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Under his outward seeming his impulses were primitive, like the impulses of all strong men. He nursed a vision of beating Gower at Gower's own game. He hugged to himself the ultimate satisfaction of that. Even when he was dreaming of Betty, he was mentally setting her aside until he had beaten her father to his knees under the only sort of blows he could deal.
Gower's thoughts involuntarily turned to Reginald. How would he like this discovery? But again the mother's partiality, which already had too often blinded her to his faults, suggested the impossibility that he would receive the news with aught but pleasure, though there might be a momentary feeling of disappointment as regarded his future prospects.
Lady Albemarle, who is not a wise woman, certainly, was at Lady Gower's the other evening, and was regretting only that Charles had not been consumed in the Fire, instead of the linnets. I am glad it was no worse. I think your fears about the rebuilding of the House are not so well founded as your satisfaction might be, that you had not been drawn in to insure it.
Lady Arpington read Gower's note. She unburdened herself: 'Oh! So it 's no longer a bachelor's household! Henrietta heaved the biggest of sighs. 'I fear the poor dear may have made matters worse. To which Lady Arpington said: 'Worse or better, my child! and shrugged; for the present situation strained to snapping.
To refresh a saving incredulity, he took a closer view of the messenger. Gower's habiliments were those of the 'queer fish, the admiral saw. But the meeting at Carlsruhe was recalled to him, and there was a worthy effort to remember it. 'Prize-fight! Greengrocer! Whitechapel! he rang the changes rather more moderately; till, swelling and purpling, he cried: 'Where's the husband?
Gower's idea of the story of Carinthia inclined to charge Lord Fleetwood with every possible false dealing. He then quashed the charge, and decided to wait for information. At the second of the aristocratic Clubs of London's West, into which he stepped like an easy member, the hall-porter did not examine his clothing from German hat to boots, and gave him Lord Fleetwood's town address.
The tone of Gower's voice, his attitude, carried supreme conviction. And still "Yes," he said at last. "It is all a contradiction of things I have been passionately sure of for nearly two years. But I can see yes, it must be as you say. I'm sorry." "Sorry? For what?" Gower regarded him soberly. "Many things. Why did you tell me this?"
Between you and Gower's pig-headedness, and the rest of the cannery crowd letting me go till it was too late to stop me, and a climbing market, I made more money in one season than I thought was possible. I'm going to use that money to make more money and to squash some of these damned fish pirates. I tell you it's jolly awful. We had baked cod for lunch to-day.
Thus Gower's book, as he says at its close, stands "between earnest and game," and might be fairly described as a "Romaunt of the Rose," without either the descriptive grace of Guillaume de Lorris, or the wicked wit of Jean de Meung, but full of learning and matter, and written by an author certainly not devoid of the art of telling stories.
Elated as she was at the success that had resulted from her persistent efforts, she was correspondingly distressed when a young relative died of the disease. "I am sorry to inform you of the death, of our nephew, my sister Gower's son, of the small-pox," she said in a letter to Lady Mar in July, 1723.
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