"Quite well. She has not a sorrow in the world. And now, for the last time, leave the room--and the house."
His peremptory, harsh tone had no effect upon Kingsley, who, with a genial nod and a "Good-morning, father," left the house with a light step.
In the evening he informed Nansie and Mr. Loveday of his visit to his father, and, to their astonishment, described it as one of a pleasant character. Their astonishment was all the greater when they read a letter which was delivered personally to Kingsley. It was from a firm of lawyers, and was written in accordance with instructions received from Mr. Manners. In the first place it conveyed an intimation that Kingsley would not be allowed again to enter his father's house; in the second place it contained a warning that if he made any further endeavor to force himself into his father's presence, proceedings would be taken against him for the trespass.
"I think," said Kingsley, "that lawyers must have been invented expressly to torment mankind; they never can put a thing pleasantly. My father, I suppose, is too busy to write to me himself, so he told his lawyers to do so, and they, wishing to make things as unpleasant as possible, send me a communication couched in terms which my father would certainly resent. Of course I shall not go to him again until he sends for me."
So saying, he tore up the letter and put it into the fire.
A few days afterwards it was announced in the papers that Mr. Manners had broken up his London establishment, and with his wife and his nephew, Mr. Mark Inglefield, had started on a foreign tour, which was likely to be of long duration. This paragraph was read by Kingsley, and caused in him the first spark of resentment he had exhibited since his return.
"I am sorry," he said, "that my father has taken up with such a man as Mark Inglefield. He is dangerous and coldblooded, and, I am afraid, no friend of mine. Not that I want him for a friend, but that, being with my father, he may say something against us. However, to use your dear mother's saying, Nansie, 'Everything will come right in the end.'"
With this comfortable assurance he dismissed the matter from his mind, as was his habit.
And here the course of our story renders it necessary that the curtain shall fall for a certain time. When it rises again seventeen years will have passed away.