Sir John Aspenick came into Cartmell's office while I was there. He had heard rumors of the proposed sale of Oxley Lodge and its estate by Bertram Ware--and to Jenny. Here was legitimate matter of inquiry and interest for the county. Aspenick was much interested; but he did not seem particularly pleased.

"The thing is hardly public property yet," said old Cartmell, "but I'm sure Miss Driver wouldn't mind its being mentioned to such an old friend as you are, Sir John. Yes, it's settled. Ware sells and she buys--the whole thing, lock, stock, and barrel, and at a pretty stiff price, too--to say nothing of an extra five hundred for early possession."

"Why does she do it?" demanded Aspenick, sitting on the office table and smoking a cigar.

"Ah! I can sometimes see what a woman is doing by using my eyes, and I can sometimes see what she's going to do by using my head; but why she does it or why she's going to do it--that's quite beyond me," said Cartmell.

"It's a pretty place," I urged. "Good house--nice sized sort of place, too."

"But who's going to live in it--unless you are, Austin?"

I modestly disclaimed any pretensions--and any desire--to be housed so handsomely. Sir John frowned in perplexity. "Seems to me she wants the whole county!" he observed.

"Old Nicholas Driver did, anyhow," said Cartmell with a laugh. "Oxley wasn't enough for him! He wanted Fillingford Manor--you remember, Sir John?"

"Well, that didn't come off," said Aspenick dryly; I fancied that he hinted it had not "come off" with old Nicholas's daughter either--so far. "Does she mean to let the house?"

"I really don't know anything about it."

"Well, she'll be a good neighbor, I suppose. She can afford to keep her fences in order, and she won't put up wire. More than I can say for Ware! His fences were a disgrace, and he's been threatening us with wire--that's only since we wouldn't have him as candidate, I admit."

"We'll answer for the fences and the wire," Cartmell promised him cheerfully.

"But, in spite of his being rea.s.sured as to these vital matters, Aspenick's brow was still clouded.

"You're her man, of course, Cartmell, but I don't mind saying to you that these new people coming in and buying up everything give me a sort of feeling of being crowded. Do you know what I mean?"

"Can't keep things just as they were six hundred years ago, Sir John,"

said Cartmell.

Aspenick was not mollified by this tactful reference to his long descent. "Hustling, I call it! I suppose you'll be wanting Overington next?"

We both repudiated the idea of laying profane hands on Overington's ancient glories. "We'll leave you in possession, Sir John. But we may take just a slice off Hingston, if Mr. Dormer's agreeable."

"Everybody knows that Dormer's outrunning the constable, and I daresay you'll get all you want from him--but not an acre of mine, mind you!"

"Don't cry out before you're hurt, Sir John," Cartmell advised him good-humoredly. But when he was gone he said to me with a shrewd nod, "Well, we all know why he's so precious sulky!"

Aspenick's want of warmth about our new acquisitions (Cartmell and I always said "our" when we meant Jenny's) no doubt had a personal cause--though it was not hard to appreciate also his cla.s.s-feeling. The property of Oxley lay full between Overington and Fillingford Manor; but since her return Jenny had severed Aspenick's house from Fillingford's in another way than that. No more was heard about Lacey and Eunice.

Cartmell was no gossip and a man of few questions unless about a horse; yet now he turned his rubicund face toward me with an air of humorous puzzle. "Any news from the house?"

"Nothing particular--just at present," I answered.

"I've looked at it this way, and I've looked at it that way, and I'm flummoxed. Why early possession--and five hundred paid for it? She can't want the house--and as business it's ridiculous. But you know her way--'My wish, Mr. Cartmell, and please no words about it!'"

"She generally has a purpose--she doesn't act at random," I remarked.

"A purpose! Lord love you, half a dozen! And, what's more, I believe you generally know them. But, as she knows, you're devilish safe. There it is! I could make her a really rich woman if she'd let me--but with money thrown away like that, and her Inst.i.tute, and what not--!" He looked as gloomy as if Jenny were on the verge of bankruptcy and all our livelihoods taking wings.

"I'll tell you one thing. I think you'll have to open the purse-strings wider still before many days are out."

He looked at me very sharply. "The marriage coming off? And a big settlement? Well, that'd be right enough. All the same, I can't say I like it, Austin. Fillingford's son! Doesn't it stick in your throat a bit?"

"I said I'd tell you one thing. I didn't say I'd tell you two or three more."

"All the town says it. My word, you should hear Mrs. Jepps! My wife says it's something terrible." He twinkled in amus.e.m.e.nt again. "Lord, it's sometimes worth being a bit staggered yourself just to see how much worse the thing takes other people!"

"Mrs. Jepps and the rest of the town had better wait a little. It's a pity to waste good indignation."

"Aye, and folks hate being cheated of a scandal they've made up their minds to."

"Scandal's a hard word in the case that you're thinking of."

"I've no great stock of words outside of a conveyance of land--there I can use as many as any man except counsel. But, to tell the truth, it goes against my stomach."

"It sticks in your throat! And it goes against your stomach! And all this before you've been even asked to swallow it! Aren't you considerably premature?"

"You think there's a chance she won't--?" His manner was openly eager.

"Yes--but hold your tongue, and pay up your five hundred for early possession."

"Upon my soul, Austin, I never more than half believed it. But when everybody buzzes a thing into a man's ears--and his own wife first among them--and he sees no other meaning of things, why----"

"The best of us are likely to give in--yes! Well, I've got another appointment--at Alison's."

"Alison's? What have you got to do with Alison these days?"

"Come now, does your position interfere with your friendships? What have you to do with Mrs. Jepps?"

"It was my wife. I never see the old witch."

"I've no wife--so I have to face the devil on my own account."

From my talk with Cartmell I was the more anxious for the success of my other appointment. That might help to free Jenny from the danger of being made so angry as to do what she hated to do, and what faithful old Cartmell could not stomach. If anything could drive her to it, it would be a slight, a harshness, a rudeness, toward Margaret. How she had flared up at Alison's objections! If Margaret were spurned, to Jenny's mind Octon also was again spurned. Then the temper would still have to be reckoned with--the temper under disappointment as well as wrath; for Jenny built upon this interview.

Margaret was punctual at Alison's--she came spanking up in the carriage with the big gray horses the moment after I had reached the door--and we went together into the sparely furnished room where he lived and did his work. He was no bookman--his walls looked bare; his very chairs meant labor rather than rest. And he was no student--"My convictions from G.o.d, my orders from the Bishop, my time to the ministry," he had once said to me--adding then, with the touch of humor that so often softened his rigorous zeal--"I sometimes think one's Bishop is the final trial of faith, Austin." Our Bishop was a moderate man, highly diplomatic, given to quoting St. Paul as an example of adaptability. "All things to all men if by chance--" So far as the chance lay there, his lordship never missed it.

But to see Alison with Margaret obliterated any criticism left possible by his affectionate nature and (may I add?) his ingenuous consciousness of possessing absolute and exclusive truth. He had so tender a reverence for her youth and receptivity--and with it such a high gentlemanly purpose that she should not think that he held her either too young for courtesy or too receptive for intellectual respect. He had great manners, born of a loving heart. Why, after all, should he worry about reading books? Guesses about appearances--that's books--from novels up to philosophy. But how pleasant is the guessing!

She became to him at once a delighted disciple. Here was no such discrepancy of heart and head as divided him from Jenny--no appeal to another standard--no obstinate defense against his attacks behind the ramparts of her nature. Margaret's nature was his to mold--small blame to him if the thought crossed his mind that it would be to the good if she were set in a high place--if such a light burned under no bushel of obscurity!

Fillingford was announced. Alison gave me a quick glance, as though to say "Now for it!"--and the grave stern man stood on the threshold of the room. I had not seen him without his hat for a long while; he had grown gray: his figure, too, was more set; he was indisputably, even emphatically, middle-aged. His face was more lined and looked careworn.

His eyes fell first on me, and there was hesitation in his manner.

Alison went quickly to him and greeted him.

"We've been having a little tea-party, but I shall soon be ready for business. Austin you know. This is my friend Miss Octon."

Fillingford came forward--slowly, but with no change of expression. He bowed gravely to Margaret, and gave me his hand with a limp pressure. "I hope you're well, Mr. Austin? We've met very little of late."