“Isn't he?” said Alfred eagerly. “And whose fault is it he is not always dressed like one? Whose fault that here's an earl's nephew, 'Boots in Hell'?”
“Not yours, Alfred, nor mine,” was the honeyed reply.
In vain did Mr. Hayes prefer his complaint to Dr. Wolf. The Archbold had been before him, and the answer was, “Served you right.”
These and many other good deeds did Alfred Hardie in Drayton House. But, as the days rolled on, and no answer came from the Commissioners, his own anxiety, grief, and dismay left him less and less able to sympathise with the material but smaller wrongs around him. He became silent, dejected.
At last he came to Mrs. Archbold, and said sternly his letters to the Commissioners were intercepted.
“I can't believe that,” said she. “It is against the law.”
So it was: but law and custom are two.
“I am sure of it,” said he; “and may the eternal curse of Heaven light on the cowardly traitor and miscreant who has done it.” And he stalked gloomily away.
When he left her, she sighed at this imprecation from his lips; but did not repent. “I can't part with him,” she said despairingly; “and if I did not stop his poor dear letters, Wolf would:” and the amorous crocodile shed a tear, and persisted in her double-faced course.
By-and-by, when she saw him getting thinner and paler, and his bright face downcast and inexpressibly sad, she shared his misery: ay, shed scalding tears for him: yet could not give him up; for her will was as strong as the rest of her was supple; and hers was hot love, but not true love like Julia's.