“Shooting, I suppose. But there was some talk in Riddsley of his coming down to stir up old Mottisfont.”
“What about?”
“Against the corn-law repeal, I suppose.”
Audley nodded. But after a while, “That’s a pretext,” he said. “And so is the shooting. He has followed the girl.”
Basset started. “Followed Mary!” he exclaimed.
“What else? I have looked for it from the first. I’ve pressed you to come to an understanding with her for that reason. Why the devil can’t you? If you leave it much longer you’ll be too late! Too late! And, by G—d, I’ll never forgive you!” with a fresh spirt of passion. “Never! Never, man!”
“I’ve not said that I meant to do it.”
“You’ve not said!” Audley replied contemptuously. “Do you think that I don’t know that she’s all the world to you? Do you think that I’ve no eyes? Do you think that when you sit there watching her from behind your book by the hour together, I have not my sight? Man, I’m not a fool! And I tell you that if you’re not to lose her you must speak! You must speak! Stand by another month, wait a little longer, and Philip Audley will put in his oar, and I’ll not give that for your chances!” He snapped his fingers.
“Why should he put in his oar?” Basset asked sullenly. His face had turned a dull red.
John Audley shrugged his shoulders. “Do you think that she is without attractions?”