Hugo looked up at him without answering. The lad had been studying a newspaper, with his head supported by his left hand, while his right played with his coffee cup or the morsels of food upon his plate. He did not seem to have much appetite. His great, dark eyes looked larger than usual, and were ringed with purple shadow; his lips were tremulous. "It was wonderful," as people said, "to see how that poor young fellow felt his cousin's death."
Perhaps Brian thought so too, for he added, very gently--though when did he not speak gently?--
"There is nothing wrong. I only want to make some arrangements with you for your future. Think a little about it before I speak to you."
And then he went out of the room, and Hugo was left to his meditations, which were not of the most agreeable character, in spite of Brian's reassuring words.
He pushed his plate and newspaper away from him impatiently; a frown showed itself on his beautiful, low brows.
"What will he do for me? Anything definite, I wonder? Poor beggar, I'm sorry for him, but my position has been decidedly improved since that unlucky shot at Richard. Did he want him out of the way, I wonder? The gloomy look with which he goes makes about one imagine that he did. What a fool he must be!"
Hugo pushed back his chair and rose: a cynical smile curled his lips for a moment, but it changed by degrees into an expression of somewhat sullen discontent.
"I wish I could sleep at nights," he said, moving slowly towards the window. "I've never been so wretchedly wakeful in all my life." Then he gazed out into the garden, but without seeing much of the scene that he gazed upon, for his thoughts were far away, and his whole soul was possessed by fear of what Brian would do or say.
At eleven o'clock Brian made his way to his mother's dressing-room, an apartment which, although bearing that name, was more like an ordinary sitting-room than a dressing-room. He knocked, and was answered by his mother's voice.
"Yes, it is I," Brian said, as he closed the door behind him.
He walked quietly to the hearth-rug, where he stood with one hand resting on the mantelpiece. It was a convenient attitude, and one which exposed him to no rebuffs. He was too wise to offer hand or cheek to his mother by way of greeting.