When the letter was put into the Squire's hands in Mr. Carey's private room, the Squire was nearly mad with rage. In spite of all that his son had told him, in disregard of all his own solicitor's cautions, in the teeth of his nephew Gregory's certainty, he had felt sure that the thing would be done. The young man was penniless, and must sell; and he could sell nowhere else with circumstances so favourable. And now the young man wrote a letter as though he were declining to deal about a horse! "It's some sham, some falsehood," said the Squire. "Some low attorney is putting him up to thinking that he can get more out of me."
"It's possible," said Mr. Carey; "but there's nothing more to be done." The Squire when last in London had asserted most positively that he would not increase his bid.
"But he's penniless," said the Squire.
"There are those about him that will put him in the way of raising money," said the lawyer.
"And so the property will go to the hammer,—and I can do nothing to help it!" Mr. Carey did not tell his client that a gentleman had no right to complain because he could not deal with effects which were not his own; but that was the line which his thoughts took. The Squire walked about the room, lashing himself in his rage. He could not bear to be beaten. "How much more would do it?" he said at last. It would be terribly bitter to him to be made to give way, to be driven to increase the price; but even that would be less bitter than failure.
"I should say nothing,—just at present, if I were you," said Mr. Carey. The Squire still walked about the room. "If he raises money on the estate we shall hear of it. And so much of his rights as pass from him we can purchase. It will be more prudent for us to wait."
"Would another £5,000 do it at once?" said the Squire.
"At any rate I would not offer it," said Mr. Carey.
"Ah;—you don't understand. You don't feel what it is that I want. What would you say if a man told you to wait while your hand was in the fire?"
"But you are in possession, Mr. Newton."