“Sir, I never send uncivil words to a woman, though sometimes I may be tempted to speak them to a man; when, for instance, a man interferes with me; do you understand?  My message is this:  Tell her ladyship, with my compliments, that it will be better for her to see me—­better for her, and for me.  When that poor lord died—­and he had been, mind, my friend for many years before her ladyship had heard his name—­I was with him; and there were occurrences of which you know nothing and need know nothing.  I did my best then to be courteous to Lady Ongar, which she returns by shutting her door in my face.  I do not mind that.  I am not angry with a woman.  But tell her that when she has heard what I now say to her by you, she will, I do not doubt, think better of it; and therefore I shall do myself the honor of presenting myself at her door again.  Good-night, Mr. Clavering; au revoir; we will have another of Stubbs’ little dinners before long.”  As he spoke these last words the count’s voice was again changed, and the old smile had returned to his face.

Harry shook hands with him, and walked away homeward, not without a feeling that the count had got the better of him, even to the end.  He had, however, learned how the land lay, and could explain to Lady Ongar that Count Pateroff now knew her wishes and was determined to disregard them.

Chapter XXII

Desolation

In the meantime there was grief down at the great house of Clavering; and grief, we must suppose also, at the house in Berkeley Square, as soon as the news from his country home had reached Sir Hugh Clavering.  Little Hughy, his heir, was dead.  Early one morning, Mrs. Clavering, at the rectory, received a message from Lady Clavering, begging that she would go up to the house, and, on arriving there, she found that the poor child was very ill.  The doctor was then at Clavering, and had recommended that a message should be sent to the father in London, begging him to come down.  This message had been already despatched when Mrs. Clavering arrived.  The poor mother was in a state of terrible agony, but at that time there was yet hope.  Mrs. Clavering then remained with Lady Clavering for two or three hours; but just before dinner on the same day another messenger came across to say that hope was past, and that the child had gone.  Could Mrs. Clavering come over again, as Lady Clavering was in a sad way?

“You’ll have your dinner first?” said the rector.

“No, I think not.  I shall wish to make her take something, and I can do it better if I ask for tea for myself.  I will go at once.  Poor dear little boy.”

“It was a blow I always feared,” said the rector to his daughter as soon as his wife had left them.  “Indeed, I knew that it was coming.”

“And she was always fearing it,” said Fanny.  “But I do not think he did.  He never seems to think that evil will come to him.”