The earl went out to pay a visit to a neighbour. Mr. Chicknell sought the Lady Aveline, who consented to receive him in her own apartment.
After much bowing and scraping, the astute attorney consented to bring himself to an anchorage on the soft velvet seat of a carved oak chair.
After a preliminary cough, he began as follows—“This little business which the earl, your grandfather, is so anxious to get settled, is at present in status quo, the reason being the disinclination on the part of your ladyship to act in concert with his legal advisers, and I have, therefore, my dear madam, taken upon myself the not very pleasant task of seeing you on the subject.”
“I am very glad to see you at all times, Mr. Chicknell,” said Aveline. “As a friend of our house, you are welcome.”
“Ah, thank you!” returned the lawyer, not very well liking her manner. “I felt assured that I should be. We cannot get on without your co-operation—indeed we cannot. Ahem! it’s no use attempting to disguise that.”
He laughed as if he had said something remarkably pleasant and witty. Aveline only nodded.
“It’s like driving a bent nail in an oak plank,” murmured Chicknell; “but no matter;” he then went on, addressing himself to the lady. “You see—ahem!—I have felt it a duty incumbent on me to learn your wishes with regard to the pending suit from your own lips. Am I right when I say that it was first instituted with your full consent?”
“Certainly not. I never did give my consent.”
“Dear me, that’s most unfortunate; but as we have proceeded thus far, I presume you won’t offer any opposition. You certainly ought not to do so.”
“Indeed! I claim to be the best judge in this matter, and do not care to be made a mere puppet in the hands of others. Pray, why ought I to give my consent?”