For the Allinson Honor. Harold Bindloss
evening, and he was now busy in the library while Andrew sat talking to his sisters on the terrace.
Though the light was fading, it was not yet dark, and the air was still and fragrant with flowers. Yew hedges and shrubberies were growing indistinct; a clump of firs in a neighboring meadow loomed up black and shadowy, but a band of pale saffron light still shone behind the hall on the edge of the moorland a mile away. The square peel stood out harsh and sharp against the glow, the rambling house with its tall chimneys trailing away into the gloom on its flanks.
Andrew, who had early lost his mother, had three sisters. Florence, Leonard's wife, his senior by several years, was a tall, prim and rather domineering woman; Gertrude, who had married Antony Wannop, a local gentleman, was gentler and less decided than her sister; Hilda, the youngest of all, was little, dark, and impulsive.
Wannop leaned on the terrace wall between the flower urns with a cigar in his mouth. He was stout and generally marked by a bluff geniality.
"Where did you go this afternoon, Andrew, when you wouldn't come with us to the Warringtons'?" Hilda asked.
Andrew would have preferred to evade the question, but that seemed impossible.
"I went to see Mrs. Olcott."
"Again!" exclaimed Hilda, who prided herself on being blunt.
Wannop chuckled softly, but Florence claimed Andrew's attention.
"Don't you think you have been there often enough?"
"It hasn't struck me in that light."
"Then," replied Florence, "I feel it's time it did."
"Come now!" Wannop broke in. "Three to one is hardly fair. Don't be bullied, Andrew; a bachelor can be independent."
"How do you make it three?" Hilda asked. "Only Florence and I mentioned the matter."
"I am, of course, acquainted with Gertrude's views," Wannop explained.
Hilda laughed. Antony, with his characteristic maladroitness, had somehow made things worse, and Andrew's face hardened. His sisters were generally candid with him, but they had gone too far. With a thoughtlessness he sometimes showed, he had told them nothing about his acquaintance with Clare Olcott's husband.
"You're not much of an ally," he said with a dry smile. "Anyway, as there's no reason why I shouldn't go to The Firs, I'm not likely to be deterred. I may as well mention that I met Ethel Hillyard and begged her to call."
"On Mrs. Olcott?" Florence cried. "What did she say?"
"She promised."
The astonishment of the others was obvious, but Hilda was the only one who ventured to express it.
"Andrew, you're a wonder! You haven't the least idea of scheming, and you'd spoil the best plot you took a hand in, and yet you have a funny, blundering way of getting hard things done."
"You have hinted that I was a bit of a fool," said Andrew; "but I don't see why this should be hard."
As an explanation was undesirable, Hilda let his remark pass and addressed the others.
"He has beaten us and we may as well give in gracefully. If Ethel goes, all the people who count will follow her."
"There's more in Andrew than his friends suspect," Wannop observed, laughing.
They let the subject drop, and Florence went in search of her husband.
"What's your opinion of Allinson's new policy, Andrew?" Wannop asked.
"I don't know what to think. One can be too conservative nowadays, but I'll confess that I liked the firm's old-fashioned staidness better. Even the old dingy offices somehow made you feel that the Allinsons were sober, responsible people. The new place with its brass-work, plate-glass and gilding was somewhat of a shock to me; but the business is flourishing. Mining speculation was quite out of my father's line, but Leonard makes it pay."
"I've a few thousands in the African concern," Wannop remarked with complacent satisfaction. "As it looks as if I'd get my money back in about seven years, I wish I'd put in twice as much."
Hilda let her eyes rest on the fading outline of the grim old peel.
"Well," she said, "I don't agree with Leonard's methods. They're vulgarly assertive, and the new offices strike me as being out of place. Allinson's ought to be more dignified. Even when we stole cattle from the Scots in the old days we did so in a gentlemanly way."
"Is stealing ever gentlemanly?" Wannop inquired.
"It's sometimes less mean than it is at others. Though I've no doubt that we robbed the Armstrongs and the Elliots, I can't think that we plundered our neighbors or took a bribe to shut our eyes when the Scots moss-troopers were riding up the dale. The Allinsons couldn't have betrayed the English cause, as some of the Borderers did."
"No," said Wannop, "it would certainly have been against their traditions. And in times that we know more about, nobody has ever questioned the honor of the House."
Andrew looked up with a reserved smile.
"I don't think it's likely that anybody ever will."
He got up and started toward the house.
"I must have a talk with Leonard," he said.
When he had left them, Wannop turned to the others.
"Now and then you can see the old stock in Andrew; and, after all, he has a controlling interest in the firm."
"Andrew may not do much good," Hilda declared, "but he'll do Allinson's no harm. He'll stick to the best of the old traditions." She paused with a laugh. "Perhaps we're silly in our family pride and sometimes think ourselves better than our neighbors with very little reason; but it's a clean pride. We're a mercantile family, but Allinson's has always ranked with the Bank of England."
When Andrew reached the library, his brother-in-law sat at a writing-table on which stood a tall silver lamp. The light fell in a sharply defined circle on the polished floor, which ran back beyond it into shadow. The windows at the western end were open and, for it was not quite dark yet, the long rows of bookcases, dimly visible against the wall, emphasized the spaciousness of the room. The scent of flowers that drifted in was mingled with the smell of a cigar, and as Andrew's footsteps echoed through the room Leonard laid down his pen. The strong light fell upon him, showing his thin face and tall, spare figure. His hair receded somewhat from his high forehead, and he had the colorless complexion of a man who lives much indoors; but his eyes were singularly penetrating. Dressed with fastidious neatness he had an air of elegance and, by comparison, made Andrew, who was of robuster build, look heavy and awkward.
"I'm glad of an excuse for stopping," he said. "Will you sit down and smoke?"
"What are you doing? I thought you came here for a rest," said Andrew, lighting a cigarette.
"The firm is a hard task-master, and it's difficult to get a few minutes undisturbed in town. That's why I brought these papers down. Writing a prospectus is a business which demands both caution and imagination. Would you like to see the draft?"
"I thought a boundless optimism was the most essential thing," Andrew replied, taking the paper handed him. "You're moderate," he continued when he had read it. "Ten per cent. is all you promise, though as far as my experience goes, twenty's the more usual thing."
"Allinson's does not promise more than it can fulfill."
"That's true and quite in accordance with my views. Until lately, however, prospectuses were very much out of our line."
Leonard was surprised and annoyed. Andrew was associating himself with the business in an unusual manner; although he had a right to do so.
"If there's anything you wish to ask, I shall be glad to explain it."
"These underwritten shares—I suppose you're letting the fellows have them below par? Is that because