At that moment the distant hall-door opened, and a light figure stepped out for a moment on to the door-step to pat the great mastiff that lay sleeping on the mat. The apparition, the caress, and the vanishing occupied scarcely half a minute, and when it was past Mr Armstrong was only ten paces nearer the house than he had been when it appeared.
But, somehow, in those few seconds the amused smile on his lips faded away, and the eye-glass dropped somewhat limply from his eye, as he repeated to himself more emphatically than before—
“Ridiculous!”
At lunch, Roger innocently broached the question of Hodder’s eviction.
“Mother,” said he, “what do you think that idiot Pottinger has been up to? He’s taken it into his wise head to threaten to turn old Hodder out of his cottage unless he pays a higher rent in future. I went to row him about it, but he’s far too dense to see what a scoundrelly thing it is.”
“How shocking!” said Mrs Ingleton. “Poor old Hodder has been in that place all his life. Your father was always fond of him, Roger. I wouldn’t have him disturbed for the world.”
“You’ll have to tell Pottinger so yourself,” said Roger. “He says he’s bound to screw all he can out of the old chap in my interests, if you please.”
The captain had listened to this parley with anything but comfort, and was about at this point to explain, when Mr Armstrong seeing his chance adroitly stepped in.
“You may make yourself easy about the matter, Roger. Evidently Mr Pottinger has acted most unwarrantably on his own responsibility. I have been to see him this morning, and told him in future he is not to take upon himself to do anything about the estate without consulting Mrs Ingleton, and Captain Oliphant, and myself—”
“Then Hodder is not to be disturbed?” inquired Rosalind.