Maggie asked Frank if she might name what he had told her the day before to her brother.  He said: 

“Oh, yes, certainly, if he cares to know.  Of course, you will not say anything about my own opinion of Mr. Henry.  He is coming to-morrow, and I shall be able to judge how far I am right.”

CHAPTER VII.

The next day Mr. Henry came.  He was a quiet, stern-looking man, of considerable intelligence and refinement, and so much taste for music as to charm Erminia, who had rather dreaded his visit.  But all the amenities of life were put aside when he entered Mr. Buxton’s sanctum—­his “office,” as he called the room where he received his tenants and business people.  Frank thought Mr. Henry was scarce commonly civil in the open evidence of his surprise and contempt for the habits, of which the disorderly books and ledgers were but too visible signs.  Mr. Buxton himself felt more like a school-boy, bringing up an imperfect lesson, than he had ever done since he was thirteen.

“The only wonder, my good sir, is that you have any property left; that you have not been cheated out of every farthing.”

“I’ll answer for it,” said Mr. Buxton, in reply, “that you’ll not find any cheating has been going on.  They dared not, sir; they know I should make an example of the first rogue I found out.”

Mr. Henry lifted up his eyebrows, but did not speak.

“Besides, sir, most of these men have lived for generations under the Buxtons.  I’d give you my life, they would not cheat me.”

Mr. Henry coldly said: 

“I imagine a close examination of these books by some accountant will be the best proof of the honesty of these said tenants.  If you will allow me, I will write to a clever fellow I know, and desire him to come down and try and regulate this mass of papers.”

“Anything—­anything you like,” said Mr. Buxton, only too glad to escape from the lawyer’s cold, contemptuous way of treating the subject.

The accountant came; and he and Mr. Henry were deeply engaged in the office for several days.  Mr. Buxton was bewildered by the questions they asked him.  Mr. Henry examined him in the worrying way in which an unwilling witness is made to give evidence.  Many a time and oft did he heartily wish he had gone on in the old course to the end of his life, instead of putting himself into an agent’s hands; but he comforted himself by thinking that, at any rate, they would be convinced he had never allowed himself to be cheated or imposed upon, although he did not make any parade of exactitude.

What was his dismay when, one morning, Mr. Henry sent to request his presence, and, with a cold, clear voice, read aloud an admirably drawn up statement, informing the poor landlord of the defalcations, nay more, the impositions of those whom he had trusted.  If he had been alone, he would have burst into tears, to find how his confidence had been abused.  But as it was, he became passionately angry.