“Not a word, Richard!  Let me speak for you as well as for myself,” said Sir Joseph.  “For seven years past,” he continued, turning to the lawyer, “I have been accustomed to place the most unlimited trust in Richard Turlington.  His disinterested advice has enabled me largely to increase my income, without placing a farthing of the principal in jeopardy.  On more than one occasion, I have entreated him to make use of my money in his business.  He has invariably refused to do so.  Even his bitterest enemies, sir, have been obliged to acknowledge that my interests were safe when committed to his care.  Am I to begin distrusting him, now that I am about to give him my daughter in marriage?  Am I to leave it on record that I doubt him for the first time—­when my Will is opened after my death?  No!  I can confide the management of the fortune which my child will inherit after me to no more competent or more honorable hands than the hands of the man who is to marry her.  I maintain my appointment, Mr. Dicas!  I persist in placing the whole responsibility under my Will in my son-in-law’s care.”

Turlington attempted to speak.  The lawyer attempted to speak.  Sir Joseph—­with a certain simple dignity which had its effect on both of them—­declined to hear a word on either side.  “No, Richard! as long as I am alive this is my business, not yours.  No, Mr. Dicas!  I understand that it is your business to protest professionally.  You have protested.  Fill in the blank space as I have told you.  Or leave the instructions on the table, and I will send for the nearest solicitor to complete them in your place.”

Those words placed the lawyer’s position plainly before him.  He had no choice but to do as he was bid, or to lose a good client.  He did as he was bid, and grimly left the room.

Sir Joseph, with old-fashioned politeness, followed him as far as the hall.  Returning to the library to say a few friendly words before finally dismissing the subject of the Will, he found himself seized by the arm, and dragged without ceremony, in Turlington’s powerful grasp, to the window.

“Richard!” he exclaimed, “what does this mean?”

“Look!” cried the other, pointing through the window to a grassy walk in the grounds, bounded on either side by shrubberies, and situated at a little distance from the house.  “Who is that man?—­quick! before we lose sight of him—­the man crossing there from one shrubbery to the other?” Sir Joseph failed to recognize the figure before it disappeared.  Turlington whispered fiercely, close to his ear—­“Launcelot Linzie!”

In perfect good faith Sir Joseph declared that the man could not possibly have been Launce.  Turlington’s frenzy of jealous suspicion was not to be so easily calmed.  He asked significantly for Natalie.  She was reported to be walking in the grounds.  “I knew it!” he said, with an oath—­and hurried out into the grounds to discover the truth for himself.