Sir Leicester begs his Lady’s pardon.  She was about to say?

“Only that Mr. Rouncewell is here (he has called by my appointment) and that we had better make an end of the question of that girl.  I am tired to death of the matter.”

“What can I do—­to—­assist?” demands Sir Leicester in some considerable doubt.

“Let us see him here and have done with it.  Will you tell them to send him up?”

“Mr. Tulkinghorn, be so good as to ring.  Thank you.  Request,” says Sir Leicester to Mercury, not immediately remembering the business term, “request the iron gentleman to walk this way.”

Mercury departs in search of the iron gentleman, finds, and produces him.  Sir Leicester receives that ferruginous person graciously.

“I hope you are well, Mr. Rouncewell.  Be seated. (My solicitor, Mr. Tulkinghorn.) My Lady was desirous, Mr. Rouncewell,” Sir Leicester skilfully transfers him with a solemn wave of his hand, “was desirous to speak with you.  Hem!”

“I shall be very happy,” returns the iron gentleman, “to give my best attention to anything Lady Dedlock does me the honour to say.”

As he turns towards her, he finds that the impression she makes upon him is less agreeable than on the former occasion.  A distant supercilious air makes a cold atmosphere about her, and there is nothing in her bearing, as there was before, to encourage openness.

“Pray, sir,” says Lady Dedlock listlessly, “may I be allowed to inquire whether anything has passed between you and your son respecting your son’s fancy?”

It is almost too troublesome to her languid eyes to bestow a look upon him as she asks this question.

“If my memory serves me, Lady Dedlock, I said, when I had the pleasure of seeing you before, that I should seriously advise my son to conquer that—­fancy.”  The ironmaster repeats her expression with a little emphasis.

“And did you?”

“Oh!  Of course I did.”

Sir Leicester gives a nod, approving and confirmatory.  Very proper.  The iron gentleman, having said that he would do it, was bound to do it.  No difference in this respect between the base metals and the precious.  Highly proper.

“And pray has he done so?”

“Really, Lady Dedlock, I cannot make you a definite reply.  I fear not.  Probably not yet.  In our condition of life, we sometimes couple an intention with our—­our fancies which renders them not altogether easy to throw off.  I think it is rather our way to be in earnest.”

Sir Leicester has a misgiving that there may be a hidden Wat Tylerish meaning in this expression, and fumes a little.  Mr. Rouncewell is perfectly good-humoured and polite, but within such limits, evidently adapts his tone to his reception.

“Because,” proceeds my Lady, “I have been thinking of the subject, which is tiresome to me.”

“I am very sorry, I am sure.”