The Black Moth · Chapter 4 (2/2)

“ ’Twould appear that Lavinia has recovered,” remarked Andrew as they mounted the steps. “She was ever thus⁠—not two minutes the same. Well, Lavvy?”

“Well, Andrew?” She gave him a careless hand to kiss, but smiled sweetly up at her husband. “My headache is so much better,” she told him, “and they said that Andrew was come to see you. So I came downstairs.” She turned eagerly to her brother. “Tell me, Andrew, is Tracy at home?”

“Lord, yes! He arrived yesterday, devil take him! Do you want him?”

“Oh, yes,” she nodded. “I want to see him again. I’ve not set eyes on him for an age. I want you to take me back with you.”

“Surely, my dear, ’tis a trifle late in the day for such a drive?” demurred Richard, trying to conceal his annoyance. “Can you not wait until tomorrow?”

“Faith, you’ll have to, Lavvy, for I’ll not take you today, that’s certain. I’m riding to Fletcher’s when I leave here. Tracy can visit you tomorrow an he chooses.”

“Will he?” she asked doubtfully.

Andrew clapped his hand to his vest pocket. “If I had not forgot!” he exclaimed. “I’ve a letter from him for you. He intends waiting on you tomorrow, in any case. Lord, what it is to have a scatter brain like mine!” He pulled a handful of papers from his pocket and selected one, sealed, and addressed in a sloping Italian handwriting.

Lavinia pounced upon it joyfully, and tore it open. Andrew restored the rest of the documents to his pocket with yet another rueful laugh.

“Duns, Richard! Duns!”

“Give them to me,” answered the other, holding out his hand.

“Oh, no! But many thanks, Dick. These are quite unimportant.”

“Why not pay them all, and start afresh?” urged Carstares.

“Lord, no! Why, I should be so damned elated that before the day was out there’d be a score of fresh debts staring me in the face!”

“Let me lend you a thousand to begin on? Could you not keep out of debt?”

“I keep out of debt? Impossible! Don’t look so solemn, Dick; I told you ’twas in the blood. We never have a penny to bless ourselves with, but what’s the odds? I shall have a run of luck soon⁠—a man can’t always lose. Then I shall be able to repay you, but, of course, I shan’t. It’ll all go at the next table. I know!” He spoke so ingenuously that Richard could not be angry with him. There was a certain frankness about him that pleased, and though he might be spendthrift and heedless, and colossally selfish, Richard felt a genuine affection for him. He would have liked to argue the point further, but Lavinia came forward, refolding her letter.

“Tracy is coming tomorrow afternoon,” she told her husband. “ ’Twill be prodigiously agreeable, will it not?”

He assented, but with a lack of warmth that did not fail to strike her ears.

“And he will stay to dine with us!” she cried challengingly.

“Certainly, my love.”

“Look pleased, Dicky, look pleased! Why don’t you like Tracy? He is my own brother; you must like him!”

“Of course I like him, Lavinia. Pray, do not be foolish.”

“Oh, I am not! Don’t be cross, Dicky dear!”

“Well, if you like him, I’m surprised,” broke in Andrew. “I can’t bear him! Ay, flash your eyes at me, Lavvy; I don’t mind.”

Lavinia opened her mouth to retaliate, but Richard hastily interposed. Their bickering was more than he could bear, and he never understood how Lavinia could stoop to quarrel with the boisterous youth, who tried so palpably to rouse her.

He bore them both off to the house, feeling much like a nursemaid with two recalcitrant children.