“Poh! quarrel with him? whom did I ever quarrel with?  If he barks, I’ll stop his mouth with a good dinner.  I suppose he’s gentleman enough, to invite?”

“As much a gentleman as you and I; not of the very first water, of course.  Still he eats like other people, and don’t break many glasses during a sitting.  Think! he couldn’t have been a very great cad to marry a nobleman’s daughter!”

“Why, no.  Speaks well for him, that, considering his breeding.  He must be a very clever fellow to have caught the trick of the thing so soon.”

“And so he is, a very clever fellow; too clever by half; and a very fine-hearted fellow, too, in spite of his conceit and his temper.  But that don’t prevent his being an awful fool!”

“You speak like a book, Tom!” said old Mark, clapping him on the back.  “Look at me! no one can say I was ever troubled with genius:  but I can show my money, pay my way, eat my dinner, kill my trout, hunt my hounds, help a lame dog over a stile” (which was Mark’s phrase for doing a generous thing), “and thank God for all; and who wants more, I should like to know?  But here we are—­you go up first!”

They found Elsley crouched up over the empty grate, his head in his hands, and a few scraps of paper by him, on which he had been trying to scribble.  He did not look up as they came in, but gave a sort of impatient half-turn, as if angry at being disturbed.  Tom was about to announce the banker; but he announced himself.

“Come to do myself the honour of calling on you, Mr. Vavasour.  I am sorry to see you so poorly; I hope our Whitbury air will set all right.”

“You mistake me, sir; my name is Briggs!” said Elsley, without turning his head; but a moment after he looked up angrily.

“Mr. Armsworth?  I beg your pardon, sir; but what brings you here?  Are you come, sir, to use the rich successful man’s right, and lecture me in my misery?”

“’Pon my word, sir, you must have forgotten old Mark Armsworth, indeed, if you fancy him capable of any such dirt.  No, sir, I came to pay my respects to you, sir, hoping that you’d come up and take a family dinner.  I could do no less,” ran on the banker, seeing that Elsley was preparing a peevish answer, “considering the honour that, I hear, you have been to your native town.  A very distinguished person, our friend Tom tells me; and we ought to be proud of you, and behave to you as you deserve, for I am sure we don’t send too many clever fellows out of Whitbury.”

“Would that you had never sent me!” said Elsley in his bitter way.

“Ah, sir, that’s matter of opinion!  You would never have been heard of down here, never have had justice done you, I mean; for heard of you have been.  There’s my daughter has read your poems again and again—­ always quoting them; and very pretty they sound too.  Poetry is not in my line, of course; still, it’s a credit to a man to do anything well, if he has the gift; and she tells me that you have it, and plenty of it.  And though she’s no fine lady, thank Heaven, I’ll back her for good sense against any woman.  Come up, sir, and judge for yourself if I don’t speak the truth; she will be delighted to meet you, and bade me say so.”