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Updated: June 14, 2025
Lord Blandamer stepped back a little, and took a long look at the face of this man, who had been the terror of his childhood, who had darkened his middle life, who seemed now to have returned from the grave to ruin him. He knew himself to be in a desperate pass. Here he must make the last stand, for the issue lay between him and Westray. No one else had learned the secret.
So she remained at Cullerne, and spent her time in receiving with dignity visits from the innumerable friends that she found she now possessed, and in the fullest enjoyment of church services, meetings, parish work, and other privileges. "It is very good of you, Miss Joliffe," Westray said; "it is very kind of you to think of the picture.
He thus managed to effect so important a reduction in the sordid emoluments of that office, that he was five pounds in pocket before a year was ended. But if the public had forgotten Mr Sharnall, Westray had not. The architect was a man of gregarious instinct.
They talked over many things that night, and Westray let his companion ramble on to his heart's content about Cullerne men and manners; for he was of a receptive mind, and anxious to learn what he could about those among whom he had taken up his abode. He told Mr Sharnall of his conversation with Miss Joliffe, and of the unsuccessful attempt to get the picture removed.
One of the younger ladies at Lady Pynsent's that night was a Mrs. Westray, wife of the eminently respectable member for Bloomsbury, who, as a city merchant of great wealth and influence, was one of the invited guests. Mrs. Westray was by way of being a literary lady, having printed a volume of her "Travels."
The painting had devolved upon Westray on Mr Sharnall's death, but he had not yet removed it, and Lord Blandamer's eyes rested on it now so fixedly, that he seemed to be thinking more of the trashy flowers and of the wriggling caterpillar, than of the girl in his arms. His mind came back to the exigencies of the situation. "Will you marry me, Anastasia will you marry me, dear Anstice?"
The silence was broken, and Westray found himself speaking quickly in answer: "You invited me to stay here for the night. I have changed my mind, and will accept your offer, if I may." He hesitated for a moment, and then went on: "I shall be thankful if you will keep the picture and these documents. I see now that I have no business with them."
The doctor and the organist gave effect to the presentation by a nod, and something like a shrug of the shoulders, which deprecated the Rector's conceited pomposity, and implied that if such an exceedingly unlikely contingency as their making friends with Mr Westray should ever happen, it would certainly not be due to any introduction of Canon Parkyn.
Yet there came nothing very weighty from them; he did not even inquire for lodgings, as she half hoped that he would. "Does the architect in charge of the works at the church lodge here? Is Mr Westray at home?" was all he said. "He does live here," she answered, "but is out just now, and we do not expect him back till six. I think you will probably find him at the church if you desire to see him."
Why, it may be thirty or forty thousand, or even more." "Don't you wish you may get it?" the organist said, raising his eyebrows and shutting his eyelids. Westray was nettled. "Oh, I think it's mean to sneer at everything the man does. We abused him yesterday as a niggard; let us have the grace to-day to say we were mistaken."
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