Jim was stung. The mildest-tempered fellow in the world would have been by such an unbridled display of despotism. Cheriton, who by long association with the Whigs understood their arbitrary nature, was really less shocked by such an uncivil exhibition than he pretended to be. He took Jim Lascelles by the sleeve, drew him aside, and gave him the benefit of a whimsical smile.
“Say nothing, my dear fellow,” said he, in a sagacious and paternal manner. “Give her her head, and then leave her to me.”
Jim Lascelles, however, was furious. He was young and hot-headed; and adversity had rendered him more sensitive upon the score of his dignity than it is wise for a young fellow to be. Therefore he was by no means disposed to leave the adjustment of the matter to his friend. Not by his demeanor only did he express resentment, but by word and also by deed.
“I am sorry, Lady Crewkerne, you have taken this view,” said he, not very pacifically. “I shall be quite happy to obey your instructions. A couple of men will come from Peabody’s this afternoon to fetch the canvas.”
And then, with an incredible absence of judgment, Jim Lascelles packed up his tools, and distributing curt bows to everybody, stalked out of the room and out of the house.
Cheriton showed genuine consternation. Miss Perry looked ready to shed tears. Cream buns apart, she was very fond of Jim.
“An incomprehensibly foolish thing to have done,” said Cheriton.
“A deplorable exhibition of impudence,” said Caroline Crewkerne. “I have the greatest mind not to give up that canvas. I should be within my rights if I destroyed it.”
“I have grave doubts whether you could do it legally,” said Cheriton.
For a man of his vaunted wisdom and experience it was a sadly injudicious thing to have said.