"Excuse me," John interrupted coldly, "I have no wish to shake hands with any of you. I accept for my sister Mr. Congdon's assurance that he is ashamed of himself, and now you are at liberty to go your way."
"At liberty!" grumbled one: but, to Hetty's surprise, they went. Jack might not understand women: he could master men. For her part she thought he might have shaken hands and parted in good-fellowship. She listened to the sportsmen's unsteady retreat. At a little distance they broke into defiant laughter, but discomfiture was in the sound.
"Come," said John. She took his arm and they walked on together towards Wroote.
For a while neither spoke. Hetty was thinking of a story once told her by her mother: how that once the Rector, then a young man, had been sitting in Smith's Coffee House in the City and discussing the Athenian Gazette with his fellow-contributors, when an officer of the Guards, in a box at the far end of the room, kept interrupting them with the foulest swearing. Mr. Wesley called to the waiter to bring a glass of water. It was brought. "Carry this," he said aloud, "to that gentleman in the red coat, and desire him to rinse his mouth after his oaths." The officer rose up in a fury, with hand on sword, but the gentlemen in his box pulled him down. "Nay, colonel, you gave the first offence. You know it is an affront to swear before a clergyman." The officer was restrained. Mr. Wesley resumed his talk. And her mother went on to tell that, years after, when the Rector was in London attending Convocation, a gentleman stopped him one day as he crossed St. James's Park. "Do you know me, Mr. Wesley?" "Sir, I have not that pleasure." "Will you know me, then, if I remind you that once, in Smith's Coffee House, you taught me a lesson? Since that time, sir, I thank God I have feared an oath and everything that is offensive to the Divine Majesty. I rejoiced, just now, to catch sight of you, and could not refrain from expressing my gratitude."
And John inherited this gift of mastery. He could not understand women, nor could she ever understand him: but she felt that the arm she held was one of steel. To what end she and her sisters and her mother had been sacrificed she could not yet divine: but the encounter by the bridge had reawakened the Wesley pride in her, and she walked acquiescent in a fate beyond her ken. She knew, too, that he had dismissed the squabble from his mind and was thinking of her confession and her soul's danger. But here she would not help him.
"You have heard," she asked, "that we are leaving Lincoln?"
This was news to him.
"Yes; my husband thinks of opening a business in London: but first he must sell the shop and effects and pension off his father into lodgings at Louth. That is the old man's native home, and he wishes to end his days there. He is loth to leave the business; but truly he has brought it low, and we must move if William is to make his fortune."
"Moving to London will be a risk, and a heavy expense."
"Uncle Matthew is helping us, and it is settled that we move in the autumn. We go into lodgings at first, and shall live in the humblest way while we look about us for a good workshop and premises."