There was no reason why he himself should remain any longer in the solitude of London; the pleasure of seeing May Forestfield daily, which had been his principal attraction, no longer remained to him. In conformity with the confidence which had been established between them, Lady Forestfield had informed him of Gustave de Tournefort's unexpected visit, of the renewal of his proposals of marriage, and of the reply which she had given him. Uffington, who seemed considerably agitated when she commenced her recital, grew calm as she approached its conclusion, and told her that she had acted exactly as he would have advised her.
'I think, however,' he added, 'that if I were you I would not give M. de Tournefort another chance of going into heroics. By what I gather from you the man has some sense of decency left in him, and probably means well; but these Frenchmen are desperate fellows for theatrical display; and as he seems to have taken his departure in the thorough conviction that your accepting him was merely a matter of time and importunity, notwithstanding your very convincing refusal, it would be, I think, advisable that you should do away with any chance of his proving of farther annoyance to you by rendering it impossible for him to find your address. He will doubtless remain in town under the impression that the next time he presents himself before you, you will be in a far more complacent humour; and in order to prevent any possible chance of any such annoyance, I propose that you should leave London at once for a time.'
May was frightened to take such a step. She had become accustomed to the lodging and to the landlady, who was exceedingly kind to her; she would have, she was sure, immense difficulty in finding anything that would suit her as well. The very fact of London being empty made it pleasant to her, as she was enabled to walk out or to drive in a hansom cab in the evenings and get the air without the fear of being seen. She would much rather remain where she was; she did not think there was any chance of M. de Tournefort attempting again to see her; and even if he did she would not have the least difficulty in acting as she had done on the previous occasion, and letting him see that his pursuit must be fruitless. But Uffington was equally determined on his side; he combated all she had to say, told her there were scores of pretty places in which she could pass a few weeks in the utmost retirement under an assumed name, without the smallest attempt being made to penetrate her identity. He acknowledged that she was perfectly able to cope with any farther attempt on De Tournefort's part; but added that what gave him the most uneasiness, and in his mind rendered it imperative that she should at once seek change of scene, was the fact that she was growing pale and thin. It was evident that, accustomed as she had been all her life to a vast amount of air and exercise, the deprivation of both which she had recently undergone was beginning to tell seriously upon her health, and it was absolutely necessary that she should at once have some change. When May's reluctant consent had been obtained, Uffington, determined that she should have no excuse for delay in carrying out the project, set to work himself. In a few days he had secured for her some rooms in a farmhouse, in a river-side village within thirty miles of London, but far removed from any of the haunts of society; and within a fortnight the Mrs. Murray who entered upon the occupation of these rooms was well known by sight to nearly all the villagers, who highly approved of her pretty appearance and gentle manners, without having the slightest idea that she and the Lady Forestfield, of whose atrocious behaviour they had read in the penny weekly journal which had found its way into some of their homesteads, were identical.
When he had seen her safely off, and felt that with her departure London had no farther attraction for him, Nugent Uffington thought it was time for him to make a start. He knew that in his early days Lord Forestfield had been a great yachting man; and thought, though he no longer owned a vessel, he might probably be sailing with some acquaintance, yachtsmen of the present day being peculiarly susceptible to the charms of titled friends, and being willing to condone any amount of bad conduct in a member of the peerage; so he first visited the Isle of Wight, where he found Ryde and Cowes presenting a very different appearance from that familiar to them at regatta time, being now given up to stout women in alpaca gowns and flapping straw hats; their husbands, in serge suits and canvas shoes out of the slop-sellers' shops; and brown-faced batheable children.
Lord Forestfield was not there. 'Hadn't been there that season,' said old Mr. Woolsey, whom Uffington found at his usual post in the club, giving at the same time a very knowing wink, as much as to convey that he for one had not been sorry at the noble lord's absence. 'I don't think,' added Mr. Woolsey, 'that he is out sailing at all this year. People have fought rather shy of Master Forestfield since all that business about his wife; but if he is sailing with anybody, it will probably be with Spokeshave; and a nice pair they will make, for Spokeshave is about as unpopular as Forestfield himself, though from a very different cause. I heard of him in the west, and I shouldn't be surprised if you picked him up somewhere round Torquay way.'
It was no matter to Nugent Uffington where he went, and, as he was told that Torquay was pretty and the Imperial Hotel comfortable, he started off there at once. But they knew nothing of Lord Forestfield at the Imperial, for at the cozy little club overlooking the harbour; and after a stay of two or three days, during which he had enjoyed the severest idleness, Nugent was consulting Bradshaw with the view of ascertaining to what place he should next bend his steps, when he felt a slap on the shoulder, and looking up, saw Tom Lydyeard's grizzled beard and bronzed face bending over him.
'I thought I was not mistaken, though I could not see your face,' said Tom, in his great cheery voice. 'What on earth brings you to this place? You haven't got a yacht here, have you? you are not a flower-show frequenter, or an archery-fête supporter, or anything of that kind; and you don't take any interest in the fine new harbour which Sir Lawrence has built for these Torquay folk? Then what brings you here?'
'I might ask the same question of you,' said Uffington. 'I don't suppose you are particularly wedded to any of the wildly-exciting diversions you have named, and yet here you are, looking as much at home as if you lived in the place.'
'O, I am staying over at Portslade, shooting with Billy Norreys, who has got a whole houseful of people there, and I only came over because I got a confounded twist of tic last night, and have emptied my neuraline bottle.'
'You must have done a deal of shooting, or the sun must be considerably more powerful down here than it is in other parts of the country, to have turned you that colour, Lydyeard,' said Uffington, with a smile. 'You look like a young brave on the war-path.'