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Updated: June 7, 2025
"Oh, Lord, oh, dear Lord," said Mrs. Johnson, "the pain!" But it didn't last long, for she died that night. And four days later the boarding-house was broken up, and the Margerison family and Rhoda Johnson left Italy together. Rhoda was very quiet and still and white. She was terribly alone, for her mother was gone, and the man she loved was gone, hurriedly, without a word to her.
And yet of a charm that somehow had lacked something, the intuitive Peter had divined; perhaps it had been too splendid, too fortunate, for a lady who had loved all small, weak, unlucky things. Margerison, the poorest clergyman she could find, and the most devoted to the tending of the unprosperous.
Quite a find, the old sinner. What an extortioner, though! Eh, Margerison? How much has the old Schneller got out of my pocket? It was your brother who discovered him for me, young Peter. He took me there, and we found the Diana together. Like her? Giacomo Treviso, a pupil of Verrocchio's. Heard of him? The Actæon's not so good now. Same man, but not so happy."
Miss Barnett, who disputed the office of mentor with Vyvian, whom she jealously disliked, broke in, in her cheery chirp, "I don't agree with you, Mr. Vyvian. I consider it a very fine example of Carpaccio's later style; I think you will find that some good critics are with me." She addressed Peter, ignoring the intervening solidity of Mrs. Johnson. "Do you support me, Mr. Margerison?"
"Violently with a smash. You don't suppose anyone will hire me again to buy their things for them? There'll be something of a crab on the Margerison family in future. It's going to be made very public, you know, this business; I gathered that. We shall be rather notorious, in a very few days." Leslie said, after a moment, "I've hired you to buy my things for me. Are you going to chuck me?"
"They always do, of course.... Well, is it our business to fill the bottomless Margerison purse?" Lucy sat very still, looking up at him with wide eyes. "Our business? I don't know. But, of course, if Peter and Peter's people want anything, we shall give it them." "But I gather it's not Peter that asks? Peter never asks, does he?" "No," said Lucy. "Peter never asks. Not even for Thomas."
When he had done coughing, he said, "What are you doing, Margerison?" Peter said he was having tea. "Have you had yours? I've got another mug somewhere a china one." As he declined with thanks, Peter thought, "He's dying. Oh, poor chap, how ghastly for him," and his immense pity made him even gentler than usual.
The gentleman had not vouchsafed either his name or business, so he could obviously wait a little longer, till Denis had finished his own business. In twenty minutes Denis went to the library, and there found Hilary Margerison, sitting by the fire in a great coat and muffler and looking cold.
Peter Margerison will be equally happy to give you his valuable advice in the business. He is your counsellor in these matters, isn't he. An excellent adviser, of sound judgment and most disinterested honesty!" He bowed to Peter, who took it as a dismissal, and said "Good night."
Urquhart took the paper gingerly and did not look at it. "Thanks; but ... I don't know that I am interested, do you know. Isn't this all rather silly, Mr. Margerison?" "If you will oblige me by reading it," said Mr. Margerison. So Urquhart obliged him. It was all about him, as was to be expected; enough to make a column of the Berkshire Press. "Well?" said Hilary, when he had done.
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