Mysie’s confused pronouns were cut short by Lord Rotherwood’s own appearance.
‘You need not go, Jane,’ he said. ‘I can take care of this little chap. They’ll not chop off his head in the presence of one of the Legislature.’
‘Nice care to begin by chaffing him out of his wits,’ she retorted. ‘The question is, whether you ought to go.’
‘Yes, Jenny, I must go. It can’t damage me; and besides, to tell the truth, it strikes me that things will go hard with that unlucky young fellow if some one is not there to stand up for him and elicit Fergus’s evidence.’
‘Alexis White!’
‘White—ay, a cousin or something of the exemplary boss. He’s been dining with his partners—the old White, I mean—and they’ve been cramming him—I imagine with a view to scapegoat treatment—jealousy, and all the rest of it. If there is not a dismissal, there’s a hovering on the verge.’
‘Exactly what I was afraid of,’ said Jane. ‘Oh, Rotherwood, I could tell you volumes. But may I not come down with you? Could not I do something?’
‘Well, on the whole, you are better away, Jenny. Consider William’s feelings. Womankind, even Brownies, are better out of it. Prejudice against proteges, whether of petticoats or cassocks—begging your pardon. I can fight battles better as an unsophisticated stranger coming down fresh, though I don’t expect any one from the barony of Beechcroft to believe it, and maybe the less I know of your volumes the better till after—
‘Oh, Rotherwood, as if I wasn’t too thankful to have you to send for me!’
‘There! I’ve kept the firm out there waiting an unconscionable time. They’ll think you are poisoning my mind. Come along, you imp of science. Trust me, I’ll not bully him, though it’s highly tempting to make the chien chasser de race.’