"That's me, of course," said the knight and read on.
As he read and re-read he grew more and more bewildered, for this was an apology, an abject grovelling plea for forgiveness.
"It is forbidden that I should see you——"
"Quite right," said Sir Harry. "I told William that under no circumstance he was to admit him."
"My letters are returned unopened" (Sir Harry smiled grimly. He had received a letter in the Duke's handwriting and had promptly reposted it), "and with every day comes a surer knowledge of my error in opposing your will....
"It is this realization that has decided me upon my future conduct. You wish me to go away—I will go. You wish me to be more considerate"—("I've never said so in so many words," commented the knight)—"you desire that I should forego all local ambition and retire to the oblivion from whence I sprang—so be it."
"Remarkable," was all that Sir Harry could say.
"If I have caused you pain by my presumption"—("Pain!" said Sir Harry, and thought of the sixty thousand pounds)—"I am sorry. I return to the wilds, to the illimitable breadth and length of the wilderness. Here on some waterless plain, where vultures hover in the clear blue sky...."
"D'ye know," said Sir Harry helplessly. "D'ye know, Hal. I really cannot understand this business. I really can not. Last week he was referring to me as 'the sort of person who had made England what she was'—in quite an objectionable way—spoke insultingly about the leather trade and referred meaningly to Hidebound Arrogance. Now——!"
"It's Tuppy!" said Hal. "I knew it would happen; Tuppy is the chap who is working the oracle. As soon as the idea occurred to me I said, 'By Jove! that's a corker!'"