“It has been my ill-luck to see my father pretty seriously offended on more than one occasion; but I never saw him so very quiet and so very dangerous as last night when he was telling me about you.  I remember well enough how he spoke and looked, when he caught me putting away my trout-flies in the pages of that family history of his; but it was nothing to see him or hear him then, to what it is now.  I can tell you this, Basil—­if I believed in what the poetical people call a broken heart (which I don’t), I should be almost afraid that he was broken-hearted.  I saw it was no use to say a word for you just yet, so I sat quiet and listened to him till I got my dismissal for the evening.  My next proceeding was to go up-stairs, and see Clara.  Upstairs, I give you my word of honour, it was worse still.  Clara was walking about the room with your letter in her hand—­just reach me the matches:  my cigar’s out.  Some men can talk and smoke in equal proportions—­I never could.

“You know as well as I do,” he continued when he had relit his cigar, “that Clara is not usually demonstrative.  I always thought her rather a cold temperament—­but the moment I put my head in at the door, I found I’d been just as great a fool on that point as on most others.  Basil, the scream Clara gave when she first saw me, and the look in her eyes when she talked about you, positively frightened me.  I can’t describe anything; and I hate descriptions by other men (most likely on that very account):  so I won’t describe what she said and did.  I’ll only tell you that it ended in my promising to come here the first thing this morning; promising to get you out of the scrape; promising, in short, everything she asked me.  So here I am, ready for your business before my own.  The fair partner of my existence is at the hotel, half-frantic because I won’t go lodging-hunting with her; but Clara is paramount, Clara is the first thought.  Somebody must be a good boy at home; and now you have resigned, I’m going to try and succeed you, by way of a change!”

“Ralph!  Ralph! can you mention Clara’s name, and that woman’s name, in the same breath?  Did you leave Clara quieter and better!  For God’s sake be serious about that, though serious about nothing else!”

“Gently, Basil! Doucement mon ami! I did leave her quieter:  my promise made her look almost like herself again.  As for what you say about mentioning Clara and Mrs. Ralph in the same breath, I’ve been talking and smoking till I have no second breaths left to devote to second-rate virtue.  There is an unanswerable reason for you, if you want one!  And now let us get to the business that brings me here.  I don’t want to worry you by raking up this miserable mess again, from beginning to end, in your presence; but I must make sure at the same time that I have got hold of the right story, or I can’t be of any use to you.  My father was a little obscure on certain points.  He talked enough, and more than enough, about consequences to the family, about his own affliction, about his giving you up for ever; and, in short, about everything but the case itself as it really stands against us.  Now that is just what I ought to be put up to, and must be put up to.  Let me tell you in three words what I was told last night.”