“Hm!” said Melrose, looking after him, “I can’t say he resembles his mother.  His father was a plain fellow.”

No one answered him.  Mrs. Penfold nervously pressed for her carriage, throwing herself on the help of Dixon, who was removing the tea things.  Melrose meanwhile seated himself, and with a magnificent gesture invited the ladies to do the same.  Mrs. Penfold obeyed; Lydia remained standing behind her mother’s chair.  The situation reminded her of a covey of partridges when a hawk is hovering.

Mrs. Penfold at once began to make conversation, saying the most dishevelled things for sheer fright.  Melrose threw her a monosyllable now and then, reserving all his attention for the young girl, whose beauty he instantly perceived.  His piercing eyes travelled from Faversham to Lydia repeatedly, and the invalid rather angrily divined the conjectures which might be passing in their owner’s brain.

* * * * *

“How are you?” asked Melrose abruptly, when he returned from accompanying the Penfolds to the front door.

Faversham replied with some coldness.  He was disgusted that Melrose should have spoilt the final success of his little festa by the breach of a promise he had himself volunteered.

But Melrose appeared to be in an unusually good temper, and he took no notice.  He had had considerable success that morning, it appeared, at an auction of some fine things at a house near Carlisle; having not only secured what he wanted himself, but having punished two or three of his most prominent rivals, by bidding high for some inferior thing, exciting their competition, and then at the critical moment dropping it on the nose, as he explained it, of one of his opponents.  “Wilson of York came to me nearly in tears, and implored me to take some beastly pot or other that I had made him buy at a ridiculous price.  I told him he might keep it, as a reminder that I always paid those out who bid against me.  Then I found I could get an earlier train home; and I confess I was curious to see how young Tatham would look, on my premises.  He did not expect that I should catch him here.”  The Ogre chuckled.

“You told me, if you remember,” said Faversham, not without emphasis, “that I was to say to him you would not be at home.”

“I know.  But sometimes there are impulses—­of different kinds—­that I can’t resist.  Of different kinds—­” repeated Melrose, his glittering, absent look fixed on Faversham.

There was silence a little.  Then Melrose said slowly, as he rose from his chair:  “I have—­a rather important proposition to make to you.  That fellow Undershaw would attack me if I began upon it now.  Moreover, it will want a fresh mind.  Will it suit you if I come to see you at eleven o’clock to-morrow?”

IX

On the following morning, Faversham, for the first time, dressed without assistance, and walked independently—­save for his stick—­into his sitting-room.  The July day was rather chill and rainy and he decided to await Melrose indoors.