“Come, Bendibow, don’t be a fool. If I were you, I shouldn’t mind what lies he told her about me, so long as I was sure that no truth he might tell would do me any harm. Besides, Mr. Grant, or whatever his name is, does not look to me like a scoundrel or a liar. And the Marquise does not seem to be a lady likely to let herself be imposed upon, or to act imprudently. You have not been open with me about this matter, Sir Francis. You are afraid to act against this man, and you are concealing the reason from me. I don’t ask it, and I don’t want to know it. But I am not going to undertake anything in the dark. You must manage the affair without my co-operation. You should have known me well enough never to have invited it.”
Several expressions—of anger, of dismay, of perplexity—had passed across the baronet’s features while Fillmore was speaking; but at the end he laughed good humoredly, and put his hand for a moment on the other’s shoulder.
“If I were to live with you, day in and day out,” he said, “you’d make either a saint or a devil of me before six weeks were over. You have the most irritating way with you, begad, that ever I came across. But I know you’re a good fellow, and I shan’t be angry. You might allow me a little natural exasperation at seeing things go topsy-turvy—never mind! I believe you’re right about Perdita, too; she’s no sentimental fool. Dare say matters will come out all right, after all. There! we’ll think more about it. I’ll talk it over quietly with Grantley—with Grant, you know—ah! Here we are!”
The Marquise, leaning on the arm of Mr. Grant, and followed by the rest of the company, were entering the room, being come in quest of supper, which was to be served here, and of which the sherry, whereof Mr. Thomas Bendibow had already partaken, was but an accessory. The Marquise rallied the baronet on his lack of gallantry in not having been on hand to do his part in escorting some one; and they all took their places at table with much gayety and good humor; Mr. Thomas having watched his opportunity, when no one was looking in his direction, to emerge from the shelter of the azaleas and take his seat with the rest. His aspect was so dazed and distraught as to suggest the suspicion that the sherry had been exceptionally potent; only it so happened that no one noticed him. His sulkiness had vanished; but from time to time he turned his eyes on Mr. Grant with a secret expression of consternation and bewilderment, which, considering the peaceful and inoffensive aspect of that gentleman, seemed rather gratuitous.
There were more gentlemen than ladies present, and Mr. Grant chanced to have Mr. Fillmore for his left-hand neighbor, and presently fell into talk with him. “I have heard your name mentioned,” he remarked at length, “by my friend Mrs. Lockhart. You are, I believe, a member of the legal profession?”
Fillmore inclined his head in assent.
“There are some affairs of mine which need putting in order,” continued Mr. Grant, “and as they may require a good deal of judgment for their proper disposition, I had been thinking of applying to you for assistance. Will you pardon me for taking advantage of this unexpected opportunity to mention the matter to you?”
“I am obliged to you, sir. You are, perhaps, aware,” added the lawyer, turning so as to look his interlocutor directly in the face, “that I have for several years been legal adviser to Sir Francis Bendibow?”
“Yes: yes, to tell the truth, I was partly influenced by that also,” replied the old man quietly. “Sir Francis will doubtless tell you that he and I are old acquaintances: and I—in short, then, I may request you to appoint a time for our interview.”
Fillmore named a day near the end of the following week; and then relapsed into silence, being fairly taken by surprise, and unable to make the joints of his puzzle fit together. Mr. Grant and the Marquise were both enigmas in different ways, and worth being studied. After a while, however, he decided that the Marquise was the more inviting, if not the more difficult enigma of the two; and he experienced an unusual degree of pleasure in keeping his eyes upon her. He was not inclined to think that anything would be gained by her leaving London.