nstantly
Eleanor's anxiety was alert. She suggested hot-water bags and mustard
plasters, until Mr. Houghton said to himself: "How _does_ he stand it?
Mary must tell her not to be a mother to him--or a grandmother."

All that hot evening, out on the porch, Maurice was silent--so silent
that, as they separated for the night, his guardian put a hand on his
shoulder, "Come into the studio," he said; "I want to show you a thing
I've been muddling over."

Maurice followed him into the vast, shadowy, untidy room ("No females
with dusters allowed on the premises!" Henry Houghton used to say),
glanced at a half-finished canvas, said, "Fine!" and turned away.

"Anything out of kilter? I mean, besides your headache?"

"Well ... yes."

("He's going to say he's hard up--the extravagant cuss!" Henry Houghton
thought, with the old provoked affection.)

"I'm bothered about ... something," Maurice began.

("He's squabbled with Eleanor. I wish I was asleep!")

"Uncle Henry," Maurice said, "if you were going to see a lawyer, who
would you see?"

"I wouldn't see him. Lawyers make their cake by cooking up other
people's troubles. Sit down. Let's talk it out." He settled himself in a
corner of the ragged old horsehair sofa which faced the empty fireplace
and motioned Maurice to a chair. "I thought it wasn't all headache;
what's the matter, boy?"

Maurice sat down, cleared his throat, and put his hands in his pockets
so they would not betray him. "I--" he said.

Mr. Houghton appeared absorbed in biting off the end of his cigar.

"I--" Maurice said again.

"Maurice," said Henry Houghton, "keep the peace. If you and Eleanor have
fallen out, don't stand on your dignity. Go upstairs and say you're
sorry, whether you are or not. Don't talk about lawyers."

"My God!" said Maurice; "did you suppose it was _that_?"

Mr. Houghton stopped biting the end of his cigar, and looked at him.
"Why, yes; I did. You and she are rather foolish, you know. So I
supposed--"

Maurice dropped his face on his arms on the big dusty table, littered
with pamphlets and charcoal studies and squeezed-out paint tubes. After
a while he lifted his head: "_That's_ nothing. I wish it was that."

The older man rose and stood with his back to the mantelpiece. They both
heard the clock ticking loudly. Then, almost in a whisper, Maurice said:

"I've been--blackmailed."

Mr. Houghton whistled.

"I've had a letter from a woman. She says--"

"Has she got anyt