Something confident and overbearing in Thornby’s look went to Foxwell’s intelligence at once, and checked for an instant the speech on his lips. But he quickly recovered his nonchalance, and began as if he noticed nothing unusual:
“Good morning, Mr. Thornby. I am much honoured. Pray be seated, sir.”
“I’d as lief stand, sir,” was the blunt answer. “Much honoured you feel, I dare say!”
“And why not?” said Foxwell, pleasantly. “You do yourself a great injustice, surely, if you don’t consider your visit an honour to the fortunate recipient. You must not undervalue yourself.”
“Well, sir, you’ll see how much honour I mean by coming here, when you’ve learnt what brings me.”
“That, I confess, I am impatient to know. But really, will you not sit?”
“No, sir! I sha’n’t stay long enough to tire my legs with standing. My visit will be short, I promise you.”
“I perceive you are in a mood of shortness.”
“I can choose my own moods, sir,” said the Squire, rendered more savage by every successive speech of his enemy. “And I choose short moods for my visits to you. Not that I meant to pay you a visit when I left home this morning. My business took me past your gate, and, as I have something for your ears, I thought I’d as well say it soon as late.”
“A very wise thought; for accidents will happen, and ’twould be a pity if anything so interesting should be left unsaid—for I know it must be interesting.”