“Oh, deary me!” said Mrs. Mudgley to Moffat, who had slipped quietly into the house behind his young friend. “I do hope my Jasper won’t offend his Grace! You know what he is, Mr. Moffat! As stiff-necked as his father, and move him you can’t, once he’s taken a notion into his head! Whatever will become of us if he should say something which his Grace might take amiss?”
“His Grace won’t take offence,” Moffat said. “He’s not like his uncle, high in the instep, as the saying is. I’ve known him since he was a sickly boy, hardly out of short-coats, ay, helped him out of trees when he got stuck, and taught him to handle a gun, and there never was a lad with a sweeter nature, that I’ll swear to! What’s more, ma’am, he’s got a way with him, for all he’s not to much to look at, and if he don’t have your Jasper out of his high ropes I shall be fair astonished!”
He was not destined to suffer astonishment. After walking up and down the lane for long enough to make Mrs. Mudgley feel very uneasy, the two men came in, apparently on the best of terms. Mrs. Mudgley saw that the set look he had worn for so long had vanished from her son’s face, and shed tears, which she dried hastily, however, explaining that she didn’t know whether she stood on her head or her heels. None of the three men found this very comprehensible, but they were relieved to see that she had stopped crying, and encouraged her in their several ways, her son patting her on the shoulder, Moffat saying There, there! in a helpless way, and the Duke announcing that it had been decided that he and Lady Harriet would bring Belinda out to Furze Farm as soon as was possible.
Mrs. Mudgley then poured out cowslip wine all round, and after he had heroically swallowed his portion, the Duke took his leave of his hosts and rode back to Bath, feeling that a weight had dropped from his shoulders.
He had been invited to dine in Laura Place, before attending the Dowager and Lady Harriet to the Assembly Rooms, and when he reached the Christopher he found that his cousin had driven out to Cheyney some time earlier. He walked upstairs, to be met by Nettlebed, who took his hat and gloves from him, expressing the hope that he would rest before he changed his dress.
“Yes, perhaps I will,” he said yawning. “What’s this?” He picked up a letter from the table as he spoke, and saw that it was addressed to him in Lord Gaywood’s dashing handwriting.
“My Lord Gaywood’s man left it here for your Grace, not half an hour ago,” responded Nettlebed disparagingly. “He said there was no answer expected. And a fly-by-night fellow he is! I wonder his lordship would have such about him.”
The Duke broke the wafer, and spread open the letter. It was quite brief.
“ Dear Sale, ” it ran. “ Don’t put yourself to any more trouble over your fair Cyprian, for I’m taking her off your hands. It would be a curst sin to tie such an out-and-outer up to some Somerset bumpkin. You may fob Harriet off with what tale you please, and believe me, Your devilish obliged servant, Gaywood. ”