XVIII
As Mr. Perry-Hennington impatiently clicked the doctor’s gate, “Village pettifogger!” flashed along his nervous system. Only a stupid man, or a man too much in awe of Hart’s Ghyll could have been guilty of Joliffe’s scruples, at a moment so ill-timed.
The afternoon’s oppression was growing into the certainty of a storm. There were many portents from the southwest to which the vicar, walking rapidly and gathering momentum as he went, paid no attention. He was really angry with Joliffe; a spirit naturally pontifical had been fretted by his attitude. Apart from the fact that the issue was clear to all reasonable minds, Joliffe, having to make a choice between Cæsar and Pompey, had chosen the latter. It was very annoying, and though Mr. Perry-Hennington prided himself upon his breadth of view, he could not suppress a feeling of resentment.
In the middle of Hart’s Ghyll’s glorious avenue a fine car met the vicar, drove him under the trees and glided by with the flight of a bird. A lean-looking man in a white hat sat in a corner of the car. As he went past he waved a hand to the vicar and called out “Wednesday!” It was his new acquaintance, Mr. Murdwell.
When Mr. Perry-Hennington reached the house, a rather unwelcome surprise awaited him. Edith was seated in the inner hall with niece Millicent. Driven by the pangs of conscience, she had come to implore help for John Smith. But for Millicent, this meant the horns of a dilemma. Her sympathy had been keenly aroused by her cousin’s strange confession, but Gervase had been too much troubled by the matter already, and his wife was very unwilling to tax him further.
The arrival of the vicar, while Edith and Millicent were still anxiously discussing the line to take, was very embarrassing for all three. It only needed a hint to set Mr. Perry-Hennington on the track of their conversation. And when he realized, as he did almost at once, that Edith was in the very act of working against him, he felt a shock of pain.
Dissembling his feelings, however, he asked that he might see Gervase. But Millicent with a shrewd guess at his purpose, went the length of denying him. Gervase was not quite so well, and she had foolishly allowed him to tire himself with their American neighbor, the new tenant of Longwood, who had stayed more than an hour. But the vicar was not in a mood to be thwarted. The matter was important, and he would only stay five minutes.
“Well, Uncle Tom,” said the wife anxiously, “if you see Gervase for five minutes, you must solemnly promise not to refer to John Smith.”
Mr. Perry-Hennington could give no such undertaking. Indeed he had to admit that John Smith was the sole cause and object of his visit. Thereupon to Edith’s horror, Millicent suddenly flashed out:
“I think it’s perfectly shameful, Uncle Tom, that you should be acting toward that dear fellow in the way that you are doing.”
The vicar was quite taken aback. He glanced at the disloyal Edith with eyes of stern accusation. But it was not his intention to be drawn into any discussion of the matter with a pair of irresponsible women. He was hurt, and rather angry, but as always there was a high sense of duty to sustain him.
“Not more than five minutes, I promise you,” he said decisively. And then with the air of a law-giver and chief magistrate, he marched along a low-ceiled, stone-flagged corridor to the library.