Nell of Shorne Mills

Drake knocked the ash off his cigarette and looked straight before him.

He could still save himself by telling the truth and sacrificing Lady

Luce. But that was not his way.

"I'm sorry, sir----" he began.

"Sorry be d----d!" broke in the earl tempestuously. "Will you, or will

you not?"

"I can't," said Drake quietly.

The old man rose to his feet, flinging his serviette aside.

"Then, by Heaven! I've done with you!" he exclaimed. "I made you a fair

offer. I've only asked you to act like a gentleman, a man of honor. Am I

to understand that you refuse?"

Drake had also risen slowly.

"I'm afraid I must, sir," he said.

"All right," said the earl, red with anger. "Then there's nothing more

to be said. You can go your own way. But permit me to tell you----"

"Oh, don't, sir!" said Drake, rather sadly. "I can't do what you ask.

God knows I would if I could, but--it's impossible. For Heaven's sake,

don't let us quarrel----"

"Quarrel! I am as cool as a cucumber!" exclaimed the earl, his face the

color of beetroot. "All I say is"--here a twinge of the gout checked his

utterance--"that you're behaving shamefully--shamefully! We'd better

join the ladies--I mean Lady Angleford----"

"I think I'll get you to excuse me, sir," said Drake. "There is no need

to upset Lady Angleford. She asked me here with the very best

intentions, and she would be disappointed if she knew we had--quarreled.

There is no need to tell her. I'll clear out. Make my excuse to her."

"As you like," said the earl shortly. "But let me tell you that I think

you are----"

"No end of a fool, I've no doubt," said Drake, with a rather weary

smile. "I dare say I am. But I can't help it. Good night, sir."

The earl muttered something that sounded like "good night," and Drake

left the house. He ought to have said good night to Lady Angleford, but

he shirked it. He bore her no animosity; indeed, he liked her very

much--so much that he shrank from telling her about this quarrel with

his uncle; and he knew that if he went to her she would get it out of

him.

He walked home, feeling very miserable and down on his luck. How he

hated London, and all that belonged to it! Like a whiff of fresh air the

memory of Shorne Mills wafted across his mind. He let himself in with

his latchkey, and, taking a sheet of note paper, made some calculations

upon it. There was still something remaining of his mother's fortune to

him. If he were not Lord Drake Selbie, but simply Mr. Drake Vernon, he

could manage to live upon it. The vision of a slim and graceful girl,

with soft black hair and violet-gray eyes, rose before him. It seemed to

beckon him, to beckon him away from the hollow, heartless world in which

he had hitherto lived. He rose and flung open wide the window of his

sitting room, and the breath of air which came through the London

streets seemed fragrant with the air which wafted over Shorne Mills.