“I shall be away all day. I have a long walk before me, and a good deal to do, and I want you to receive this man. He will soon moderate his tone when he finds that I am not friendless; he will be less exacting in his demands when he sees that he is dealing with a Luttrell. Ascertain what is his menace, and what the price of it.”
“You are not going to buy him off, surely?” cried Harry, angrily.
“I would not willingly bring any shame on the proud name I have borne even on sufferance. I know well how your father felt about these things, and I will try to be loyal to his memory, though I am never again to hear him praise me for it. Mr. Cane already wrote to me about this man, and advised that some means might be taken to avoid publicity. Indeed, he offered his own mediation to effect its settlement, but I was angry at the thought of such submission, and wrote back, I fear, a hasty, perhaps ill-tempered answer. Since then Cane has not written, but a letter might come any moment—perhaps to-day. The post will be here by one o’clock; wait for its arrival, and do not see the priest till the letters have come. Open them till you find Cane’s, and when you are in possession of what he counsels, you will be the better able to deal with this fellow.”
“And is all your correspondence at my mercy?”
“All!”
“Are you quite sure that you are prudent in such frankness?”
“I don’t know that it will tempt you to any very close scrutiny. I expect an invoice about some rapeseed, I look for a small package of spelling-books, I hope to receive some glasses of vaccine matter to inoculate with, and tidings, perhaps, of a roll of flannel that a benevolent visitor promised me for my poor.”
“And no secrets?”
“Only one: a sketch of Life on Arran, which I sent to a London periodical, but which is to be returned to me, as too dull, or too melancholy, or too something or other for publication. I warn you about this, as the editor has already pronounced sentence upon it.”
“May I read it, Kate?”