He did not then think of marrying, nor did he stop the allowance; but he did feel that his heir was not what he should have been.  But then the terrible disgrace of that night in London had occurred, and his eyes had been altogether opened by that excellent young man, Mr. Augustus Scarborough; then he began to look about him.  Then dim ideas of the charms and immediate wealth of Miss Thoroughbung flitted before his eyes, and he told himself again and again of the prospects and undoubted good birth of Miss Puffle.  Miss Puffle had disgraced herself, and therefore he had thrown Buston Hall at the feet of Miss Thoroughbung.

But now he had heard stories about that “excellent young man, Augustus Scarborough,” which had shaken his faith.  He had been able to exclaim indignantly that Harry Annesley had told a lie.  “A lie!” He had been surprised to find that a young man who had lived so much in the fashionable world as Captain Scarborough had cared nothing for this.  And as Miss Thoroughbung became more and more exacting in regard to money, he thought, himself, less and less of the lie.  It might be well that Harry should ultimately have the property, though he should never again be taken into favor, and there should be no farther question of the allowance.  As Miss Thoroughbung reiterated her demands for the ponies, he began to feel that the acres of Buston would not be disgraced forever by the telling of that lie.  But the sermons remained, and he would never willingly again see his nephew.  As he turned all this in his mind, the idea of spending what was left of the winter at Cairo returned to him.  He would go to Cairo for the winter, and to the Italian lakes for the spring, and to Switzerland for the summer.  Then he might return to Cairo.  At the present moment Buston Hall and the neighborhood of Buntingford had few charms for him.  He was afraid that Miss Thoroughbung would not give way about the ponies; and against the ponies he was resolved.

He was sitting in this state with a map before him, and with the squire’s letter upon the map, when Matthew, the butler, opened the door and announced a visitor.  As soon as Mr. Barry had gone, he had supported nature by a mutton-chop and a glass of sherry, and the debris were now lying on the side-table.  His first idea was to bid Matthew at once remove the glass and the bone, and the unfinished potato and the crust of bread.  To be taken with such remnants by any visitor would be bad, but by this visitor would be dreadful.  Lunch should be eaten in the dining-room, where chop bones and dirty glasses would be in their place.  But here in his book-room they would be disgraceful.  But then, as Matthew was hurriedly collecting the two plates and the salt-cellar, his master began to doubt whether this visitor should be received at all.  It was no other than Miss Thoroughbung.