That day early after lunch he called upon Lady Alicia Carruthers. She was at home and alone, and he stayed with her nearly all the afternoon. Lady Alicia would not let him go till he had had a cup of tea, and this marked an epoch in the life of Mr. Wycherly at Remote, for it was the first time he had broken bread in a neighbour's house.
Shortly after this he astonished his relatives by suddenly demanding entire control of his property. He sent for the family lawyer, a certain Mr. Woodhouse, and went into his affairs with a thoroughness and an amount of legal acumen that quite amazed that worthy man.
Mr. Wycherly's brothers were by no means pleased. For many years—ever since he had, much against their will, and in direct opposition to the advice and warnings showered upon him, resigned his fellowship and withdrawn himself finally from the scene of all his former interests—he had been well content to spend about half his little income while the remainder accumulated under their careful stewardship, presumably for their benefit and that of their children. He had asked no questions and appeared, as indeed he was, quite contented with the arrangement. So entirely had he accepted existing conditions, that when he wanted money in a hurry, in order to see that Miss Esperance and the children should make the journey in decent comfort, he had sold his most precious books instead of telegraphing to his solicitor.
But with the advent of Archie's children Mr. Wycherly was completely shaken out of his groove. His humble desire to hide his shame from the eyes of men (for to him, even in times when occasional excess was regarded by the majority less severely than it is now, it meant disgrace and dishonour) gave way to the more ardent desire that these boys might take their place in the world he had left; see, and be seen, and, if possible, seize all the opportunities that he himself had thrown away.
Mr. Woodhouse had travelled all the way from Shrewsbury to Edinburgh to confer with Mr. Wycherly, and he stayed with Lady Alicia, for the public house at Burnhead was of a very humble order, having no bedroom to offer to the wayfaring stranger. Like many other people, he had fallen under the charm of Miss Esperance, and he not only acquiesced, but positively encouraged Mr. Wycherly in all his plans for the disposal of his property. It is quite possible that he was not sorry to see his other clients of that name disappointed. "They've kept him short all these years, when they had no earthly right to, just because he and the old lady are as unworldly as a pair of babies—and now, after all their scheming and saving, the whole of that money will go to benefit her relations," said Mr. Woodhouse to Lady Alicia, with a chuckle. "It's poetic justice, that's what I call it."
Mr. Woodhouse was standing on the hearthrug warming his coat-tails. He had returned for the night from Remote, and was quite prepared to enjoy a comfortable chat with Lady Alicia and her pretty daughter, Margaret, who were sitting by the fire knitting diligently.
"Do you happen to know?" asked Lady Alicia, who had never dared ask the question of Miss Esperance, "what caused the—er—mental break-down, that made Mr. Wycherly leave Oxford?"
The keen eyes under the bushy eyebrows twinkled with amusement as Mr. Woodhouse surveyed his hostess, who was, he very well knew, devoured by curiosity.
"I've never really heard the rights of it," he said cautiously, "but from what I have heard I should gather that it was, as usual, saving your presence, my dear young lady, a woman who was at the bottom of the mischief."
"Oh!" exclaimed pretty Margaret, "how very sad. Did she die?"