It was an abnormally hot summer; all London lay at the mercy of a fierce and fiery sun; grass in the parks was brown, plants drooped in window boxes, and there was not even a little breeze to stir the soft dust under foot, nor one hopeful cloud in the blue vault overhead. But in the sky of Douglas Shafto's existence dark and threatening clouds were gathering; the largest of these was a haunting fear that his mother intended to marry her admirer, Manasseh Levison—the prosperous dealer in furniture and antiquities, a wealthy man, who owned, besides his business, a fine mansion at Tooting; this he had closed after the death of Mrs. Levison, when he had repaired to "Malahide" for society and distraction—bidden there by his lively old friend, Mrs. Moses Galli. The shrivelled little miserly widow was his confidante, and, for the illumination of Mrs. Shafto, she had drawn glowing pictures of Khartoum House, and outlined an imposing sketch of the luxuries awaiting its future mistress. It was noticed as a significant fact that when Mrs. Shafto and Madame Galli went to Eastbourne for a week (at Mrs. Shafto's expense), they had been joined at the Grand Hotel by Manasseh Levison, who treated them to a special banquet, enlivened by the finest brands of champagne—and had subsequently motored them back to town.

The idea that Levison should usurp his father's place overwhelmed Douglas with horror and shame; the prospect was intolerable; so were other matters; for instance, his monotonous office life, the want of variety and fresh air. For exercise, he belonged to a neighbouring gymnasium, but this was not sufficient for a country-bred, energetic young man, in his twenty-fourth year. As for the variety of amusements that satisfied and delighted his brother clerks, they left him cold. He was sensible of a tormenting thirst for a far-away different life—and its chances, sick of this existence, of continually going round and round, like a squirrel in a cage. A change of surroundings and scene, or a spice of adventure, was what he longed for—as eagerly and as hopelessly as some fallen wayfarer in a desert land. His mother's flinty attitude and hostile nagging had frozen a naturally affectionate disposition, and Shafto passed several years of his youth without one single ray of woman's love, until generous Mrs. Malone had come forward and installed him in her heart. His usual routine was breakfast at eight, office at nine, lunch twelve-thirty, freedom at six, dinner at seven-thirty. On Saturday afternoons he was expected at "Monte Carlo"—to join the family at tennis and high tea—and here, over the little red villa, brooded yet another cloud! Cossie, the gushing and good-natured, had been given what her brother brutally termed "the chuck" by her young man; he had taken on another girl, and his repentance and return were hopeless.

Shafto listened to Cossie's hysterical lamentations and outpourings with what patience he could assume; until by degrees the dreadful truth began to dawn on him, that he was selected to replace the faithless Lothario! Of late Cossie's manner had become jealously possessive, She seemed to hold him by a nipping tenacious clutch, and pattered out to meet him at the gate, sat next to him at table, and was invariably his partner at tennis. Once, arriving unseen, he had overheard her declaiming to another girl:

"No, no, no, I won't have it; Douglas is my boy—and my joy! Douglas belongs to me!"

"There will be two opinions about that," he muttered to himself, as he flung down his hat and entered the tawdry little drawing-room; but, in spite of his stern resolutions, he found himself borne along by a strong and irresistible current of family goodwill. Sandy gave him cigars, Delia declared over and over again that he was a "darling," his aunt became extra-motherly, and Cossie endowed him with button-holes, pairs of ill-knit shapeless socks, and sent him many notes. She seemed to appropriate him as a matter of course, and once when they parted at the gate, had held up her face to be kissed—but this undesired favour he affected not to see. He noted, too, that when Cossie accompanied him to the same little gate, Delia and Sandy lingered behind with alarming significance. He began to hate Cossie and to revolt against the slap-dash untidy mÉnage, Delia and her train of rowdy boys, the shouting, the practical jokes, and the slang. Then suddenly the Levison cloud burst! One night, when he was flying upstairs to his sky parlour, his mother waylaid him on the landing and, with an imperative gesture, beckoned him into her room.

"Shut the door, Douglas!" she commanded in her usual frigid manner, "I have something to tell you. Come over here and sit down."

"Yes, mother, all right," but nevertheless he remained standing; "what is it?"

She cleared her throat and replied in her sharp metallic voice, "Mr. Levison and I have at last made up our minds to be married; you see, we have no one to consider but ourselves." This announcement was followed by a blank and paralysed silence.

"He is absolutely devoted to me," resumed Mrs. Shafto, "and is a wealthy man and, as you know, I was never accustomed to poverty. The wedding will take place in six weeks. Well, why do you stand glowering there?" she demanded impatiently. "What have you got to say?"

"I have got to say," replied Douglas, then his voice broke a little, "that I don't see how you can do it, or put that fat Jew tradesman into my father's place!"

"Your father!" she screamed passionately, and a scar on her chin showed white against a suffused complexion; "don't talk to me of your father. Before we were married, he often came to my uncle's shop, and talked to me about books—I got up Haydn's Dictionary of Dates, bits of Browning, and Lamb's Essays, and Omar Khayyam. I had to study them in my own room at night, so as to make him think I was well educated and shared his tastes; but I did not; no," she cried, with a stamp of her foot, "I hated his tastes! Aristotle and Plato, yes, and Shakespeare—dull to the last degree, but I liked him: he was so handsome, so thoughtful, such a gentleman. And I believed that as he was madly in love I could easily twist him round to my way of thinking—but I was mistaken!" She paused, momentarily out of breath, then resumed: "He soon found me out and was sick of me in three weeks. He disliked dances, theatres, and smart society, and buried me alive in the country. We had nothing in common; he was just a bookworm, with a sarcastic tongue, who left me a beggar! Now I am free, I am going to be a rich woman, marry a man who understands me—and lead a new life."

"I see you are easily satisfied," remarked her son.

"I am; and although Mr. Levison is a Jew tradesman, as you have remarked in your nasty sneering way, he has been generous enough to offer you an opening as his assistant. He will take you into the shop and pay you two hundred a year."

"No, thank you," replied Douglas stiffly; "I know nothing about old furniture."

"Only old family, I suppose! Well, you might do worse; and when you marry Cossie, as is probable, I will make you a small allowance."

(Shafto had relinquished his income of a hundred and fifty a year, and made it over to his mother legally, immediately he had come of age.)

"I haven't the smallest idea of marrying Cossie, or anyone else," he answered, with white-faced decision.

"Well, she, and indeed they all, expect it."

"I've never given them any reason to do so."

"Yes, you have," she contradicted sharply; "you go there, sit by her, and take her into the garden."

"There is nothing in that," he rejoined, too chivalrous to add that it was his cousin who sat by, escorted him, and clung to him like the traditional limpet.

"She is five years older than you, I know, but very sweet-tempered, and not a bad manager—she runs 'Monte Carlo'!"

"Cossie is absolutely nothing to me beyond a cousin; nor have I ever given her reason to think otherwise—or ever shall."

"Oh, you are wonderfully bold and courageous here with me; I should like to hear you telling them this at 'Monte Carlo'! I know my sister has set her heart on the match; she has been talking to me about the trousseau, and intends to give you table linen, and a silver tea-pot—she has two."

"Even the silver tea-pot would not bribe me!" declared Douglas with an angry laugh.

"Well, I can assure you that it's an understood thing," persisted his parent, with spiteful emphasis.

"How can it be understood, when I have never asked the girl to marry me and never shall? Cossie is straight enough and can tell you that herself."

"Oh, she has told me lots of things!" said her aunt mysteriously. "Well, to turn to another subject, am I to inform Mr. Levison that you refuse his offer of two hundred a year? You may come to us for week-ends if you like; he is doing up the house at Tooting and giving me a fine car."

"No, thank you, I prefer to remain where I am; and now if you've told me everything you wished to say, I think I'll go to bed," and with a brief "Good night" he departed.

But he did not go to bed when he found himself in his bare fourth-floor room, but sat on the side of his lumpy mattress, and smoked cigarettes for a couple of hours. He must squash this Cossie question at all costs; even if it led to a disagreeable interview with his relations and made a complete breach between them. In one sense this breach would mean freedom and relief, and yet he was rather fond of his dowdy old Aunt Emma, and he also liked that slangy slacker Sandy; he could not bear to give anyone pain, or to appear shabby or ungrateful. Of course he ought to have taken a firm stand weeks ago, and repelled advances that had stolen upon him so insidiously. He saw this now; yet how can you refuse to accept a flower from a girl, or be such a brute as to leave her notes and telephones unanswered, or rise and desert her when she nestles down beside you on the sofa? He felt as if he was on the edge of a precipice; and must make a desperate, a life or death struggle; be firm and show no weakness. To be weak would establish him with a wife, house-linen, and the tea-pot, in some dingy little flat near his office, where, plodding monotonous round like a horse in a mill, he would probably end his days. Always too anxious to please and to be liked, he had enjoyed lounging about at "Monte Carlo" and chaffing his cousin, but the price now demanded was exorbitant. He recalled Cossie, stout and smiling, with rather pretty eyes and a ceaseless flow of chatter. She had ugly hands and thick red lips, her hair was coarse, but abundant, and she frequently borrowed her sister's rouge. Cossie was immensely good-natured and affectionate, and he would be sorry to hurt her feelings, poor little thing.

Then as to his mother and her marriage to Levison, he hated to think of it. He could not endure his future stepfather; between them there existed a bottomless chasm of dislike and distrust. Levison considered Shafto a conceited young cub, "but a clever cub"; and Shafto looked on Levison as a purse-proud tradesman, ever bragging of his "finds," his sales, and his titled customers.

Douglas had never felt so abjectly miserable since the time of his father's death; his depression was such that he wished he was dead too; but fate was in a kindly mood and, although he was unconscious of the fact, the clouds were lifting.