The Squire was back again. As Cris spoke, his tread was heard on the stairs, and he came into the room. Cris was too full of his own concerns to note the expression of his face.
"Father, may I take out the gig? I want to go to Barmester, to pay a visit of congratulation to George Ryle."
"No, you will not take out the gig," said Mr. Chattaway, the allusion exciting his anger almost beyond bearing.
Cris thought he might have been misunderstood. Cris deemed that his proclaimed intention would find favour with Mr. Chattaway.
"I suppose you have been binding that fellow, father. I want to go and ask him how he likes it."
"No, sir, I have not been binding him," thundered Mr. Chattaway. "What's more, he is not going to be bound. He has left it, and is at home again."
Cris gave a blank stare of amazement, and Mrs. Chattaway let her hands fall silently upon her lap and heaved a gentle sigh, as though some great good had come to her.