A Civil Contract

Chapter XX

The hope of becoming the repository of Adam’s thoughts receded on the following morning. There were some thoughts he would never share with Jenny; and one was brought to light by Lydia, scanning the Gazette for items of interest while Jenny made tea, and Adam read what his ladies considered to be a very dull article in the Morning Post about the Congress of Vienna, Lydia gave a gasp suddenly, and exclaimed: “Well! Oh, no, I don’t believe it! But they wouldn’t publish it if it weren’t true, would they? Well, upon my word!”

Adam paid no heed; but Jenny said: “What don’t you believe, love?”

“Julia Oversley is betrothed! And whoever do you think she is going to marry?”

Adam’s eyes had lifted quickly; it was he who answered, saying in a level tone: “Rockhill, I imagine.”

“Good gracious, did you know, then? But Julia — ! Why he’s older than Sir Torquil, I daresay! And Julia, of all people — ” She stopped, realizing that she had been surprised into committing a social solecism, and flushed up to the_: roots of her hair. “Older, but an even bigger Conquest!” Adam said lightly.

“Yes, I suppose so,” she said, conscience-stricken and subdued.

He retired again behind the Morning Post. Jenny broke the awkward silence, asking Lydia what she would like to do that day. Nothing more was said about the engagement until Adam rose from the table, when he said in the pleasant, cool voice which set Jenny beyond his barriers: “You’ll be writing to Julia, I expect. Say everything from us both that is proper, won’t you?”

She assented, and he went out of the room, pausing in the doorway to adjure her, with a faint smile, not to let Lydia wear her to death.

“As though I should!” said Lydia, as the door closed. She looked at Jenny, wanting to discuss the astonishing news, but not quite liking to broach the subject.

“You may say what you choose to me,” Jenny told her, “but don’t talk about it to Adam! He’s bound to feel it, even though he may have guessed how it would be.”

“I wasn’t perfectly sure that you knew,” Lydia said, rather shyly.

“Oh, yes! I always knew,” Jenny replied, with one of her tight smiles. “I was very friendly with Julia in those days. I used to watch the way he looked at her. He’d no eyes for anyone else. She told me once I’d stolen him from her: much chance I ever had of doing that! Even had I wished to!”

“Didn’t you? No, I don’t mean that precisely. Didn’t you wish to marry him? I thought — ”

“Yes, you thought I wished to marry a man that didn’t want me — was head over ears in love with another woman — just for the pleasure of getting a handle to my name!” Jenny broke in fiercely. “Well, I didn’t! I married him because there was nothing else I could do for him!” She caught herself up on a hysterical sob, and gave a gasp, almost immediately saying: “Oh, I don’t know what’s come over me, talking like that! Don’t heed me! I’ve grown so twitry and nervous, but I don’t mean it! I’ve been in low spirits, you know, and things upset me that ought not to, like Adam’s face just now — ” Her voice shook, but she managed to control it. “It’s all nonsense. We go on very comfortably together, I promise you, and — and Adam won’t always feel it as he does now, particularly if it’s not for ever being stirred up, which it won’t be — not if I know Rockhill! I shouldn’t wonder if it turned out very well, that marriage, and I’m sure I hope it may. Rockhill’s no fool, and he’s got very engaging ways, for all you think him in his dotage, love!”

Lydia said slowly: “She can’t have been truly in love with Adam, can she? I mean, if — ”

“Goodness knows!” said Jenny, getting up from the table. “There’s no saying — at least, I can’t say! You’ll not repeat anything I’ve said, will you? It was nothing but foolishness!”

“To Adam? No,” said Lydia, frowning a little. “It wouldn’t be of any use, would it? Like Mama telling me how deeply attached to me Sir Torquil is, as if that would make me feel a tendre for him!”

Jenny smiled rather painfully. “No. It wouldn’t be a bit of use. We’ll take a walk to Hookham’s presently, shall we? I want to change my books, but I must write to Julia first. I wonder what the Oversleys feel about this?”

She was soon to know, for Lady Oversley came to see how she did, two days later, and was easily persuaded to unbosom herself. Her feelings were mixed. She was but human, and it was impossible for her not to exult at her daughter’s triumph; but she was a woman of overflowing sensibility, and it was equally impossible for not to look on the alliance with dismay. “If only I could be sure that she will be happy! Because of course it’s a splendid match, and when I think of all the caps that have been set at Rockhill I can’t help but feel proud! But I wanted Julia to marry for love, just as I did myself, and never have I regretted it, no matter how provoking Oversley may be, which he frequently is, because all men are, particularly when one is married to them! Only one makes allowances — but how, I ask you, Jenny, could one make allowances for a husband one didn’t love? When I think of my precious Julia — her sensibility so exquisite, her nerves so delicate, so easily agitated — . Oh, Jenny, my heart misgives me!”

“I thought you might not like it very much, ma’am,” Jenny said. “But it’s my belief Rockhill won’t wound her sensibility in the way a younger man, without the half of his experience, would be bound to, sooner or later.”

“Yes, I’ve thought that too, and, as I told Oversley, there are some girls who are happier with old husbands, who treat them with fatherly indulgence, if you know what I mean?”

Jenny nodded. “Rockhill will do that. If you ask me, ma’am, there’s little he don’t know about handling females!”

“Nothing at all!” said Lady Oversley, with sudden astringency. “When I think of all the mistresses he’s had in keeping, ever since his wife died — and Oversley may believe what he chooses, but what I say is, Once a rake, always a rake! Then, too, I think him a very odd creature. Would you believe it? he knows Julia doesn’t love him! For when he asked Oversley’s permission to address her, Oversley thought it only right to tell him that she was — that there — had been a previous attachment, which she hasn’t quite recovered from. And he said, in the coolest way, that he knew all about it! You may imagine how Oversley stared! Julia told him herself, and he seems not to care a button!”

“No, he doesn’t,” said Jenny decidedly. “Well, I don’t think he believes she broke her heart over Adam. And he don’t care because he understands her, and doesn’t set a bit of store by it when she flies into one of her ways. Depend upon it, he’ll know how to make her happy!”

“That’s what he told Oversley. I don’t know, and I cannot likehis being a widower! Such a dispiriting thing, setting aside the children, which, of course, one can’t do!”

“Good gracious, has he got children!” exclaimed Jenny.

“Two little girls — though why I say little when the elder is twelve years of age — ! When I think of my poor Julia, scarcely more than a child herself, trying to be a mother to two great daughters-in-law, who will very likely detest her — ”

“Not they! They’ll adore her!” said Jenny. “Just like all the younger ones did, at Miss Satterleigh’s. I’ll lay my life they’ll be quarrelling over which of them is to have the pleasure of running an errand for her by the time she’s been married a month!”

This reflection made Lady Oversley feel rather more cheerful, and she was able, before she left Jenny, to turn her thoughts towards the Dress-party she was holding in honour of the engagement. It was going to be a splendid function, following a dinner-party to which she was inviting as many of Rockhill’s relations as she could squeeze round her table. As these were extremely numerous, she looked forward to seeing her house crammed to bursting-point: a gratifying state of affairs which yet could not quite compensate her for what she called the peculiar nature of the gathering. “For in general, you know, it is the bridegroom’s parents who are the guests of the greatest consequence, but of course Rockhill has none, and when one considers that it is he who is the head of the Edgcott family it is absurd to suppose that one can fall back on his uncle Aubrey! And I must say, Jenny, that although I do his sister Warlingham the justice to own that she has written Julia a very pretty letter, she isyears older than I am, which is another thing I cannot like!”

The intelligence that all Rockhill’s relations were being invited to celebrate his engagement afforded Jenny a satisfaction she did not disclose, and precluded her from feeling any surprise when she received a visit from Brough.

She and Lydia were alone, a circumstance which his lordship bore with noble equanimity. Jenny saw how his lazy eyes lit up when they fell on Lydia, and hoped that in extending a welcome to her husband’s friend she might not be held to have encouraged his courtship.

Lydia was unaffectedly glad to see him, exclaiming, as she held out her hand to him: “Brough! Well, what a surprise! You didn’t think to find me here, did you? Adam fetched me, to bear Jenny company: isn’t it famous?”

Yes, Brough thought it the most famous thing that had ever happened; and although he said nothing that went beyond the line of the strictest propriety it seemed very unlikely that he would post back to Leicestershire quite as soon as had been his original intention.

He had come to town, as Jenny had expected, to attend the Oversleys’ party. He was himself related to Rockhill through his mother, but he said that the Edgcotts were nearly all of the opinion that Rockhill had run mad. “Which is what brought me up to town,” he explained. “M’mother thought most of ’em would excuse themselves from attending the party: took it into her head that Rock would need support. All humdudgeon! wouldn’t dare offend Rock, any of ’em! Though they tell me poor old Aubrey Edgcott is as sulky as bear: made sure he was going to step into Rock’s shoes one day!”

Brough regarded the alliance with a tolerant eye, but said, in a manner very unflattering to the lovely Miss Oversley, that one man’s meat was another man’s poison, “Shouldn’t like to be married to her myself,” he said.

“Now, you can’t deny she’ll make a beautiful Marchioness!” expostulated Jenny.

“Oh, lord, no! I dare say she’ll cut an excellent dash, but she ain’t my notion of a comfortable wife. Never any saying where you’ll find her! might leave her up in the attics, and come home to find her in the cellar. None of my business, however. Where’s Adam, Lady Lynton? I didn’t see him in the club.”

“No, he has gone down to Fontley for a few days,” she replied.

He nodded, making no comment; but when she rather reprehensibly left him alone with Lydia presently, he cocked one mobile eyebrow at that damsel, saying: “Lynton taking this business ill?”

She heaved a despondent sigh. “Yes, I think he is. He said he had been meaning to go to Fontley this age past, but didn’t like to leave Jenny alone, but I think he went because he couldn’t bear to hear everyone discussing the betrothal wherever he went.”

“Very sensible thing to do,” said Brough. “Wouldn’t do to say so, of course, but it’s my belief he’s well out of that affair. Pity he didn’t take her ladyship with him, and keep her there! She don’t look to be in very plump currant.”

“She isn’t, and I wish he would take her home, for it’s where she wants to be,” said Lydia. “Only Papa Chawleigh is in one of his grand fusses, and thinks she can’t be well anywhere but in London, which, for my part, I think a great piece of nonsense. I told Adam so, but of course he doesn’t heed what I say, because he doesn’t think I know anything about it. Which,” she added fairly, “is perfectly true. But I do know that Jenny is pining to go back to Fontley.”

Adam might not listen to his sister’s advice, but fortunately for Jenny Lady Nassington took a hand in the affair. On her way to spend several weeks with her eldest married daughter in Sussex, she paused in London for a few days, and called at Lynton House one bleak morning to find Jenny recovering from a fainting-fit in the morning-room, with Lydia and Martha Pinhoe in anxious attendance, and the atmosphere redolent of burnt feathers and aromatic salts.

“Upon my word!” uttered her ladyship, pausing on the threshold, and surveying the scene with strong displeasure. “Pray, what is the meaning of this?”

“Good gracious, ma’am, how you startled me!” exclaimed Lydia. “I didn’t know you were in London! Jenny felt very faint suddenly, but she’s better now.”

Jenny, pulling herself up, said huskily: “It’s nothing — so stupid — I never did such a thing before! I’m breeding, ma’am!”

“So I perceive,” said her ladyship. “But as for fainting because of it, nonsense! I collect you’ve been quacking yourself: I thought you had more common sense!”

Lydia was inclined to be indignant, but she soon realized that in her formidable aunt she had found a powerful ally. Lady Nassington first administered a dose of hartshorn and water to Jenny, and then demanded to be told why she was racketing about town instead of living peacefully in the country. When she had been put in possession of the facts, she condemned in round terms every person who had been concerned in them, and alarmed Jenny by saying that she would speak to Mr Chawleigh herself. Even Lydia felt that this might be going too far, but after thinking it over in majestic silence for a few moments Lady Nassington decided that before she did anything else it would be proper to consult Adam, so when Adam came in, some time later, it was to be met by the intelligence that his aunt wished him to call at Nassington House on the following morning, and by an entreaty from Jenny not to allow her to give Mr Chawleigh the promised piece of her mind.

Far from being dismayed by the graphic account of Lady Nassington’s visit, supplied by Lydia, his brow lightened, and he said: “I never thought I should live to be glad Aunt Nassington had come to town! To be sure I’ll go to see her!”

“Well, it’s only right to warn you, my dearest brother, that she will very likely give you a piece of her mind!”

Even that failed to strike terror into his heart; he only laughed, and said that at least she could not eat him, however much she might scold him.

But although she told him that he had been behaving like a gaby, she did not scold, possibly because he said, as soon as he had dutifully kissed her hand: “You can’t think how thankful I am to see you, ma’am! I need advice, as I daresay you’ve guessed, and I’ve a notion I shall get better from you than from anyone else. You’ve seen for yourself how very far from well Jenny is. I don’t know whether she told you about the treatment she’s undergoing?”

“She did,” responded her ladyship grimly. “I have no patience with such nonsense! Tea and toast indeed! A fine state of affairs when a healthy young woman is brought so low that she falls into fainting-fits! Between you all, she’s begun to fancy herself an invalid. I am not acquainted with Croft, but I have no opinion of him: none at all! I do not approve of newfangled ideas. My advice to you, my dear Lynton, is to remove Jenny to Fontley immediately. Let her busy herself with bringing the Priory back into order, which I judge her to be well capable of doing. That, I assure you, will be very much better for her than to sit moping in Grosvenor Street, with nothing to do but to wonder if she’ll die in childbed, like her mother! A pretty notion to have put into her head! When I see her ridiculous father I shall have something to say to him upon that score, I promise you!”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, smiling a little. “I don’t doubt it! But there will be no occasion for you to see him. If I decide to follow your advice, I’ll tell him myself. I own, I’m strongly tempted to do so. I believe Jenny would be better at Fontley. But — ” He paused, and then said worriedly: “I think I ought to get another doctor to her before taking such a step. Croft wishes to keep her under his eye — hints at all manner of complications. I haven’t the knowledge to judge the case myself; I can’t even say that she was well before we came back to town: she has been unwell from the outset — though I thought she seemed to be going on a degree more prosperously at Fontley. I agree that it was a thousand pities Mr Chawleigh should have alarmed her with his forebodings, but how can I brush them aside on nothing but your advice, aunt, and my own wholly unskilled judgment? If she were to be taken suddenly ill — ? If she were to endure a difficult labour — ?”

A just woman, Lady Nassington considered this dispassionately. “Very true,” she said. “I have frequently observed that you have a great deal of good sense, my dear Lynton. You cannot do better than to call upon Sir William Knighton for his opinion. I give you leave to say that you come to him on my recommendation. I have a high opinion of his skill. I venture to think you will be pleased with him.” She added dryly: “And if you should encounter any objection from Chawleigh, you may inform him that Sir William is one of the Prince Regent’s physicians. That, unless I mistake, which is not at all likely, will reconcile him to the change!”

So, three days later, Jenny prepared to receive yet another doctor. Adam brought him up to her room, but he did not stay, as she had made him promise he would. He merely introduced Sir William to her, smiled reassuringly, and withdrew, leaving her with only Martha to protect her from this new ogre.

But Sir William, whom the Prince Regent declared to be the best-mannered doctor he had ever known, was not at all ogreish. Within a very few minutes, Jenny’s prickles were laid, and Miss Pinhoe, at first standing, dragon-like, beside her chair, had retired into the background, and was endorsing the doctor’s utterances with wise nods. Usually inarticulate, Jenny found herself able to talk quite freely, telling this understanding listener far more about herself than she would have thought possible. When he took his leave, he said with his pleasant smile: “Well, do you know, Lady Lynton, I think your good father has refined a little too much on your mother’s misfortunes. I am going to tell his lordship that in my opinion he should take you into the country, and see to it that you have plenty of fresh milk, and cream, and good country-butter. How much I envy you! a beautiful place, Fontley Priory! I recall that I was once taken to visit it, on a Public Day. Goodbye: I shall hope to hear — indeed, I feel sure Ishall hear — of your happy delivery, ma’am!”

She held out her hand to him, and when he took it, bowing, held it tightly, saying: “Thank you! I am so much obliged to you — I can’t tell you!” Her feelings choked her; she could only squeeze his hand fervently, and look speakingly up into his face.

Sir William then went downstairs, to talk to Adam, over a glass of sherry. He did not utter one word in disparagement of Dr Croft: indeed, he referred to him as his distinguished colleague. He said that he had the greatest admiration for his skill, and could testify to some of his remarkable achievements in cases thought to be quite hopeless. But it sometimes happened — as no doubt his lordship had noticed in other fields — that men of genius were inclined to run amuck on what he ventured to call pet theories. In short, treatment which was admirable in some cases might well be deleterious in others. Perhaps Dr Croft, relying too much on the information given him by her ladyship’s parent, had not sufficiently considered the constitution of his patient’s mind. Possibly her ladyship’s very deep reserve had made it difficult for her to confide in him. For his part, Sir William believed that it was of paramount importance that ladies in delicate situations should be contented. He could discover no reason for supposing that complications would render her ladyship’s confinement perilous; but if my lord felt that the Family Practitioner might need advice and assistance he would be happy to furnish him with the name of an excellent accoucheur, resident in Peterborough.

After that, the two gentlemen enjoyed a pleasant chat about Spain, which interesting country Sir William had visited in 1809, when, as his medical adviser, he had accompanied Lord Wellesley there, and by the time they shook hands on the doorstep Adam entertained quite as good an opinion of Sir William as did his Aunt Nassington.

He went upstairs, to find Jenny radiant, and Lydia triumphant. Jenny stammered: “He says I am to go home! Not to lower myself any more! He says there’s nothing amiss with me but being blue-devilled! Oh, I am so much obliged to you for bringing him to see me!”

Only one circumstance marred her joy: she was afraid Papa would be very angry, might even forbid her to leave London: did Adam think that if Papa saw Sir William Knighton himself he might consent to let her go?

“Pooh!” said Lydia saucily. “Only let me talk to Papa Chawleigh!”

“Lydia, you shouldn’t call him that! I know your mama wouldn’t like it!” said Jenny.

“Well, that’s of no consequence, because she doesn’t know anything about it, and I shouldn’t think she ever would know. I am deeply attached to Papa Chawleigh, and he likes it! Shall I go to visit him in the City tomorrow, to tell him what has been decided?”

“No, miss, you shall not!” replied Adam. He smiled at Jenny. “How soon can you be ready to leave town? Do you want this hoyden to go with us, or shall we send her back to Bath?”

“No, indeed! Of course I want her! But Papa — ”

“My dear, stop teasing yourself about your papa! I shall see him tomorrow, and tell him just what Knighton said to me.”

“I don’t wish you to quarrel with him!” she blurted out

“I won’t!” he promised.

Knowing her father, she could not be satisfied; she tried to tell him that it would be wiser if she were to break the news to Mr Chawleigh herself; but he only laughed, and recommended her to turn her attention to all the shopping he was persuaded she must want to do before leaving town.

He kept his word to her, and she never knew how great a strain had been imposed upon his temper, any more than the goggling clerks in the counting-house knew how vainly their employer’s too-audible fury had expended itself against the barrier of my lord’s good-breeding.

When he entered the establishment from which Mr Chawleigh directed his many commercial activities his appearance created a considerable stir. He had never before visited Mr Chawleigh at his place of. business, but there was no one within its portals who did not know that Miss Chawleigh had married into the cream of society, and very few who were not agog to obtain a glimpse of her lord.

It was not until he handed in his visiting card, with a request that it should be taken to Mr Chawleigh, that he attracted any particular attention from the busy clerks in the counting-house, for although he was always dressed with propriety, and a certain military neatness, he flaunted none of the hall-marks of the Dandy, or the Corinthian. But the clerk who received his card contrived to allow one of his fellows a glimpse of it as he bore it off, and long before Mr Chawleigh had surged out of his private office to greet his son-in-law, the whisper that it was Miss Chawleigh’s husband had run round the large room.

“Come in, my lord, come in!” Mr Chawleigh adjured him. “This is a surprise, and no mistake! And what brings you into the City, I wonder? Nothing amiss, is there?” he added, in a suddenly sharpened voice.

“No, nothing at all, sir. It’s merely that I want to talk to you. Are you very busy, or can you spare me a few minutes?”

“Ay, as many as you like! Step into my office, my lord — and see to it I’m not disturbed, Stickney!”

He ushered Adam into his room, shooting a suspicious, side-long glance at him as he did so. He wondered if my lord had run into Dun territory, but it didn’t seem likely, for he had no expensive tastes, and, as far as could be discovered, he wasn’t a gamester either.

“Now, what can I do for you, my lord?” he asked jovially, having seen Adam comfortably seated, and lowered his own massive form into the chair behind his desk.

“Why, nothing, sir! I’ve come to talk to you about Jenny.”

“Ay, have you? Well? You said there was naught amiss, so I take it she ain’t ill?”

“No — that is to say, no worse than when you saw her last week. On the other hand, she’s not at all well, and she grows no better. I’ve never concealed from you that I don’t think Croft’s treatment the right one for her — ”

“Much you know about it!” growled Mr Chawleigh. “Now look’ee, my lord! — ”

“ — and so, yesterday, I brought in Sir William Knighton to see her.”

“Oh, you did, did you? Never thought of consulting me, I collect?”

“No,” agreed Adam tranquilly. “I knew what your opinion was, sir.”

Mr Chawleigh’s colour began to rise. “I’ll thank you to tell me what right you’ve got to go calling in strange doctors to my Jenny without so much as a by your leave!”

Adam regarded him rather quizzically. “My dear sir, will you not rather tell me what conceivable right anyone but me has to do so?”

“I’ll tell you fast enough! I have!” declared Mr Chawleigh, glaring at him.

“You’re mistaken, sir.”

“Oh, I am, eh? We’ll see that! I’ll have you remember that I’m her father, my lord!”

“Of course you are, and as her father you have every right to inform me of it, if you think she is not being treated as she should be. But you could hardly call in another doctor to her without first obtaining my permission, could you?” He smiled. “Come, sir, don’t let us quarrel over absurdities! Are you trying to persuade me that if I had told you I meant to call in Knighton you would have objected? You won’t do it!”

Mr Chawleigh looked a little taken aback. “I don’t say that, but what I do say is that I don’t care for being ridden over rough-shod!”

“Nor do I, Mr Chawleigh,” said Adam gently.

Their eyes met, the one pair rather aloof, the other fierce under their craggy brows. Mr Chawleigh shifted in his chair, clenching one huge hand on its arm. “Oh! You don’t? Well.... So you brought in this Knighton — whoever he may be!”

“He is one of the Regent’s doctors, and was strongly recommended to me by my Aunt Nassington.”

“Oh, so she’s in it, is she? I might ha’ guessed as much!” exploded Mr Chawleigh. “Well, I’d like to give her ladyship a piece of my mind, and that’s a fact!”

“And she wishes to give you a piece of hers,” said Adam. He smiled delightfully upon his fulminating father-in-law. “What a battle of giants it would be! I shouldn’t know which of you to lay my blunt on. My aunt was very much shocked, you know, to find Jenny just coming round from a fainting-fit.”

“Fainting? Jenny?” Mr Chawleigh said quickly. “Eh, that won’t do! What has Croft to say to it?”

“I didn’t inform him of it.”

“Didn’t inform him? Are you going to tell me that you brought in this other fellow without Croft was there too? And he came? If that don’t beat the Dutch! Why, it’s unheard of! Doctors don’t do such — not the bang-up ones! Jenny was Croft’s patient, and you should have told Knighton so!”

“I am afraid,” said Adam apologetically, “that by the time I saw Knighton Jenny had ceased to be Croft’s patient. He seemed so much inclined to take umbrage at my wishing for another opinion, and to be so entirely convinced of his own infallibility, that it was really quite useless for Jenny to continue with him, particularly when she didn’t like him.”

“You didn’t like him, my lord!” Mr Chawleigh shot at him.

“No, not at all.”

“Ay! So I knew! If Jenny took against him, I’ll be bound it was your doing! I see what it is! You went and picked out a quarrel with him — ”

“Picked out a quarrel with a doctor?” interrupted Adam, putting up his brows. “Good God!”

Mr Chawleigh brought his fist down with a crash on the desk. “You may think to come the lord over me, but you’ll catch cold at it! I took care to choose the best for my Jenny, and by God, I’ll not have him turned off just because you don’t like him! It’s him as pays the fiddler that calls the tune, my lord!”

Adam closely gripped his lips together, his eyes narrowed, and very hard. It was a moment or two before he could command himself, but he managed to do it, and to say, quite pleasantly: “Very true. Did you imagine that you were paying this piper, sir? Let me disabuse your mind of that misapprehension! I have settled Croft’s account as I shall settle Knighton’s, and the account of any other practitioner who may attend Jenny.”

In a towering passion, Mr Chawleigh flung down his gauntlet. “Say you so? Well, it was me that engaged Croft, and it’s me that’ll dismiss him, if I see fit, and until I do see fit he’ll continue to attend Jenny, and so I shall tell him!”

“I don’t think I should, if I were you, sir,” replied Adam, looking rather amused. “You’d be making a great cake of yourself, you know. I may not like Croft, but I am quite sure he would not be guilty of the impropriety of attending my wife without my consent. Don’t let us dispute on that head! After all, you can’t seriously wish Jenny to continue with a doctor who is doing her no good, and whom she dislikes into the bargain! My aunt said that between us all she had become nervous and depressed. That is also Knighton’s opinion. He recommends me to take her back to Fontley, and that, sir, is what I am going to do.”

Mr Chawleigh’s colour had deepened to an alarming hue. So unaccustomed was he to meeting with opposition that he listened to this speech almost with incredulity. The last words, however, loosened his tongue, and the storm of his anger broke over Adam’s head with a violence which reached the ears of the clerks in the counting-house, and caused several of the more nervous individuals there to blench and tremble. No one could distinguish what the old Tartar was saying, but no one could doubt that he was giving my lord a rare trimming, and considerable sympathy was felt for the poor young gentleman.

Adam listened to the tirade with outward calm. When in the grip of passion, it was not Mr Chawleigh’s habit to mince his words, nor did he hesitate to utter any insult which occurred to him, but only by the crease between his brows did Adam betray the effort it cost him to keep his own anger under control. There were a number of things it would have given him much pleasure to have said to Mr Chawleigh, but he said none of them. It was wholly beneath him to brangle and brawl with the purple-faced vulgarian hurling abuse at him, and he had promised Jenny that he would not quarrel with her father. So he waited in rigid silence for the storm to blow itself out.

Mr Chawleigh did not expect to meet with retort. On the other hand, to be listened to in unmoved silence was a new and disconcerting experience. By rights, this wispy son-in-law of his should be shaking in his shoes, possibly trying to stammer out excuses, certainly not sitting there, as cool as a cucumber, and looking for all the world as if he were watching a raree-show which didn’t amuse him above half. As his rage abated, something very like bewilderment entered into Mr Chawleigh. Ceasing to rail at Adam, he sat staring at him, breathing heavily, still scowling, but with so much surprise in his eyes that Adam very nearly burst out laughing.

With the tickling of his ready sense of humour, much of Adam’s own anger died away. He felt suddenly sorry for this absurd creature, who had clearly supposed that he could brow-beat him into submission. He picked up his hat and gloves, and rose, saying, with a lurking smile: “Will you dine with us tomorrow, sir? We leave town on the day after, but it would distress Jenny very much not to take leave of you.”

The veins swelled afresh in Mr Chawleigh’s face. “Dine with you?” he uttered, in choked accents. “Why, you — you — ”

“Mr Chawleigh,” interrupted Adam, “I owe you a great deal, I have a great respect for you — indeed, I have a great regard for you! — but I’ve not the remotest intention of allowing you to rule my household! If that was what you wanted to do you should have chosen another man to be Jenny’s husband. Goodbye: may I tell Jenny to expect you tomorrow?”

Mr Chawleigh strove with himself, finally enunciating ominously: “Ay! she may expect me all right and tight! But as for dining with you — I’ll be damned if I do!”

“As you wish, but she’ll be disappointed.” He went to the door, but looked back, with his hand on the knob, to say: “Don’t rip up at her, will you? She’s more easily upset just now than you may know. But I don’t think you’ll wish to when you see how much her spirits have plucked up since Knighton told her she might go back to Fontley.”

He did not wait for a response, but went away, leaving Mr Chawleigh more at a loss than he had been since the days of his boyhood. The clerks eyed Adam covertly as he passed through the counting-house, and were almost as much astonished as their employer. He bore none of the signs of one who had passed through the furnace of the Tartar’s fury: his step was firm, his brow serene, and the smile which he bestowed on the youth who leaped to hold open the door for him was perfectly untroubled. “Well — !” breathed Mr Stickney. “I wouldn’t have credited it! Not in a hundred years I wouldn’t!”