Harriet laughed. “If he did any of those things, it’ll be all right.”

The Niersteiner was excellent, and Harriet heartlessly enjoyed her lunch, finding Mr. Danvers a pleasant host.

“And do go up and see the patient,” said Mr. Danvers, as he escorted her at length to the gate. “He’s quite fit to receive company, and it’ll cheer him up no end. He’s in a private ward, so you can get in any time.”

“I’ll go straight away,” said Harriet.

“Do,” said Mr. Danvers. “What’s that?” he added, turning to the porter, who had come out with a letter in his hand. “Oh, something for Saint George. Right. Yes. I expect the lady will take it up, if she’s going now. If not, it can wait for the messenger.”

Harriet looked at the superscription. “The Viscount Saint-George, Christ Church, Oxford, Inghilterra.” Even without the Italian stamp, there was no mistaking where that came from. “I’ll take it,” she said-“it might be urgent.”

Lord Saint-George, with his right arm in a sling, his forehead and one eye obscured by bandages and the other eye black and bloodshot, was profuse in welcome and apology.

“I hope Danvers looked after you all right. It’s frightfully decent of you to come along.”

Harriet asked if he was badly hurt.

“Well, it might be worse. I fancy Uncle Peter had a near squeak of it this time, but it’s worked out at a cut head and a busted shoulder. And shock and bruises and all that. Much less than I deserve. Stay and talk to me. It’s dashed dull being all alone, and I’ve only got one eye and can’t see out of that.”

“Won’t talking make your head ache?”

“It can’t ache worse than it does already. And you’ve got a nice voice. Do be kind and stay.”

“I’ve brought a letter along for you from College.”

“Some dashed dun or other, I suppose.”

“No. It’s from Rome.”

“Uncle Peter. Oh, my God! I suppose I’d better know the worst.”

She put it into his left hand, and watched his fingers fumble across the broad red seal.

“Ugh! Sealing-wax and the family crest. I know what that means. Uncle Peter at his stuffiest.”

He struggled impatiently with the tough envelope.

“Shall I open it for you”?”

“I wish you would. And, look here-be an angel and read it to me. Even with two good eyes, his fist’s a bit of a strain.”

Harriet drew out the letter and glanced at the opening words.

“This looks rather private.”

“Better you than the nurse. Besides, I can bear it better with a spot of womanly sympathy. I say, is there any enclosure?”

“No enclosure. No.”

The patient groaned.

“Uncle Peter turns to bay. That’s torn it. How does it start? If it’s ‘Gherkins’ or ‘Jerry,’ or even ‘Gerald,’ there’s hope yet.”

“It starts, ‘My dear Saint-George.’”

“Oh, gosh! Then he’s really furious. And signed with all the initials he can rake up, what?”

Harriet turned the letter over.

“Signed with all his names in full.”

“Unrelenting monster! You know, I had a sort of feeling he wouldn’t take it very well. I don’t know what the devil I’m going to do now.”

He looked so ill that Harriet said, rather anxiously:

“Hadn’t we better leave it till tomorrow?”

“No. I must know where I stand. Carry on. Speak gently to your little boy. Sing it to me. It’ll need it.”

MY DEAR SAINT-GEORGE,

If I have rightly understood your rather incoherent statement of your affairs, you have contracted a debt of honour for a sum which you do not possess. You have settled it with a cheque which you had no money to meet. As cover for this, you have borrowed from a friend, giving him a post-dated cheque which you have no reason to suppose will be met either. You suggest that I should accommodate you by backing your bill at six months; failing which, you will either (a) “try Levy again,” or (b) blow your brains out. The former alternative would, as you admit, increase your ultimate liability; the second, as I will myself venture to point out, would not reimburse your friend but merely add disgrace to insolvency.

Lord Saint-George shifted restlessly upon his pillows. “Nasty clearheaded way he has of putting things.”

You are good enough to say that you approach me rather than your father, because I am, in your opinion, more likely to be sympathetic to this dubious piece of finance. I cannot say I feel flattered by your opinion.

“I didn’t mean that, exactly,” groaned the viscount. “He knows quite well what I mean. The Governor would fly right off the handle. Damn it, it’s his own fault! He oughtn’t to keep me so short. What does he expect? Considering the money he got through in his giddy youth, he should know something about it. And Uncle Peter’s rolling-it wouldn’t hurt him to cough up a bit.”

“I don’t think it’s the money so much as the dud cheques, is it?”

“That’s the trouble. Well, why the devil does he go barging off to Rome just when he’s wanted? He knows I wouldn’t have given a dud if I could have got cover for it. But I couldn’t get at him if he wasn’t there. Well, read on. Let’s hear the worst.”

I am quite aware that your premature decease would leave me heir-presumptive to the title-

“Heir-presumptive?… Oh, I see. My mother might peg out and my father marry again. Calculating brute.”

– heir-presumptive to the title and estate. Tedious as such an inheritance might be, you will forgive me for suggesting that I might prove a more honest steward than yourself.

“Hell! That’s one in the eye,” said the viscount. “If that line of defence has gone, it’s all up.”

You remind me that when you attain your majority next July, you will receive an increased allowance. Since, however, even the sum you have mentioned amounts to about a year’s income on the higher scale of payment, your prospect of redeeming your bill in six months’ time seems to be remote; nor do I understand what you propose to live on when you have anticipated your income to this extent. Further, I do not for one moment suppose that the sum in question represents the whole of your liabilities.

“Damned thought-reader!” growled his lordship. “Of course it doesn’t. But how does he know?”

Under the circumstances, I must decline to back your bill or to lend you money.

“Well, that’s that. Why didn’t he say so at once?”

Since, however, you have put your name to a cheque, and that name must not be dishonoured, I have instructed my bankers-

“Come! that sounds a bit better. Good old Uncle Peter! You can always get him on the family name.”

– instructed my bankers to arrange to cover your cheques-

“Cheque, or cheques?”

“Cheques, in the plural; quite distinctly.”

– cover your cheques from now until the time of my return to England, when I shall come and see you. This will probably be before the end of the Trinity Term. I will ask you to see to it that the whole of your liabilities are discharged by that time, including your outstanding Oxford debts and your obligations to the children of Israel.

“First gleam of humanity,” said the viscount.

May I offer you, in addition, a little advice? Bear in mind that the amateur professional is peculiarly rapacious. This applies both to women and to people who play cards. If you must back horses, back them at a reasonable price and both ways. And, if you insist on blowing out your brains, do it in some place where you will not cause mess and inconvenience.

Your affectionate Uncle,

PETER DEATH BREDON WIMSEY

“Whew!” said Lord Saint-George, “that’s a stinker! I fancy I detect a little softening in the last paragraph. Otherwise, I should say that a nastier kind of letter never came to soothe the sufferer’s aching brow. What do you think?”

Harriet privately agreed that it was not the kind of letter she should care to receive. It displayed, in fact, almost everything that she resented most in Peter; the condescending superiority, the arrogance of caste and the generosity that was like a blow in the face. However:-