Giant’s Bread · Book II · III · Chapter 2 3 2

II

“Well, Mother, I don’t seem to be exactly the young heir!”

“Oh! well, dear, you mustn’t worry. Things arrange themselves, you know. You must have a good talk with your Uncle Sydney.”

Silly! What good could a talk with his Uncle Sydney do him?

Fortunately the matter was not referred to again. The extraordinary surprise was that Joe had been allowed to have her way. She was actually in London⁠—somewhat dragoned and chaperoned, it is true⁠—but still she had got her way.

His mother seemed always to be whispering mysteriously to friends. Vernon caught her at it one day.

“Yes⁠ ⁠… quite inseparable, they were⁠ ⁠… so I thought it wiser⁠ ⁠… it would be such a pity⁠ ⁠…” And what Vernon called the “other tabby” said something about “First cousins⁠ ⁠… most unwise⁠ ⁠…” And his mother with a suddenly heightened colour and raised voice had said: “Oh! I don’t think in every case.”

“Who were first cousins?” asked Vernon later. “What was all the mystery about?”

“Mystery, darling? I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well, you shut up when I came in. I wondered what it was all about?”

“Oh! nothing interesting. Some people you don’t know.”

She looked rather red and confused.

Vernon wasn’t curious. He asked no more.

He missed Joe most frightfully. Carey Lodge was pretty deadly without her. For one thing, he saw more of Enid than he had ever done before. She was always coming in to see Myra, and Vernon would find himself let in for taking her to roller skate at the new rink, or for some deadly party or other.

Myra told Vernon that it would be nice if he asked Enid up to Cambridge for May week. She was so persistent about it that Vernon gave in. After all, it didn’t matter. Sebastian would have Joe and he himself didn’t much care. Dancing was rather rot. Everything was rot that interfered with music⁠ ⁠…

The evening before his departure Uncle Sydney came to Carey Lodge and Myra pushed Vernon into the study with him and said: “Your Uncle Sydney’s come to have a little talk with you, Vernon.”

Mr. Bent hemmed and hawed for a minute or two and then, rather surprisingly, came straight to the point. Vernon had never liked his uncle as much. His facetious manner had been entirely laid aside.

“I’m coming straight out with what I want to say, my boy⁠—but I don’t want you interrupting till I’ve finished. See?”

“Yes, Uncle Sydney.”

“The long and short of it is just this. I want you to come into Bent’s. Now remember what I said⁠—no interruptions! I know you’ve never thought of such a thing, and I dare say the idea isn’t very congenial to you now. I’m a plain man, and I can face facts as well as anyone. If you’d got a good income and could live at Abbots Puissants like a gentleman, there wouldn’t be any question of the thing. Well, I accept that. You’re like your father’s people. But for all that, you’ve got good Bent blood in your veins, my boy, and blood’s bound to tell.

“I’ve got no son of my own. I’m willing⁠—if you’re willing⁠—to look upon you as a son. The girls are provided for, and handsomely provided for at that. And mind you, it won’t be a case of toiling for life. I’m not unreasonable⁠—and I realize just as much as you do what that place of yours stands for. You’re a young fellow. You go into the business when you come down from Cambridge⁠—mind you, you go into it from the bottom. You’ll start at a moderate salary and work up. If you want to retire before you’re forty, well, you can do so. Please yourself. You’ll be a rich man by then, and you’ll be able to run Abbots Puissants as it should be run.

“You’ll marry young, I hope. Excellent thing, young marriages. Your eldest boy succeeds to the place, the younger sons find a first-class business to step into where they can show what they’re made of. I’m proud of Bent’s⁠—as proud of Bent’s as you are of Abbots Puissants⁠—that’s why I understand your feeling about the old place. I don’t want you to have to sell it. Let it go out of the family after all these years⁠—that would be a shame. Well, there’s the offer.”

“It’s most awfully good of you, Uncle Sydney⁠—” began Vernon.

His uncle threw up a large square hand and stopped him.

“We’ll leave it at that, if you please. I don’t want an answer now. In fact I won’t have one. When you come down from Cambridge⁠—that’s time enough.”

He rose.

“Kind of you to ask Enid up for May Week. Very excited about it, she is. If you knew what that girl thought of you, Vernon, you’d be quite conceited. Ah! well, girls will be girls.”

Laughing boisterously, he slammed the front door.

Vernon remained in the hall frowning. It was really jolly decent of Uncle Sydney⁠—jolly decent.

Not that he was going to accept. All the money in the world wouldn’t tear him from music.

And, somehow, he would have Abbots Puissants as well.