Their joint action before in the case of the Nelson letters had been crowned with such marvellous success that it was soon agreed that they should act in concert again. Canon Alington, it is true, had not quite forgotten yet a few stinging moments, when Hugh sat on the stile on the way back to church, but he had withdrawn his words and apologised that very evening, in a truly Christian spirit. His brother-in-law, therefore, considered now that those words had not been said. It was agreed, too, that Agnes, at present, at any rate, need not be mixed up in this painful business, and without further delay the two set off for Chalkpits. They arrived soon after Hugh had posted his letter to Edith; from his window he saw their approach, he saw the solemn purpose on their faces. This time their misguided interference (if their errand should prove to be this) excited in him only wild, hilarious merriment, and for a moment he hid his face in a sofa cushion and shook. Then he composed himself. How right Edith had been before; how infinitely better it was to be amused! He fully intended to extract the utmost possible amusement out of it. And he would tell Peggy this time.
They were shown in, and he received them very gravely. His hair was a little disordered from his explosion in the sofa-cushion, and Mrs. Owen thought he looked very wild.
“It is kind of you to come,” he said.
And they all sat down together as if by machinery.
“Very kind of you to come,” repeated Hugh.
The devil could not have suggested to him more fiendishly ingenious words. It was quite clear to both his visitors that he knew why they had come. It was true—he did.
Mrs. Owen writhed and undulated toward him. It had been settled that she should speak first; the womanly touch was the thing to begin with, afterward the Church would advise and console.
“Dear Mr. Hugh,” she said, “we only want to help. That is all our object. If there is anything we can do?”
Hugh bit his tongue to stop the sudden convulsion that nearly broke from him. This was done so successfully that it sounded like a sob.
“Tell us all about it, my dear fellow,” said Canon Alington. “Take your time. Or, would you rather speak to me alone, or to Mrs. Owen alone?”