"Aunt Lavinia!" Hilary burst out. "Why do you say this? Do you want to make me miserable?"
"No, I want to make you sensible," her aunt retorted. "Sir Felix took me into his confidence just now. Here you have the chance of marrying a man, good-looking, distinguished in his profession, rich enough to give you everything you want, head over ears in love with you. And you want to chuck him over for a penniless doctor's assistant, who will have to leave you to drag out your youth in solitude, and when he does marry you will expect you to slave day and night for him and his children. Oh, it is no use flying out at me, Hilary. And it is no use trying to avoid facts. The less people can afford to have children the more they generally have. I can foresee you asking for the King's Bounty for triplets."
"Aunt Lavinia!" Hilary burst out with flaming cheeks. "How can you be so—so disgusting and—and so vulgar?"
"Disgusting! It is not disgusting—it is perfectly natural," Miss Lavinia contradicted with spirit. "And it is you that will have to put up with it, not me! And, as for being vulgar, my dear Hilary—most natural things are."
Hilary made no further answer. Her lips were firmly compressed as she walked over to the big window looking on to the garden and stood gazing straight before her with unseeing eyes. The two were standing in the little drawing-room at Rose Cottage. The sun was streaming in at the open window and the potpourri from the great jars smelt fragrant in the warmth. From the garden borders there came the sweet scent of the old-fashioned herbaceous blossoms, the soft damp smell of the upturned earth. A humming bee floated lazily into the room, outside a dragon-fly flashed by.
Miss Lavinia surveyed her niece's back with a twinkle in her eye. At last she tapped her on the shoulder.
"Now, Hilary, better give up dreaming about your future offspring and come to present facts. I told you I had made a few inquiries about your young man and Iris Houlton. I find that for the past week or two Wilton has been living in the girl's flat. The general idea, in so far as people think about one another at all in London, seems to be that they are married. I must say I doubt that. But, now, is that how you like the man you are engaged to to behave?"
When Hilary turned, the colour in her cheeks had faded and even her lips were white.
"I have yet to be convinced that he does behave so."
"I expected that," Miss Lavinia returned, quite unmoved by the doubt cast on the accuracy of her statement. "Now, Hilary, I want you and Fee to come up to town for a week. You can look up Mr. Wilton and Fee can see this doctor he is raving about and ascertain whether he thinks he can do anything for him. If he does—well, it will have to be managed somehow. The boy must have his chance. What do you say?"
"I—don't know." Hilary hesitated. "We have not much money, you know, Aunt Lavinia."
"And I have not much, either," Miss Priestley said grimly. "But I dare say if we put our spare coppers together we might find enough. Anyway I'll pay the preliminary expenses—railway journey, hotel bill and fee for the examination. Afterwards, if he is hopeful, we must see what we can arrange."
"You are very good, Aunt Lavinia. But I don't think we ought to take your money. You know Dad always said—"
"It was a very different matter when he was alive," Miss Lavinia interrupted. "That is all settled then, Hilary. The bit of change will do Fee good too. The lad is moping here. What do you think of a week to-morrow?"
"Oh, Fee will love it, of course. He hates Heathcote. And this new treatment may do him good, though I don't think Dad was ever very hopeful."
"Doctors never are about their own families. The shoemaker's children are always the worst shod," Miss Lavinia said scoffingly. "It would be a grand thing if Fee could be made to walk again, Hilary."
When this project was unfolded to Fee, he was frankly delighted. Quite apart from the castles in Spain he built on the somewhat scanty foundation of the new doctor's treatment, the prospect of the little visit to London, the getting away from Heathcote for a few days, was enchanting. There could be no doubt that Fee was a true cockney and the probability was against his ever settling down at Heathcote.
Sir Felix Skrine was not equally pleased. He had made up his mind that his wards should live in the country, and there could be small doubt that on the ground of economy as well as of health he was right. Nevertheless, after an intimate talk with Miss Lavinia, he withdrew his objection to the London plan and offered to pay the expenses out of the estate, as he phrased it.
Even the railway journey up was pure joy to Fee. Not once did he complain of the fatigue of which he had constantly spoken on the way down.
Dr. Blathwayte's consulting-rooms were in Wimpole Street, and Miss Lavinia had chosen a quiet hotel in Marylebone as their headquarters.
An appointment had been made for Fee for their first morning. Dr. Blathwayte, a tall dark man, with thin capable-looking fingers, made a thorough examination of the boy and professed himself more than hopeful of effecting a cure. But it would be lengthy and far more expensive than either Hilary or Miss Lavinia had dreamed of, and would necessitate a long stay in a nursing home under the doctor's own supervision, with a further sojourn abroad that might last a year.
Hilary and her aunt had a long consultation over ways and means when they got back, and Miss Lavinia, while promising all the help she could, made it evident that to pay for the whole or even half would be quite out of her power.
Sir Felix, after a talk with Fee and another with the doctor, came to Hilary.
"Well, Blathwayte seems to take quite a cheerful view of Fee's case," he began. "Why, what is the matter, Hilary? You look worried. I expected to find you delighted."
"I feel worried," Hilary acknowledged. "Because—though you have not told me much—I do know enough of our affairs to be sure that this treatment is quite beyond us."
Sir Felix laughed. "Perhaps your knowledge is not accurate. That will be all right, Hilary. You are not to bother your little head about such things."
"But can we afford it really?" Hilary questioned.
Sir Felix looked the other way. "Of course we can. It will be quite easily arranged."
"And out of our own money?" Hilary persisted.
"Well—er—most of it," Skrine answered. "And you must remember Fee is my godson, Hilary, as well as my ward. It is my business to arrange these matters."
"No," Hilary said firmly, "we can't allow that, Sir Felix. But you know we do not really care for Rose Cottage, either of us. If we gave that up and Fee went into the nursing home, and then abroad which Dr. Blathwayte seems to think would be the best thing for him, we might store the furniture and I could look out for some work. I believe I should be quite a decent secretary. I can type and I have learned shorthand too, though I haven't much speed at present. That would come with practice."
"Perhaps!" Sir Felix said with an enigmatic smile. "How would you like to be my secretary, Hilary? I pay well, but Miss Houlton scornfully declined the post when I offered it to her. I hope you will be kinder."
Hilary flushed.
"Oh, I don't think I should like that at all Sir Felix. I think it is always better not to work for friends."
"Do you? I should have thought quite the opposite," Sir Felix said, coming nearer. "But it is not as a secretary I want you, you know, Hilary. Come to the Manor as my wife. You will be able to do what you like for Fee and—"
Hilary tilted her small chin upwards scornfully.
"I am not to be bought, Sir Felix—or bribed."
Sir Felix frowned heavily for a moment. His blue eyes were like steel. So had he looked on the rare occasions when he had lost a big case at the Law Courts.
"Nor would I buy you—or bribe you, Hilary," he said at last. "My wife must come to me willingly or not at all. But some day—"
"Never. I shall never alter my mind," Hilary interrupted him passionately.