‘Why should he see her?’ my lady retorted.  ’The house is full.  He must presently go elsewhere.  Put him on a false scent, and he will go after her hot-foot, and not find her.  And in a week he will be wiser.’

‘It is dangerous,’ Mr. Thomasson faltered, his eyes wandering uneasily.

‘So am I,’ the viscountess answered in a passion.  ’And mind you, Thomasson,’ she continued fiercely, ’you have got to side with me now!  Cross me, and you shall have neither the living nor my good word; and without my word you may whistle for your sucking lord!  But do my bidding, help me to checkmate this baggage, and I’ll see you have both.  Why, man, rather than let him marry her, I’d pay you to marry her!  I’d rather pay down a couple of thousand pounds, and the living too.  D’ye hear me?  But it won’t come to that if you do my bidding.’

Still Mr. Thomasson hesitated, shrinking from the task proposed, not because he must lie to execute it, but because he must lie to Dunborough, and would suffer for it, were he found out.  On the other hand, the bribe was large; the red gabled house, set in its little park, and as good as a squire’s, the hundred-acre glebe, the fat tithes and Easter dues—­to say nothing of the promised pupil and freedom from his money troubles—­tempted him sorely.  He paused; and while he hesitated he was lost.  For Mr. Dunborough, with the landlord beside him, entered the side-hall, booted, spurred, and in his horseman’s coat; and looked up and saw the pair at the head of the staircase.  His face, gloomy and discontented before, grew darker.  He slapped his muddy boot with his whip, and, quitting the landlord without ceremony, in three strides was up the stairs.  He did not condescend to Mr. Thomasson, but turned to the viscountess.

‘Well, madam,’ he said with a sneer.’  Your humble servant.  This is an unforeseen honour!  I did not expect to meet you here.’

‘I expected to meet you,’ my lady answered with meaning.

‘Glad to give you the pleasure,’ he said, sneering again.  He was evidently in the worst of tempers.’  May I ask what has set you travelling?’ he continued.

‘Why, naught but your folly!’ the viscountess cried.

‘Thank you for nothing, my lady,’ he said.  ’I suppose your spy there’—­and he scowled at the tutor, whose knees shook under him—­’has set you on this.  Well, there is time.  I’ll settle accounts with him by-and-by.’

‘Lord, my dear sir,’ Mr. Thomasson cried faintly, ’you don’t know your friends!’

‘Don’t I?  I think I am beginning to find them out,’ Mr. Dunborough answered, slapping his boot ominously, ‘and my enemies!’ At which the tutor trembled afresh.

‘Never mind him,’ quoth my lady.  ’Attend to me, Dunborough.  Is it a lie, or is it not, that you are going to disgrace yourself the way I have heard?’

‘Disgrace myself?’ cried Mr. Dunborough hotly.

‘Ay, disgrace yourself.’