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She uttered the name "Charlie Fearns" with a certain faint hint of disdain, as if indicating to Denry that of course she and Denry were quite able to put Fearns into his proper place in the scheme of things. "Oh!" he said. "So you know all about it?" "Well," said she, "naturally it was all over the town. Mrs Fearns's girl, Annunciata what a name, eh? is one of my pupils the youngest, in fact."
"Here, Mr Machin, they're talking about you," said the Secretary and Steward, genially. He knew that Denry collected Mrs Codleyn's rents. "Mrs Codleyn isn't the owner," Denry called out across the room, almost before he was aware what he was doing. There was a smile on his face and a glass in his hand. "Oh!" said Fearns. "I thought she was. Who is?"
"What made you give that house to Mrs Hullins?" she asked him suddenly, with a candour that seemed to demand candour. "Oh," he said, "just a lark! I thought I would. It came to me all in a second, and I did." She shook her head. "Strange boy!" she observed. There was a pause. "It was something Charlie Fearns said, wasn't it?" she inquired.
And the reason was that the entire population of the Town Hall was heartily engaged in pretending that never in its life had it been seen after seven o'clock of a night apart from a dress-suit. Denry observed with joy that, while numerous middle-aged and awkward men wore red or white silk handkerchiefs in their waistcoats, such people as Charles Fearns, the Swetnams, and Harold Etches did not.
Everybody looked inquisitively at the renowned Machin, the new member. "I am," said Denry. He had concealed the change of ownership from the Widow Hullins. In his quality of owner he could not have lent her money in order that she might pay it instantly back to himself. "I beg your pardon," said Fearns, with polite sincerity.
It was a scene of dashing gaiety and worldliness that did not belie the club's reputation. Some of the most important men in Bursley were there. Charles Fearns, the solicitor, who practised at Hanbridge, was arguing vivaciously in a corner. Fearns was apparently in one of his anarchistic moods.
"I'd no idea...!" He saw that unwittingly he had come near to committing a gross outrage on club etiquette. "Not at all!" said Denry. "But supposing the cottage was yours, what would you do, Mr Fearns? Before I bought the property I used to lend her money myself to pay her rent." "I know," Fearns answered, with a certain dryness of tone. It occurred to Denry that the lawyer knew too much.
Let her have it rent-free because she's seventy? Or pitch her into the street?" "Oh Well " "Fearns would make her a present of the blooming house and give her a conveyance free!" a voice said humorously, and everybody laughed. "Well, that's what I'll do," said Denry. "If Mr Fearns will do the conveyance free, I'll make her a present of the blooming house. That's the sort of grasping owner I am."
She's paid half-a-crown a week for pretty near half a century for a hovel that isn't worth eighteen-pence, and now she's going to be pitched into the street because she can't pay any more. And she's seventy if she's a day! And that's the basis of society. Nice refined society, eh?" "Who's the grasping owner?" some one asked. "Old Mrs Codleyn," said Fearns.
"Well," said he, after another pause, "I wasn't going to have Fearns coming the duke over me!" She smiled sympathetically. He felt that they understood each other deeply. "You'll find some cigarettes in that box," she said, when he had been there thirty minutes, and pointed to the mantelpiece. "Sure you don't mind?" he murmured. She raised her eyebrows.
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