“Leave him to me, sir. Sister Jill shall have her husband.”
Thus, with the wind blowing briskly through Pevensel and the clouds rolling like great purple chariots over the distant downs, Mr. Lancelot rode out in quest of the Hardacre honor, and came trotting through Rodenham park betwixt the beeches and the cedars. Mr. Lot was dressed in his best brown riding-suit, with a silver-mounted sword at his side, and a new tie-wig perched on his solid round pate. His blue eyes twinkled in his fiery face, and he swore softly to himself and patted his horse’s neck. Gladden answered the clanging bell with the usual inscrutable smirk upon his face. Mr. Hardacre announced the fact that he desired to see Mr. Jeffray alone, his manner demanding unequivocal obedience on the part of the butler. Richard was reading in the library at the moment, having left Dick Wilson at the inn. The Lady Letitia still kept her chamber, having sent word to her nephew that she was still prostrated after the unpleasant experiences of the night.
Mr. Lot had been ushered into the red parlor, and Richard found him strutting up and down before the windows that overlooked the park, his sword cocked under his coat-tails in very militant fashion. He bowed with unusual courtliness, and posed very creditably as a cavalier without reproach. Richard felt decidedly oppressed by his cousin’s portentous dignity. All the evidences of a determination to claim the right of politely murdering him appeared in Mr. Hardacre’s manner.
Jeffray desired Mr. Hardacre to be seated. Lot waved the proffered chair aside, and stood to the majestic moment with astonishing grandiosity.
“Cousin Richard,” he said, with another bow, “you doubtless recognize the delicacy of the errand that has brought me to Rodenham.”
Richard blushed and looked uncomfortable.
“You refer to the affair of last night, Lot,” he answered.
“Egad, sir, I do. It is my right as Miss Hardacre’s brother to demand an explanation from you, sir, with regard to the unwarrantable introduction of this Mr. Wilson into our house.”
Richard was still blushing and looking honestly distressed. He glanced appealingly at his cousin’s righteous face, and promptly plunged into a rambling and eager explanation of the affair, expressing his ardent regret at what had happened, and exonerating both Wilson and himself from the charge of premeditated mischief-making. Mr. Lot nodded very solemnly at every sentence, keeping his eyes fixed severely upon his cousin’s face, and still cocking his sword with aggressive significance.
“So you will see, Lot,” said the lad, frankly, at the end of his speech, “that I was utterly innocent of any desire to offend. God knows, sir, I was as miserable as a man could be over such a regrettable error. I can only offer you my apologies and ask you and Sir Peter to forgive me.”