"No, as a boy I disliked him, may I say it to you?"
"A—a boy and girl friendship—she has grown into a sweet and lovely woman—I shall think of this place, of her, of you and of your happiness, of the tranquil calm of this when I am back out there again—even when I am back in that London that I do not know and that knows me not!"
"Is there haste for you to return to London?"
"Haste—every hour I remain out of it I feel I am gaining something!"
"Then why hurry back?" asked Allan in his hospitable generosity. "Why go back? Lord Gowerhurst is eager for his Club, his billiards, his cards, his manservant. My father and his friends have their businesses, but you—why go back?"
Scarsdale murmured something about imposing himself—Allan laughed.
"Stay and believe me we shall be glad—Kathleen will be glad to hear that you are staying awhile with us—come, you will stay, eh?"
"It would give me more pleasure than you can know!" Scarsdale said.
Allan laughed, for him there was no double meaning in the other man’s words.
He had gained his point, his host had asked him to remain on indefinitely, for days, weeks even, there would be no time limit now.
"It is good of you, Homewood—you don’t realise how I appreciate it—my opportunities of seeing home life, such as this, are not many!"
"But the lady you hope to marry?" Allan asked.
"She is not for me—yet——" he said steadily. "Thank you again, Homewood, may I tell your wife that you have asked me to remain?"
"She will be as pleased as I am!" Allan said simply.
Scarsdale turned to the house, he left Allan sitting there and Allan rested his chin on his hands. He was not deeply religious. He had prayed, as men do, by fits and starts, in moments of anxiety, in moments of relief and gratitude. But his heart was offering up thanksgiving now. He had been delivered from temptation. He thanked God for it, for his own sake and for hers, that child’s, for his father’s sake, for Kathleen’s.
But temptation might assail him again, would—and he, knowing his own weakness now, knowing how nearly he had succumbed to it, must do that thing that even brave men may do and yet still keep their honour. He must avoid it, he must shun it, even flee from it if necessary—but how?