“Ay, ay!” with grim irony. “I can believe that.”
“And sorry for Josina’s.”
He could think of no further plea at the moment—he must wait and hope for the best; and he moved towards the door, cursing his folly, his all but incredible folly, but finding no remedy. His hand was on the latch of the door when “Wait!” the old man said.
Arthur turned and waited; wondering, even hoping. The Squire sat, looking straight before him, if that might be said of a blind man, and presently he sighed. Then, “Here, come back!” he ordered. But again for awhile he said no more, and Arthur waited, completely in the dark as to what was working in the other’s mind. At last. “There, maybe I’ve been hasty,” the old man muttered, “and not thought of all. Will you leave the bank when you can, young man?”
“Of course, I will, sir!” Arthur cried.
“Then—then you may speak to her,” the Squire said reluctantly, and he marked the reluctance with another sigh.
And so, as suddenly as he had raised the objection, he withdrew it, to Arthur’s intense astonishment. Only one conclusion could he draw—that the Squire was indeed failing. And on that, with a hastily murmured word of thanks, he escaped from the room, hardly knowing whether he walked on his head or his feet.
Lord, what a near thing it had been. And yet—no! The Squire—it must be that—was a failing man. He had no longer the strength or the stubbornness to hold to the course that his whims or his crabbed humor suggested. The danger might not have been so real or substantial, after all.
Yet the relief was great, and coming on Miss Peacock, who was crossing the hall with a bowl in her hand, he seized her by the waist and whirled her round, bowl and all. “Hallo, Peacock! Hallo, Peacock!” he cried in the exuberance of his joy. “Where’s Jos?”
“Let go!” she cried. “You’ll have it over! What’s come to you?”