Man with the Dark Beard Read Free Page B

as his glimpse from the window afforded. He got to know many of the passers-by, and often, on a summer’s day, some one would stop and hold quite a long conversation with the white-faced, eager-looking boy.
    But Fee was not there this afternoon. It had been one of his bad days, and he had retired to his room early.
    The voices that Sir Felix Skrine had heard came from a couple of young people standing on the hearthrug. Skrine caught one glimpse of them, and his brows contracted. The girl’s head was bent over a bunch of roses. The man, tall and rather noticeably good-looking, was watching her with an expression that could not be misunderstood in his grey eyes.
    The girl, Hilary Bastow, came forward to meet him quickly.
    â€œHave you seen Dad, Sir Felix? He has been expecting you.”
    â€œI have just left him,” Sir Felix said briefly. “I have only one minute to spare, Hilary, and I came to offer you my birthday wishes and to beg your acceptance of this.”
    There was something of an old-time courtesy in his manner as, very deliberately, he drew the roses from her clasp and laid them on the table beside her, placing a worn jewel-case in her hand.
    The colour flashed swiftly over the girl’s face.
    â€œOh, Sir Felix!”
    After a momentary hesitation that did not escape Skrine’s notice, she opened the case. Inside, on its bed of blue velvet, lay a string of magnificent pearls.
    â€œ0–h!” Hilary drew a deep breath, then the bright colour in her cheeks faded.
    â€œOh, Sir Felix! They are Lady Skrine’s pearls.”
    The great lawyer bent his head. “She would have liked you to have them, Hilary,” he said briefly. “Wear them for her sake – and mine.”
    He did not wait to hear her somewhat incoherent thanks; but, with a pat on her arm and a slight bow in the direction of the young man who was standing surlily aloof, he went out of the room.
    The two he had left were silent for a minute, Hilary’s head still bent over the pearls, the roses lying on the table beside her. At last the man came a step nearer.
    â€œSo he gives you his wife’s pearls, Hilary. And – takes my roses from you.”
    As he spoke he snatched up the flowers, and as if moved by some uncontrollable influence, flung them through the open window. With a sharp cry Hilary caught at his arm – too late.
    â€œBasil! Basil! My roses!”
    A disagreeable smile curved Wilton’s lips.
    â€œYou have the pearls.”
    â€œI – I would rather have the roses,” the girl said with a little catch in her voice. “Oh, Basil, how could you – how could you be so silly?”
    â€œHilary! Hilary!” he said hoarsely. “Tell me you don’t care for him.”
    â€œFor him – for Sir Felix Skrine!” Hilary laughed. “Well, really, Basil, you are – Why, he is my godfather! Does a girl ever care for her godfather? At least, I mean, as –” She stopped suddenly.
    In spite of his anger, Wilton could not help smiling.
    â€œAs what?” he questioned.
    â€œOh, I don’t know what I meant, I am sure. I must be in a particularly idiotic mood this morning,” Hilary returned confusedly. “My birthday has gone to my head, I think. It is a good thing a person only has a birthday once a year.”
    She went on talking rapidly to cover her confusion.
    All the wrath had died out of Wilton’s face now, and his deep-set, grey eyes were very tender as he watched her.
    â€œHow is it that you care for Skrine?” he pursued. “Not as – well, let us say, not as you care for me, for example?”
    The flush on Hilary’s face deepened to a crimson flood that spread over forehead, temples and neck.
    â€œI never said –”
    Wilton managed to capture her hands.
    â€œYou never said – what?”
    Hilary turned her heated face away.
    â€œThat – that –” she murmured