a very good, guess at the reason for his refusal. It was a purely selfish one. He liked to have the boy with him. Bully him and browbeat him as he might, Tony was in reality the apple of the old man's eye--the one thing in the whole world for which he cared.
There would be nothing gained, however, by letting Tony know her thoughts, so she answered him with trenchant disapproval.
"It's not tosh. After all, your first duty is to Lorne and to the tenants. A good landlord is quite as useful a member of society as a good architect."
"Oh, if I were doing the actual managing, it would be a different thing," acknowledged Tony. "But I don't. He decides everything and gives all the orders--without consulting me. I just have to see that what he orders is carried out, and trot about with him, and do the noble young heir stunt for the benefit of the tenants on my birthday. It's absolutely sickening!"--savagely.
"Well, don't quarrel with your bread-and-butter," advised Ann. "Or with Sir Philip. He's not a bad sort in his way."
"Oh, isn't he?"--grimly. "You try living with him! Thank the