Presently, he abruptly left the subject of his daughter, and Faversham did not pursue it.  What was the good of inquiring into the details of the girl’s adventure?  He guessed pretty accurately at what had happened; the scorn which had been poured on the suppliant; the careless indifference with which she had been dismissed—­through the rain and the night.  Yet another scandal for a greedy neighbourhood!—­another story to reach the ears of the dwellers in a certain cottage, with the embellishments, no doubt, which the popular hatred of both himself and Melrose was certain to supply.  He felt himself buried a little deeper under the stoning of his fellows.  But at the same time he was conscious—­as of a danger point—­of a new and passionate exasperation in himself.  His will must control it.

Melrose, however, proceeded to give it fresh cause.  He took up a letter from Nash containing various complaints of Faversham, which had reached him that evening.

“You have been browbeating our witnesses, sir!  Nash reports them as discouraged, and possibly no longer willing to come forward.  What business had you to jeopardize my interests by posing as the superior person?  The evidence had been good enough for Nash—­and myself.  It might have been good enough for you.”

Faversham smiled, as he lit his cigarette.

“The two men you refer to—­whom you asked me to see yesterday—­were a couple of the feeblest liars I ever had to do with.  Tatham’s counsel would have turned them inside out in five minutes.  You seem to forget the other side are employing counsel.”

“I forgot nothing!” said Melrose hotly.  “But I expect you to follow your instructions.”

“The point is—­am I advising you in this matter, or am I merely your agent?  You seem to expect me to act in both capacities.  And I confess I find it difficult.”

Melrose fretted and fumed.  He raised one point after another, criticising Faversham’s action and advice in regard to the housing inquiries, as though he were determined to pick a quarrel.  Faversham met him on the whole with wonderful composure, often yielding in appearance, but in reality getting the best of it throughout.  Under the mask of the discussion, however, the temper of both men was rising fast.  It was as though two deep-sea currents, converging far down, were struggling unseen toward the still calm surface, there to meet in storm and convulsion.

Again, Melrose changed the conversation.  He was by now extraordinarily pale.  All the flushed excitement in which Faversham had found him had disappeared.  He was more spectral, more ghostly—­and ghastly—­than Faversham had ever seen him.  His pincerlike fingers played with the jewel which Felicia had thrown down upon the table.  He took it up, put on his eyeglass, peered at it, put it down again.  Then he turned an intent and evil eye on Faversham.

“I have now something of a quite different nature to say to you.  You have, I imagine, expected it.  You will, perhaps, guess at it.  And I cannot imagine for one moment that you will make any difficulty about it.”