III

On the afternoon of the 24th of December Sir Jehoshaphat drove home to Sneyd Castle from the principal of the three Dain manufactories, and found Lady Dain superintending the work of packing up trunks.  He and she were to quit the castle that afternoon in order to spend Christmas on the other side of the Five Towns, under the roof of their eldest son, John, who had a new house, a new wife, and a new baby (male).  John was a domineering person, and, being rather proud of his house and all that was his, he had obstinately decided to have his own Christmas at his own hearth.  Grandpapa and Grandmamma, drawn by the irresistible attraction of that novelty, a grandson (though Mrs John had declined to have the little thing named Jehoshaphat), had yielded to John’s solicitations, and the family gathering, for the first time in history, was not to occur round Sir Jee’s mahogany.

Sir Jee, very characteristically, said nothing to Lady Dain immediately.  He allowed her to proceed with the packing of the trunks, and then tea was served, and as the time was approaching for the carriage to come round to take them to the station, at last he suddenly remarked-

‘I shan’t be able to go with you to John’s this afternoon.’

‘Oh, Jee!’ she exclaimed.  ’Really, you are tiresome.  Why couldn’t you tell me before?’

‘I will come over tomorrow morning—­perhaps in time for church,’ he proceeded, ignoring her demand for an explanation.

He always did ignore her demand for an explanation.  Indeed, she only asked for explanations in a mechanical and perfunctory manner—­she had long since ceased to expect them.  Sir Jee had been born like that—­devious, mysterious, incalculable.  And Lady Dain accepted him as he was.  She was somewhat surprised, therefore, when he went on—­

’I have some minutes of committee meetings that I really must go carefully through and send off tonight, and you know as well as I do that there’ll be no chance of doing that at John’s.  I’ve telegraphed to John.’

He was obviously nervous and self-conscious.

‘There’s no food in the house,’ sighed Lady Dain.  ’And the servants are all going away except Callear, and he can’t cook your dinner tonight.  I think I’d better stay myself and look after you.’

‘You’ll do no such thing,’ said Sir Jee, decisively.  ’As for my dinner, anything will do for that.  The servants have been promised their holiday, to start from this evening, and they must have it.  I can manage.’

Here spoke the philanthropist with his unshakable sense of justice.

So Lady Dain departed, anxious and worried, having previously arranged something cold for Sir Jee in the dining-room, and instructed Callear about boiling the water for Sir Jee’s tea on Christmas morning.  Callear was the under-coachman and a useful odd man.  He it was who would drive Sir Jee to the station on Christmas morning, and then guard the castle and the stables thereof during the absence of the family and the other servants.  Callear slept over the stables.