The servants grouped themselves differently at his appearance, and bowed low, the butler venturing to say,
"I am glad you have come, Sir."
"Where is your master?" asked Beauchamp.
"In the library, Sir," replied the man, "with a number of them. It is a sad time, Sir, 'specially for my poor young lady."
The man walked on before, and opened the library door; Beauchamp followed quickly; and certainly the sight which that room presented was a painful one. Mrs. Clifford sat near one of the windows, the picture of despair; Isabella was seated near the table, with her eyes buried in her hands, and the rich curls of her beautiful hair falling over her face. Mary was bending down to speak to her; grief in her lovely face, but yet as calm and composed as usual. Old Sir John was a little in advance, with two bailiffs standing near--not the same who had been there earlier in the morning--and his valet behind him, helping him to put on his great coat, while Mr. Wharton stood at the other side of the large library-table, with a smile upon his lip, a frown upon his brow, a sparkling black eye, and a double degree of red in one of the cheeks, though the other looked somewhat pale. Two or three men, whose business there and ordinary functions were not apparent at the moment, made up the rest of the company.
Sir John Slingsby had one arm in the sleeve of his great coat, and was thrusting angrily and ineffectually at the garment, to get the other in also, speaking all the time in a furious tone, with his face turned to Mr. Wharton.
"I tell you, Wharton, you are a d--d scoundrel," he said, "an ungentlemanlike blackguard. You have swindled me out of thousands, and you know it; and now, without giving me a hint, you come upon me in this way."
"You are angry, Sir John, you are angry," said Mr. Wharton, in a sweet tone. "It is as unpleasant to me as to you, I can assure you; but when I heard that Mr. Wittingham had issued process, I was compelled, however unwillingly, to take care of myself and my clients. You know I told you a month ago it could not go on any longer; so you cannot say you had not notice."
The old baronet was about to pour upon him a new volley of objurgations, thrusting manfully at the sleeve of his coat all the time, when suddenly his eye rested upon Beauchamp and he stopped, turning a little pale, for the presence of that gentleman at such a moment both surprised and pained him. Mary whispered a word to her cousin, however, and Isabella starting up with the tears in her eyes, and a glow upon her cheeks, held out her hand to him exclaiming, "Oh, thank you, thank you! Dr. Miles was not to be found," she added, in a whisper, "or I would not have sent."
Beauchamp smiled and shook his head half reproachfully, and Sir John recovering himself took his hand saying, "Ah, Beauchamp, you have come at an awkward time. Can't ask you to dinner to-day, my dear Sir, for the house is in the hands of the myrmidons of the law, and I must away, they tell me. It's a bad job, I am afraid."