Black as Erebus grew the face of the dean—he had no resource but to listen, for he knew it would come after dinner, if it did not come now; and it was as well to have it alone in the study, where nobody might be a bit the wiser.
When Alfred had stated the whole of what he had to say, which he did in as few and strong words as possible, appealing to the justice and feelings of Buckhurst—to the fears which the dean must have of being exposed, and ultimately defeated, in a court of justice—“Mrs. Leicester,” concluded he, “is determined to maintain the suit, and has employed me to carry it on for her.”
“I should very little have expected,” said the dean, “that Mr. Alfred Percy would have been employed in such a way against me.”
“Still less should I have expected that I could be called upon in such a way against you,” replied Alfred. “No one can feel it more than I do. The object of my present visit is to try whether some accommodation may not be made, which will relieve us both from the necessity of going to law, and may prevent me from being driven to the performance of this most painful professional duty.”
“Duty! professional duty!” repeated Buckhurst: “as if I did not understand all those cloak-words, and know how easy it is to put them on and off at pleasure!”
“To some it may be, but not to me,” said Alfred, calmly.
Anger started into Buckhurst’s countenance: but conscious how inefficacious it would be, and how completely he had laid himself open, the dean answered, “You are the best judge, sir. But I trust—though I don’t pretend to understand the honour of lawyers—I trust, as a gentleman, you will not take advantage against me in this suit, of any thing my openness has shown you about the parsonage.”
“You trust rightly, Mr. Dean,” replied Alfred, in his turn, with a look not of anger, but of proud indignation; “you trust rightly, Mr. Dean, and as I should have expected that one who has had opportunities of knowing me so well ought to trust.”
“That’s a clear answer,” said Buckhurst. “But how could I tell?—so much jockeying goes on in every profession—how could I tell that a lawyer would be more conscientious than another man? But now you assure me of it—I take it upon your word, and believe it in your case. About the accommodation—accommodation means money, does not it?—frankly, I have not a shilling. But Mrs. Falconer is all accommodation. Try what you can do with her—and by the way you began, I should hope you would do a great deal,” added he, laughing.
Alfred would not undertake to speak to his lady, unless the dean would, in the first instance, make some sacrifice. He represented that he was not asking for money, but for a relinquishment of a claim, which he apprehended not to be justly due: “And the only use I shall ever make of what you have shown me here, is to press upon your feelings, as I do at this moment, the conviction of the injustice of that claim, which I am persuaded your lawyers only instigated, and that you will abandon.”