Coffee was served in the Long Saloon. The Squire had just finished his chasse of old brandy, when Fishpingle came in.
“Mr. Hamlin, Sir Geoffrey, wishes to see you. I have shown him into the library.”
“Um! I will join Mr. Hamlin at once.”
As the door closed behind Fishpingle, the Squire said testily:
“Just like the man. Well, I expected him. And the sooner it’s over the better.”
He stumped out. Margot, for an instant, wished that she were a housemaid, with no scruples about eavesdropping. Greek was about to meet Greek, and a memorable encounter must take place. Lady Pomfret sat, shading her eyes with her hand, reflecting that men were nearly all alike. How often she had said to her husband, when he was straining at the leash to meet and “down” some obstreperous tenant, “Dear Geoffrey, sleep over it.” And as invariably he had replied, “My dear Mary, I can’t sleep over this. I shall lie awake all night. I must settle this pestilent fellow.” In some such a spirit the Parson had come to Pomfret Court. When had he hesitated to speak his mind? Right was right, so he maintained, and must prevail. But often, too often, right did not prevail. A good cause is like a good horse. It must be ridden with judgment.
“Will there be ructions?” asked Margot, sympathetically.
“I fear so, my dear. How helpless women are at such times!”
“Yes; we co-operate with the forces of gravity, men don’t.”
Meanwhile the Squire was entering his own room. The Parson greeted him austerely, refusing a cup of coffee and a cigar. He accepted a chair. The Squire sat down at his big desk.