"That's better!" said Beresford, draining a wine-glass of brandy. "I am all wrong, and enough to make me! Thought I'd catch you here before you went down to work. I've no end to tell you--"
"Tell on!" said Mr. Simnel; and, so encouraged, Beresford narrated every thing that had occurred between him and Barbara the preceding day, respecting the anonymous letter and the conversation that had ensued thereanent, word for word.
As Mr. Simnel listened his heart sunk within him, and it was with the greatest difficulty that he prevented himself from displaying his emotion. He succeeded, however, so admirably, that though the colour of his face might have gone a shade or two paler, not a muscle of it moved, and when Beresford stopped, he said, without a tremor in his voice, "What do you intend to do?"
"To do!" screamed Beresford--"well, upon my soul, Simnel, you are a wonderful man! I tell you this tremendous story, which, for heartless villany, beats any thing I ever heard--and done by a woman too!--and all you ask is, what I intend to do! Do!--I intend to punish that she-devil, cost what it may! to--"
"Steady, sir! you're using strong language--"
"Oh! what! Kate Mellon, I mean; not Mrs. Schröder--my mind's made up with regard to her! I shall--"
"Look here, Beresford; did you come here to rave and storm before me, or to ask my advice?--which?"
"I don't know what the deuce you mean by raving and storming! You'd do the same if you'd been treated in this way by a--there, never mind, I'll take your advice if--"
"If it agrees with your own plans! generous creature! Now look here; you're in a horrible state of rage and fever, in which you can do no good. My advice to you is, to go away straight at once. Go out of town somewhere for a fortnight, and then come back and see how the land lies."
"And so lose every chance I've got! No, thank ye. You know all that business yesterday was Mrs. Churchill, not Mrs. Schröder. I don't believe the widow knows a word about that cursed letter; and there may be a chance of getting over her yet, though that Churchill woman is as deep as the Whissendine. She and I always hated each other, I think, and I don't intend to let her beat me now; no! I've sent a line to Mrs. Schröder marked private, without any flummery of former days, or any thing of that sort,--simply begging her to meet me in the Row this afternoon and give me five minutes' talk. If she does that, I think I can put matters square; and if not--"