‘What is this gunpowder plot?’ said Beresford, with a laugh. ‘Have I been guilty of high treason without knowing it, and must I fly for my life?’
The doctor cleared his throat; he grew red in the face; finally he jumped up from his chair and went to the big fireplace, where he stood with his back to the fire, and his face a little out of his friend’s sight.
‘Beresford, have you ever thought what a strange position Mrs. Meredith is in?’
‘Mrs. Meredith!’ He said this with such unfeigned surprise that his visitor felt more awkward than ever. ‘What can she have to do with any disunion between you and me?’
‘By Jove!’ cried the doctor, ‘we are all a pack of fools;’ and from the fire he walked to the window in the perturbation of his thoughts.
Beresford laughed. ‘One can never say anything civil to a speech like that—especially as, forgive me! I have not a notion what you are being fools about.’
Maxwell looked out into the square to pluck up courage. He coughed as men do when they are utterly at a loss—when it is worth while to gain even a moment. ‘Don’t be angry with me,’ he said, with sudden humility. ‘I should not have taken it in hand, especially as you have that feeling—but—look here, I have taken it in hand, and I must speak. Beresford, old Sommerville came to me yesterday. He’s Meredith’s friend, with a general commission to look after the family.’
‘Has anything happened to Meredith?’ said Mr. Beresford, with concern. ‘This is the second time you have mentioned them. I scarcely know him—but if there is anything wrong, I shall be very sorry for her sake.’
‘There is nothing wrong, unless it is of your doing,’ said the doctor, with abrupt determination. ‘To tell the truth, Meredith has heard, or somebody has told him, or a gossiping has been got up—I don’t know what—about your visits. You go there too often, they say—every night——’
‘Maxwell!’ cried James Beresford, springing to his feet.