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You can't be at it again before a woman. Go and meet her, and tell her the noise was an ox being slaughtered. Or say Argus." With a whirr that made all Benson's bruises moan and quiver, the great ash-branch shot aloft, and Richard swung off to intercept Lady Blandish. Adrian got Benson on his feet. The heavy butler was disposed to summon all the commiseration he could feel for his bruised flesh.
"You will admit that you are heavy, Benson," said Adrian, "so I can't carry you. However, I see Mr. Richard is very kindly returning to help me." At these words heavy Benson instantly found his legs, and shambled on. Lady Blandish met Richard in dismay. "I have been horribly frightened," she said. "Tell me, what was the meaning of those cries I heard?"
You're the best fellow I ever knew, Richard. You are, on my honour! I swear I would not step in between you and your wife to cause either of you a moment's unhappiness. When I can be another woman I will, and I shall think of you then." Lady Blandish heard from Adrian that Richard was positively going to his wife.
"He must have written it," she thought, "when he had himself for an example strange man that he is!" Lady Blandish was still inclined to submission, though decidedly insubordinate. She had once been fairly conquered: but if what she reverenced as a great mind could conquer her, it must be a great man that should hold her captive.
Ripton sat accusing his soul of cowardice while they talked; haunted by Lucy's last look at him. He got up his courage presently and went round to Adrian, who, after a few whispered words, deliberately rose and accompanied him out of the room, shrugging. When they had gone, Lady Blandish said to the baronet: "He is not coming." "To-morrow, then, if not tonight," he replied.
Round the baronet's chair, in a semi-circle, were Lucy, Lady Blandish, Mrs. Doria, and Ripton, that very ill bird at Raynham. They were silent as those who question the flying minutes. Ripton had said that Richard was sure to come; but the feminine eyes reading him ever and anon, had gathered matter for disquietude, which increased as time sped.
Long ago Faith had said in Soolsby's but that he "blandished" all with whom he came in contact; but Hylda realised with a lacerated heart that he had ceased to blandish her. Possession had altered that. Yet how had he vowed to her in those sweet tempestuous days of his courtship when the wind of his passion blew so hard! Had one of the vows been kept?
Sir Austin from his lofty watch-tower of the System had foreseen it, he said. But when he came to hear that the youth was writing poetry, his wounded heart had its reasons for being much disturbed. "Surely," said Lady Blandish, "you knew he scribbled?" "A very different thing from writing poetry," said the baronet. "No Feverel has ever written poetry."
The baronet went on to say that he proposed to set forth immediately, and devote a couple of months, to the first essay in his Coelebite search. "I fear," said Lady Blandish, when the project had been fully unfolded, "you have laid down for yourself a difficult task. You must not be too exacting." "I know it." The baronet's shake of the head was piteous. "Even in England she will be rare.
Others saw it plainly, but he had to learn his lesson by and by. Lady Blandish gave him her face; then stretched her hand to the table, saying, "Well! well!" She fingered a half-opened parcel lying there, and drew forth a little book she recognized. "Ha! what is this?" she said. "Benson returned it this morning," he informed her.
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