Melville forced a laugh.
"It will be time enough for you to order me out of houses when you possess any. When you are master of The Grange I shall keep clear of the place, you may be sure. Until then I shall call upon Mrs. Austen whenever I choose."
"If you go to The Grange I shall tell Mrs. Austen what has happened," Ralph repeated, "and she will order you out then herself."
"I dare you to do it," said Melville. In reality the idea filled him with uneasiness, but he was too shrewd to show it. Instead, he remarked reflectively, as if considering Ralph's interests only, "Mrs. Austen might begin to think she was allowing her daughter to marry into a queer family, supposing for the moment that she took everything you said for gospel."
Ralph drove his hands deep into his pockets. Honesty such as his often seems very stupid when confronted with the cleverness of a knave, and he felt unequal to a discussion with his brother. But he wished he had been less loyal to him in the past, less sturdy an advocate for his defence when Sir Geoffrey arraigned him. It was humiliating to think how completely Melville had taken him in. They walked in silence to the Manor House, and Ralph paused by the gate.
"I'm not going to argue with you, and I have nothing to add to what I said about The Grange. Go there and you'll see. Here is the Manor House. If you take my advice you will leave me here and get back to town by the next train."
"When I ask your advice I'll consider about taking it," Melville answered gently; he saw how his own coolness angered and flurried Ralph. "As for The Grange, Mrs. Austen has kindly invited me to dine there and bring my violin, and I need scarcely say I have accepted. And as for Sir Geoffrey, I have come down to see him, and if he's at home I will see him now; if he is out I shall wait."
"You are beyond me," Ralph said hopelessly. "Well, I don't want to keep you away from Sir Geoffrey if you are anxious to see him, but if I were in your shoes, which, thank heaven, I am not, I would blow out my brains rather than face him. I don't believe you have any shame left."
He opened the gate and, with Melville, walked up the drive. As they came in sight of the house, however, his mind shrank from the prospect of having to be present at so painful an interview between his uncle and brother as he felt sure this one must be. He stopped abruptly.
"You will probably find Sir Geoffrey in the library," he said. "I am going down to the houseboat."