Nigel had got a little of his revenge.
He had annoyed the comfortable Percy.
“But let me say that all this time I have never, never shown it by word or look. Our talks were almost entirely about Madeline Irwin and my brother, or about Rupert Denison. Your wife is so exceedingly kind and good that she wished to see Miss Madeline as happy as herself.”
“Yes, yes, I know all that,” said Percy impatiently.
“I shall follow your wishes to the very letter,” said Nigel. “You see how very open I’ve been. How will you explain to her that I drop your acquaintance?”
“I think I shall tell her now,” said Percy, “that I had received a letter and that I’ve seen you. But I shall tell her we parted the best of friends, and nothing must be done, above all things, to annoy or agitate her.”
He looked at the closed leather case again.
“Just now I want to take special care of her. I daresay she won’t notice not meeting you, as we’re not going out in the evening the rest of the season nor entertaining.”
Nigel looked amazed. An idea occurred to him that caused him absurd mortification. It dawned upon his mind that perhaps Bertha was going to have her wish. If so, he would be forgotten more completely than ever.
“Forgive me for asking, Kellynch. I think you’ve been very good to me, really. I trust your wife is not ill?”