He was most kind. "I understand," he said. "Try what you can get those two ladies to tell you—and you may help us materially."
Mrs. Roylake was nearest to me. I appealed to her womanly sympathies, and was answered by tears. I made another attempt; I said I was willing to believe that she meant well, and that I should be sorry to offend her. She got up, and indignantly left the room.
I went to Lady Rachel next.
She was at home, but the servant returned to me with an excuse: her ladyship was particularly engaged. I sent a message upstairs, asking when I might hope to be received. The servant was charged with the delivery of another excuse: her ladyship would write. After waiting at home for hours I was foolish enough to write, on my side; and (how could I help it?) to express myself strongly. The she-socialist's reply is easy to remember: "Dear Mr. Roylake, when you have recovered your temper, you will hear from me again."
Even my stepmother gained by comparison with this.
To rest, and do nothing, was to exercise a control over myself of which I was perfectly incapable. I went back to the cottage. Having no hopeful prospect in any other quarter, I persisted in believing that Toller must have seen something or heard something that might either help me, or suggest an idea to my legal adviser.
On entering the kitchen, I found the door of communication wide open, and the new servant established in the large armchair.
"I'm waiting for my master, sir."
He had got over his fright, and had recovered his temper. The respectful side of him was turned to me again.
"Your master is with Mr. Toller?"