“They may discuss it as much as they please”—the young man showed amusement. He thought he saw his solicitors discussing it! He had indeed his own ideas. He opened the door for his hostess and the three passed out of the room together, walking into the hall in a silence that expressed a considerable awkwardness. A note had been struck which grated and scratched a little. A pair of shining footmen, at their approach, rose from a bench to a great altitude and stood there like sentinels presenting arms. Jackson stopped, looking for a moment into the interior of his hat, which he had in his hand. Then raising his keen eyes he fixed them a moment on those of Lady Canterville, addressing her instinctively rather than his other critic. “I guess you and Lord Canterville had better leave it to me!”
“We have our traditions, Mr. Lemon,” said her ladyship with a firm grace. “I imagine you don’t know—!” she gravely breathed.
Lord Canterville laid his hand on their visitor’s shoulder. “My dear boy, those fellows will settle it in three minutes.”
“Very likely they will!” said Jackson Lemon. Then he asked of Lady Canterville when he might see Lady Barb.
She turned it spaciously over. “I’ll write you a note.”
One of the tall footmen at the end of the impressive vista had opened wide the portals, as if even he were aware of the dignity to which the small strange gentleman had virtually been raised. But Jackson lingered; he was visibly unsatisfied, though apparently so little conscious he was unsatisfying. “I don’t think you understand me.”
“Your ideas are certainly different,” said Lady Canterville.
His lordship, however, made comparatively light of it. “If the girl understands you that’s enough!”
“Mayn’t she write to me?” Jackson asked of her mother. “I certainly must write to her, you know, if you won’t let me see her.”.
“Oh yes, you may write to her, Mr. Lemon.”