“My dear!” exclaimed Mrs. Mason.
“There is nothing here for him to eat,” repeated Mr. Mason. “And as far as I can see there is nothing there either. What is it you pretend to have in that dish?”
“My dear!” again exclaimed Mrs. Mason.
“What is it?” repeated the lord of the house in an angry tone.
“Broiled ham, Mr. Mason.”
“Then let the ham be brought in,” said he. “Diana, ring the bell.”
“But the ham is not cooked, Mr. Mason,” said the lady. “Broiled ham is always better when it has not been first boiled.”
“Is there no cold meat in the house?” he asked.
“I am afraid not,” she replied, now trembling a little in anticipation of what might be coming after the stranger should have gone. “You never like large joints yourself, Mr. Mason; and for ourselves we don’t eat meat at luncheon.”
“Nor anybody else either, here,” said Mr. Mason in his anger.
“Pray don’t mind me, Mr. Mason,” said the attorney, “pray don’t, Mr. Mason. I am a very poor fist at lunch; I am indeed.”
“I am sure I am very sorry, very sorry, Mr. Mason,” continued the lady. “If I had known that an early dinner was required, it should have been provided;—although the notice given was so very short.”
“I never dine early,” said Mr. Dockwrath, thinking that some imputation of a low way of living was conveyed in this supposition that he required a dinner under the pseudonym of a lunch. “I never do, upon my word—we are quite regular at home at half-past five, and all I ever take in the middle of the day is a biscuit and a glass of sherry—or perhaps a bite of bread and cheese. Don’t be uneasy about me, Mrs. Mason.”
The three young ladies, having now finished their repast, got up from the table and retired, following each other out of the room in a line. Mrs. Mason remained for a minute or two longer, and then she also went. “The carriage has been ordered at three, Mr. M.,” she said. “Shall we have the pleasure of your company?” “No,” growled the husband. And then the lady went, sweeping a low curtsy to Mr. Dockwrath as she passed out of the room.
There was again a silence between the host and his guest for some two or three minutes, during which Mr. Mason was endeavouring to get the lunch out of his head, and to redirect his whole mind to Lady Mason and his hopes of vengeance. There is nothing perhaps so generally consoling to a man as a well-established grievance; a feeling of having been injured, on which his mind can brood from hour to hour, allowing him to plead his own cause in his own court, within his own heart—and always to plead it successfully. At last Mr. Mason succeeded, and he could think of his enemy’s fraud and forget his wife’s meanness. “I suppose I may as well order my gig now,” said Mr. Dockwrath, as soon as his host had arrived at this happy frame of mind.
“Your gig? ah, well. Yes. I do not know that I need detain you any longer. I can assure you that I am much obliged to you, Mr. Dockwrath, and I shall hope to see you in London very shortly.”
“You are determined to go to Round and Crook, I suppose?”
“Oh, certainly.”
“You are wrong, sir. They’ll throw you over again as sure as your name is Mason.”
“Mr. Dockwrath, you must if you please allow me to judge of that myself.”
“Oh, of course, sir, of course. But I’m sure that a gentleman like you, Mr. Mason, will understand—”
“I shall understand that I cannot expect your services, Mr. Dockwrath—your valuable time and services—without remunerating you for them. That shall be fully explained to Messrs. Round and Crook.”
“Very well, sir; very well. As long as I am paid for what I do, I am content. A professional gentleman of course expects that. How is he to get along else; particular with sixteen children?” And then Mr. Dockwrath got into the gig, and was driven back to the Bull at Leeds.
IX
A Convivial Meeting
On the whole Mr. Dockwrath was satisfied with the results of his trip to Groby Park, and was in a contented frame of mind as he was driven back to Leeds. No doubt it would have been better could he have persuaded Mr. Mason to throw over Messrs. Round and Crook, and put himself altogether into the hands of his new adviser; but this had been too much to expect. He had not expected it, and had made the suggestion as the surest means of getting the best terms in his power, rather than with a hope of securing the actual advantage named. He had done much towards impressing Mr. Mason with an idea of his own sharpness, and perhaps something also towards breaking the prestige which surrounded the names of the great London firm. He would now go to that firm and make his terms with them. They would probably be quite as ready to acquiesce in the importance of his information as had been Mr. Mason.
Before leaving the inn after breakfast he had agreed to join the dinner in the commercial room at five o’clock, and Mr. Mason’s hot lunch had by no means induced him to alter his purpose. “I shall dine here,” he had said when Mr. Moulder was discussing with the waiter the all-important subject of dinner. “At the commercial table sir?” the waiter had asked, doubtingly. Mr. Dockwrath had answered boldly in the affirmative, whereat Mr. Moulder had growled; but Mr. Kantwise had expressed satisfaction. “We shall be extremely happy to enjoy your company,” Mr. Kantwise had said, with a graceful bow, making up by his excessive courtesy for the want of any courtesy on the part of his brother-traveller. With reference to all this Mr. Moulder said nothing; the stranger had been admitted into the room, to
