"I had hoped that everything between you and young Wilton was at an end. You know how your father objected to it—forbade anything in the nature of an engagement."
"Dad had only just heard about it—us—the day before—he died," Hilary said brokenly. "I feel sure everything would have been different—later. He—he always wanted me to be happy."
The vertical lines between the lawyer's eyebrows were deepening.
"He left you to me, Hilary. I told him of my love for you in our last long talk together and he—he approved."
Hilary's brown eyes met his, the latent antagonism in them of which he had been conscious of late very perceptible.
"Dad knew of my love for Basil," she said firmly. "He couldn't have thought it was any good anyone else thinking of—I mean, he only left me in your charge because you are my godfather."
"Hateful relationship!" Sir Felix ejaculated with sudden fire. "To me you are—just the woman I love. Hilary, can't you care for me?"
"As my godfather, yes," Hilary said, a suspicion of malice in her tone. "For the rest, I cannot allow you to speak of anything else, Sir Felix. I love—I belong to Basil Wilton."
Sir Felix drew in his lips. With one rapid stroke he beheaded a tall delphinium in the border that was just bursting into flower.
"It is a pity Wilton is not as loyal to you as you are to him," he said abruptly.
Hilary turned back to the house. She looked Sir Felix squarely in the face as he joined her.
"What do you mean?" she questioned quietly.
"I'll leave it to some one else to tell you," Sir Felix returned.
At this moment the front door was flung open and the tall, gaunt figure of Miss Lavinia Priestley came in sight. She was wearing black, of course. The modern fashion of disregarding mourning she looked upon as almost indecent, and her sensible short skirts were extremely sensible, and extremely short, her long skinny legs, encased presumably in the fashionable silk stockings, were further encased in stout knitted gaiters. She wore a black hat of the style usually described as a smart little pull-on. From it there protruded ends of sandy, shingled hair like dilapidated drake's tails. There was a certain jauntiness about her gait as she came forward, and instead of spectacles she wore a pair of rimless eyeglasses perched precariously upon the bridge of her high Roman nose.
"Aunt Lavinia!" Hilary exclaimed in amazement. "Why, I thought you were—"
"On the high seas," the spinster returned, as she made an ineffectual dab at her niece's cheek and then shook hands with Sir Felix. "But the Sheikh-like person turns out to be a fraud He promised his deluded wife she should have visitors over from England as often as she liked or she could get 'em. Now, when she invites me, he turns nasty, and not content with shutting her up in his harem or zenana or whatever he calls the thing, off he marches with her into the desert, where of course she can't get an English nurse or doctor or anything, and stops me by wireless. I don't know what is to be done."
She took off her pince-nez, rubbed some mist from it, and replaced it.
"Marriages between Englishwomen and Arabs ought not to be allowed," Sir Felix said shortly. "If I had my way I would make it penal for an Englishwoman to enter upon any such connexion."
"I dare say you would!" Miss Lavinia turned upon him with a certain amount of warmth. "But I should just like to know what you would do if you were a woman who had spent her time in uncongenial work and felt her youth going day by day and nothing before her but a solitary old age with nothing to live upon but her scanty savings eked out by the miserable old age pension. I guess if a magnificent Sheikh-like person came along and asked you to go to live with him in a palace with every luxury, plenty of money and servants to wait upon you, you would go fast enough."
"Well, of course there is something to be said for that point of view," Sir Felix acknowledged grudgingly. "But if you had travelled in the East as much as I have, Miss Priestley, you would loathe the idea of this sort of marriage."
Miss Lavinia tossed her head. "And if you had travelled about the world as much as I have, Sir Felix, you would loathe the sight of starving, miserable old women, decayed ladies they call themselves, I believe as much as I do."
Sir Felix was not inclined to argue the point.
"Oh, well, I dare say I should," he conceded gracefully, his glance wandering to Hilary's half-averted cheek.
"And that's neither here nor there," Miss Lavinia finished. "What I want to do is to discuss this affair of Fee's with you both," with a curious look at Hilary's heated face.
Chapter XI
"Don't be a fool, Hilary! Of course the man is in love with you."
"Well, I'm not in love with him," Hilary retorted with spirit. "An old man like that—my godfather too! He ought to be ashamed of himself!"
"A man is never too old to fall in love—or never thinks he is," Miss Lavinia said impatiently. "Besides, Sir Felix is not old—just in the prime of life—and you must think of your future, Hilary. You will not like being a lonely old maid with none too much money."
Hilary drew herself up.
"I'm not going to be an old maid, Aunt Lavinia! Bachelor women we call them nowadays, by the way. But you forget that I am going to marry—I am engaged to Basil Wilton."
"Of course you are not going to marry Wilton. How could you without a penny piece between you? Now, Sir Felix—"
"But, Aunt Lavinia," Hilary interrupted, "you quite approved of my engagement when I told you about it."
"Engagement, yes," Miss Lavinia said scornfully. "But you are talking of getting married, quite a different thing. I looked upon Wilton as an experiment—pour passer le temps—just to get your hand in. A little experience gives a girl aplomb when a really serious affair comes along. Men say they like to be the first, but they find it pretty dull when they are."
"Aunt Lavinia!" Hilary faced round, her cheeks flaming. "I would not think as meanly of people as you do for the world! I hope I shall never lose my faith in human nature."
"I am sure I hope you never will if it is any satisfaction to you to retain it," Miss Lavinia returned, in no wise discomposed. "But if you pin the said faith to Basil Wilton I am afraid it will not last long. That is really what brought me down here today."
"What brought you down here today? I hate hints." Hilary stamped her foot. "I cannot understand you this morning, Aunt Lavinia. What are you talking about?"
"Basil Wilton, of course. I have just told you so," Miss Lavinia returned with a slightly exasperated air. "I know you haven't heard from him regularly, since you came down here. Oh, Fee told me. For goodness' sake don't make a fuss about that. Naturally the boy must talk. Well, I saw Mr. Basil Wilton last week, in consequence of which I have made a few inquiries about the young man, and I thought it my duty to come down here and let you know the result."
"You saw Basil!" Hilary exclaimed, seizing upon the first part of the sentence. "Where? What was he doing?"
"Driving down Bond Street in a smartly appointed car with that Miss Houlton," Miss Lavinia answered without any further beating about the bush.
"Miss Houlton! Oh!" Hilary drew a long breath of relief. "Oh, that is nothing, Aunt Lavinia. Of course he knew her very well when she was with—Dad."
"Of course he did!" Miss Lavinia echoed scornfully. "Don't be silly, Hilary. Miss Houlton was a baggage, with her cast down eyes, looking as if she couldn't say boo to a goose! She does not cast them down now, I can tell you. Looking right up into Wilton's face, she was, making all the play she could. And he was not at all backward, either. Doing quite his share in the love-making, I