Andy put out his hand to her. With the slightest air of surprise she took it. "We must make the best of it. Do what you can for him."
"I'll do all he'll let me." Her eyes met his; she smiled. "I know all that as well as you do. Surely I, if anybody, ought to know it?" It seemed to Andy as if that were what her eyes and her smile said. "I want you to deliver one message for me," she went on. "Don't be alarmed, I'm not daring to send a message to anybody who belongs to Meriton. But when you next see Miss Dutton, will you tell her I shan't forget her kindness? I've already thanked Miss Flower for the use of her sitting-room. Ah, we're moving! Good-bye!"
She was smiling as she went. Andy was smiling too; the degree of her gratitude to Sally Dutton and to the Nun respectively had been admirably defined.
The fire of Wellgood's wrath was still smouldering hotly, ready to break out at any moment if the slightest breath of passion fanned it. He received Andy civilly enough, but at the first hint that he came in some sort as an ambassador from Harry's father, his back stiffened. His position was perfectly clear, and seemed unalterable. So far as it lay in his power he would banish Harry Belfield from Meriton and put an end to any career he might have there. He repeated to Andy more calmly, but not less forcibly, what he had shouted in his fury the evening before.
"Of course I want it kept as quiet as possible; but I don't want it kept quiet at the cost of that fellow's going unpunished—getting off scot-free! We've nothing to be ashamed of. Publicity won't hurt us, little as we may like it. But it'll hurt him, and he shall have it in full measure—straight in the face. Is it a possible state of things that he should be here, living in the place, taking part in our public affairs, being our Member, while my daughter is at Nutley? I say no, and I think Belfield—his father, I mean—ought to be able to see it for himself. What then? Are we to be driven out of our home?"
"That would be absurd, of course," Andy had to admit.
"It seems to me the only alternative." He rose from his chair, and walked up and down like an angry tiger. He faced round on Andy. "For a beginning, the first step he takes in regard to the seat, I shall resign from the committee of the Association, and state my reasons for my action in plain language—and I think you know I can speak plainly. I shall do the same about any other public work which involves meeting him. I shall do the same about the hunt, the same about everything. And I'll ask my friends—I'll ask decent people—to choose between Harry Belfield and me. To please my daughter, I didn't break his head, as I should have liked to, but, by heaven, I'll spoil his game in Meriton! I'm afraid that's the only message I can give you to take to Halton."
"In fact you'll do your best to get him boycotted?" Andy liked compendious statements.
"That's exactly what I mean to do, Hayes. A man going to be married to my daughter in a fortnight—parted from her the moment before on the footing of her lover—found making violent love to another inmate of my house, her companion, almost within my very house itself—sounds well, doesn't it? Calculated to recommend him to his friends, and to the constituency?"
Andy tried a last shot. "Is this action of yours really best for Miss Wellgood, or what she would wish?"