“‘I expected you would have called at the counting-house in the Close,’ said he; and his voice, I noticed, had an abrupt accent, probably habitual to him; he spoke also with a guttural northern tone, which sounded harsh in my ears, accustomed to the silvery utterance of the South.
“‘The landlord of the inn, where the coach stopped, directed mehere,’ said I.‘I doubted at first the accuracy of his information, not being aware that you had such a residence as this.’
“‘Oh, it is all right!’ he replied, ‘only I was kept half an hourbehind time, waiting for you—that is all.I thought you must be coming by the eight o’clock coach.’
“I expressed regret that he had had to wait; he made no answer,but stirred the fire, as if to cover a movement of impatience; then he scanned me again.
“I felt an inward satisfaction that I had not, in the first momentof meeting, betrayed any warmth, any enthusiasm; that I had saluted this man with a quiet and steady phlegm.
“‘Have you quite broken with Tynedale and Seacombe?’ heasked hastily.
“‘I do not think I shall have any further communication with them; my refusal of their proposals will, I fancy, operate as a barrier against all future intercourse.’
“‘Why,’ said he, ‘I may as well remind you at the very outset of our connection, that “no man can serve two masters.” Acquaintance with Lord Tynedale will be incompatible with assistance from me.’ There was a kind of gratuitous menace in his eye as he looked at me in finishing this observation.
“Feeling no disposition to reply to him, I contented myself with an inward speculation on the differences which exist in the constitution of men’s minds.I do not know what inference Mr.Crimsworth drew from my silence—whether he considered it a symptom of contumacity or an evidence of my being cowed by his peremptory manner.After a long and hard stare at me, he rose sharply from his seat.
“‘To-morrow,’ said he, ‘I shall call your attention to some otherpoints; but now it is supper time, and Mrs.Crimsworth is probably waiting; will you come?’
“He strode from the room, and I followed.In crossing the hall, Iwondered what Mrs.Crimsworth might be.‘Is she,’ thought I, ‘as alien to what I like as Tynedale, Seacombe, the Misses Seacombe—as the affectionate relative now striding before me? or is she better than these? Shall I, in conversing with her, feel free to show something of my real nature; or—’ Further conjectures were arrested by my entrance into the dining-room.
