Miss Lavinia made one or two additional attempts to direct the conversation on general topics; but the surly guest strangled her incipient attempts with pitiless indifference. Finally, Miss Lavinia sailed out of the room with stately dignity, and disappeared.
Mr. Rushton looked after her, smiling grimly.
"The fact is, Squire," he said, "that your cousin, Miss Lavinia, is a true woman. Hang it, can't a man come and talk a little business with a neighbor without being intruded upon? Outrageous!"
The Squire seemed to regard his guest's surliness with as little attention as Verty had displayed.
"A true woman in other ways is she, Rushton," he said, smiling—"I grant you she is a little severe and prim, and fond of taking her dignified portion of every conversation; but she's a faithful and high-toned woman. You have seen too much character in your Courts to judge of the kernel from the husk."
"The devil take the Courts! I'm sick of 'em," said Mr. Rushton, with great fervor, "and as to character, there is no character anywhere, or in anybody." Having enunciated which proposition, Mr. Rushton rose to go.
The Squire rose too, holding him by the button.
"I'd like to argue that point with you," he said, laughing. "Come now, tell me how—"
"I won't—I refuse—I will not argue."
"Stay to dinner, then, and I promise not to wrangle."