Mr. Joshua Rigg, in fact, appeared to trouble himself little about any innuendoes, but showed a notable change of manner, walking coolly up to Mr. Standish and putting business questions with much coolness.  He had a high chirping voice and a vile accent.  Fred, whom he no longer moved to laughter, thought him the lowest monster he had ever seen.  But Fred was feeling rather sick.  The Middlemarch mercer waited for an opportunity of engaging Mr. Rigg in conversation:  there was no knowing how many pairs of legs the new proprietor might require hose for, and profits were more to be relied on than legacies.  Also, the mercer, as a second cousin, was dispassionate enough to feel curiosity.

Mr. Vincy, after his one outburst, had remained proudly silent, though too much preoccupied with unpleasant feelings to think of moving, till he observed that his wife had gone to Fred’s side and was crying silently while she held her darling’s hand.  He rose immediately, and turning his back on the company while he said to her in an undertone,—­“Don’t give way, Lucy; don’t make a fool of yourself, my dear, before these people,” he added in his usual loud voice—­“Go and order the phaeton, Fred; I have no time to waste.”

Mary Garth had before this been getting ready to go home with her father.  She met Fred in the hall, and now for the first time had the courage to look at him.  He had that withered sort of paleness which will sometimes come on young faces, and his hand was very cold when she shook it.  Mary too was agitated; she was conscious that fatally, without will of her own, she had perhaps made a great difference to Fred’s lot.

“Good-by,” she said, with affectionate sadness.  “Be brave, Fred. I do believe you are better without the money.  What was the good of it to Mr. Featherstone?”

“That’s all very fine,” said Fred, pettishly.  “What is a fellow to do?  I must go into the Church now.” (He knew that this would vex Mary:  very well; then she must tell him what else he could do.) “And I thought I should be able to pay your father at once and make everything right.  And you have not even a hundred pounds left you.  What shall you do now, Mary?”

“Take another situation, of course, as soon as I can get one.  My father has enough to do to keep the rest, without me.  Good-by.”

In a very short time Stone Court was cleared of well-brewed Featherstones and other long-accustomed visitors.  Another stranger had been brought to settle in the neighborhood of Middlemarch, but in the case of Mr. Rigg Featherstone there was more discontent with immediate visible consequences than speculation as to the effect which his presence might have in the future.  No soul was prophetic enough to have any foreboding as to what might appear on the trial of Joshua Rigg.