The Squire was seated at his writing-table, and assumed something of his magisterial air (he was a J.P.) as he requested the Major to take a chair. The three letters were on the desk before him; and he proceeded to read them carefully, whilst profound silence prevailed. Mrs Joseph darted angry glances alternately at her husband and the culprit. Mrs John looked more serious than usual, but still showed symptoms of an inclination to titter. John Elliott stood in the shadow of a large bookcase; Maynard near the window which opened to the terrace, impatiently twirling his moustache and at intervals glancing fiercely towards the Major, who, in his indignation at the whole proceeding, returned the glance in a like spirit.
The Squire cleared his throat with a raucous cough. ‘You have placed me in a most painful position, Major,’ he began with an evident desire to be friendly, which was checked by the frown of his wife. ‘I am as tolerant as anybody of a joke. You know that well enough, Dawkins; but I can’t stand such a hoax as you have played upon us in sending these letters here.’
The Major rose; he felt so much injured, that he was calm. ‘My dear friend Elliott’——
‘Oh, confound it—there’s the beginning of the plaguy things,’ ejaculated the Squire.
‘Allow me to explain. I intended no hoax. These letters were written with an earnest desire to avert misunderstanding. Unfortunately, in my agitation and haste, I blundered.’
‘Not a hoax—not a joke!’ bellowed the Squire, rising to his feet and thrusting the letters into a drawer of the table. ‘Do you mean to say, then, that I suspected my wife of anything?’
‘No.’
‘Do you mean to say that a word could be spoken about me in association with any one which could or should cause Nellie—Miss Carroll—to be displeased with me?’ broke in Maynard threateningly.
‘No.’
‘Do you mean to say that I am in any way involved with another lady?’ snapped Elliott of Arrowby.