"Tell Mr. Maurice it is of no use, I am afraid."
A third appearance, round-eyed this time.
"Please, 'm, the gentleman says he's got to see the Rector, and he don't mind how long he waits, not if it's hours, 'm."
Mrs. Winton considered. Plainly this was a man with a will of his own. Since Doris was safely out of reach, it might be wise to yield.
"Very well—if it has to be," she said resignedly. "Take Mr. Maurice into the study."
The unwelcome caller being there installed, she made her way through the back-garden and along the lane,—for once, regardless of prying eyes behind muslin curtains. Mr. Winton had again fled for refuge to manual labour, from the pain of seeing his child suffer. When his wife entered, he was hammering with a vigour which relieved his feelings, but which made her put two hands to her ears. Whereupon he stopped.
"The man has come, Sylvester."
"Eh? Who?"
"The man himself!—Mr. Maurice. I told you we should have him here. I sent him word that you were engaged, but he refused to go. You must see him, and make things clear."
"Couldn't you tackle him, my dear?"