“Ah!” said Mr. Fern, with mild severity, “this must not occur again, Joseph. I sanction no such underhand proceedings. If you are dissatisfied with your position, tell me so plainly, and you are welcome to go seek a less indulgent master.”
“Oh, I’m all right, Mr. Fern!”
The other turned benevolently to the perplexed baronet. Throughout, the man Brander had stood silent, his hands thrust into his pockets, his hat pulled over his eyes, a slight grin creasing his parchment jaws.
“I must call your interest in me and my affairs unaccountable, sir,” said the former gravely; “but it is no doubt to be attributed to purely friendly motives.”
He bowed cumbrously, signified to Joseph to go before, and passed out with his other companion into the passage, closing the door gently to behind him.
Left to himself, Mr. Tuke stood for a moment dumfounded and quite at a loss as to what to do next. Then, with a quick, impatient exclamation, he flung himself into a chair before the hearth.
Why did he wait on at all? He told himself that it was for a lull in the storm that crashed and bellowed overhead. All the same he knew that he delayed going for the reason that makes men linger out a fruitless suit—because he impotently hoped for some anti-climax to justify his action.
Presently, rising from a fog of perplexity, he pulled with violence a bell-rope that hung near him. The landlord himself answered the summons, and immediately.
“Bring me a bottle of port,” said the visitor; and added suggestively, “uncorked.”
Mr. Breeds accepted the order, with some unintelligible response; vanished, brought back the wine and a glass, and offered the bottle to the other’s inspection.