Now although both the friends were careful to keep the fact of this determination from Clifford’s ears, the young barrister was shrewd enough to guess that, having gone so far unsuccessfully, they would feel bound to take some steps to vindicate their sagacity.
So fully convinced was he that they would make some fresh attempt to fix the guilt of the robberies on Nell, that he went down to Courtstairs at the end of the week, and on the Sunday morning walked over to the Blue Lion, with the intention of warning her that she and her uncle would probably be subjected to more annoyance of the kind from which they had recently suffered.
His road lay past Shingle End, and as he approached Colonel Bostal’s house he overtook the old gentleman and his daughter on their way back from church.
The colonel, recognizing Clifford, as the latter merely raised his hat and would have passed, called him to stop.
“No, no,” said he, good-humoredly, “we don’t get so many visitors down from London at this time of year, that we can afford to let you go by like that.”
Miss Bostal, however, was less cordial. She did not offer to shake hands with him, and she eyed his tweed suit and low-crowned hat with open disfavor.
“I am afraid,” said Clifford, “that Miss Bostal thinks I haven’t brought enough of London down with me.”
The colonel laughed, and said they would overlook that. But the prim little lady said icily:
“I know that young men take things easily, nowadays. It is the fashion. But it used to be thought rather shocking to see a gentleman on Sundays without a frock coat and a tall hat. I am old-fashioned and prejudiced, I suppose, but—”
Her father interrupted her.