'You wouldn't be such a fool,' he said. 'And they won't touch Madge. It's only that fellow they'll go for—the mean hound, to marry a girl for her money.'
'How do you know it was for her money, Tom?' Nan pleaded. 'I am certain they were fond of each other——'
'I don't want to miss my train,' said he. 'You go and tell the maternal I'm off to London. I suppose you don't know the address of Hanbury's father?'
'No, I don't.'
'Well, I'm off. Ta, ta!'
So the irate Mr. Tom departed. But in the comparative silence of the Pullman car the fury of his rage began to abate; and it dawned upon him that, after all, Nan's counsel might have something in it. No doubt these two young fools—as he mentally termed them—were married by this time. He still clung to the idea that Jack Hanbury deserved punishment—a horsewhipping or something of the kind; but Madge was Madge. She was silly; and she had 'got into a hole;' still, she was Madge. She might be let off with a serious lecture on her folly and on her disregard of what she owed to the other members of the family. Only, the first thing was to find out their whereabouts.
On arriving in London he drove to his club, and after some little searching discovered that Mr. Gregory Hanbury's address was Adelphi Terrace, whither he at once repaired. Mr. Hanbury was at dinner. He sent up his card nevertheless, and asked to be allowed to see Mr. Hanbury on particular business. The answer was a request that he would step upstairs into the dining-room.
He found that occupied by two gentlemen who were dining together at the upper end of a large table. One came forward to meet him. He took it for granted this was Mr. Hanbury—a slight, short man, with black hair and eyes, and a very stiff white cravat.
'Mr. Beresford,' said he, 'I can guess what has brought you here. Let me introduce you to my brother—Major Hanbury. It is an unfortunate business.'
The other gentleman—also slight and short, but with a sun-browned, dried-up face, and big gray moustache—bowed and resumed his seat.