“I know, but I’m in the devil of a hurry!” Adam said. “There’s a dinner-party being held at Fontley tonight, in honour of my sister’s engagement, and I swore I’d return in time for it. I shan’t, of course, but I might arrive in time to bid the guests farewell, don’t you think? I shall be in black disgrace — and deserve to be!”

Mr Wimmering smiled primly. “I fancy, when the cause of your absence is known, you will be forgiven, my lord. And may I, before I enter upon any business, beg that I may be forgiven? Your lordship’s head is better than mine. I must confess that I regarded your far-sighted venture with deep foreboding. Indeed, I was so filled with apprehension all yesterday that I found myself unable to swallow as much as morsel of toast. I blush to own it, but so it was!”

“You need not!” Adam said. “Don’t speak of yesterday! What I endured — ! Do you know, I even wondered if I ought not to be in Bedlam? I shall never do such a thing again: I haven’t enough bottom for speculation!”

When he presently left Wimmering he was just about to summon up a hack from a nearby stand when he remembered that there was a third call it behooved him to make. He hesitated for a moment, and then resigned himself, and proceeded on foot in the direction of Cornhill. It was going to make him devilishly late, but there was no help for it: the barest courtesy made it necessary for him to visit his father-in-law.

He found Mr Chawleigh alone, and entered his room unannounced, pausing a moment, his hand still grasping the doorknob, looking across at him in sudden concern. Mr Chawleigh was seated at his desk, but he did not seem to be at work. Something about his posture, the sag of his great shoulders, the settled gloom in his countenance made Adam fear that the loss he had suffered must be much larger than he had disclosed. He said in a tone of real concern: “Sir — !”

Mr Chawleigh’s expression did not change. He said heavily: “You haven’t gone home then, my lord.”

“Not yet. I’m leaving today, however. It’s Lydia’s party, you know, but I wanted to see you before I left town.”

“I know,” Mr Chawleigh said. He got up, and stood leaning his knuckles on his desk. “You’ve no need to tell me,” he said. “No need for you to blame me either, for you couldn’t blame me more than I blame myself. Eh, it’s taken all the pleasure out of knowing we’ve beaten Bonaparte! The first time I ever advised anyone against his advantage, and I have to do it to you! Well, I don’t know when I’ve been sorrier for anything, and that’s a fact!”

Adam put his hand and gloves down rather quickly on a chair, and limped forward. “My dear sir — !” he said, a good deal moved. “No, no, I assure you — !”

“Nay, don’t say it, lad!” Mr Chawleigh interrupted. “It’s like you not to ride grub, but I’ve done mighty ill by you, and it don’t make a ha’porth of difference that I never meant it to turn out like it has! Now — ”

“Mr Chawleigh — ”

“Nay, you listen to what I’ve got to say, my lord!” said Mr Chawleigh, coming round the corner of the desk, and laying a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “If it hadn’t been for me; you wouldn’t have thought of selling out, would you?”

“No, but — ”

“ — so it’s my blame, and it’s for me to make it good, which I will do, and there’s my hand on it! Now, we don’t want any argumentation, so — ”

“You know, sir, you are a great deal too kind to me,” Adam interposed, his slender hand lost in that enormous paw. He smiled at his father-in-law. “But I didn’t come here to reproach you. I came to tell you that I’ve made my fortune!”

“You’ve done what?” ejaculated Mr Chawleigh, staring at him under suddenly knit brows.

“Well, I dare say you won’t think it a fortune,” said Adam, “but I assure you it seems one to me! I hope you’ll forgive me: I didn’t follow your advice!”

The grip on his shoulder tightened. “You didn’t sell?” Mr Chawleigh demanded.

“No, sir: I bought!”

“You — Well, I’ll be damned!” said Mr Chawleigh, apparently shinned. “With me and Wimmering telling you — Well, if ever I thought you had it in you — !” A delighted smile spread over his countenance; he released Adam’s shoulder to pat him on. the back. “Good lad, good lad!” he said. “Bought — ! And what’s your profit?”

“I don’t know yet, but Drummond thinks it will be somewhere in the region of twenty thousand, sir.”

“Twenty — How did you come by the blunt to buy to that tune?”

“I borrowed it from Drummond — on my own securities.”

“Oh you did, did you?” said Mr Chawleigh. “And I suppose he didn’t get a notion that I was one of your securities?”

“I told him,” said Adam blandly, “that he was on no account to think that you were in any way concerned.”

Mr Chawleigh regarded him with a fulminating but not unadmiring eye. “If you wasn’t a lord,” he said, “I’d call you a young rascal!”

Adam laughed. “Oh, no, would you? It was perfectly true! You were not concerned!”

“Yes, it’s likely I’d let my daughter’s husband be rolled-up, ain’t it?” retorted Mr Chawleigh, with asperity. “Well, well, to think you’d so much rumgumption! Twenty thousand pounds!” He chuckled; but all at once his expression changed and he directed one of his searching stares at Adam. “I take it you’ll be wanting to redeem the mortgages?” he said belligerently.

There was a long pause. To redeem the mortgages, to make Fontley his own again, independent of Chawleigh-gold, and free from even the shadow of a threat of Chawleigh-interference, had been Adam’s only motive for plunging into a speculation which he now regarded as the craziest act of his life. Even when he had been most horrified at what he had risked the thought had persisted that the object was worth any risk. The gamble had succeeded; and now, as he gave back his father-in-law’s stare, he realized, in some bewilderment, that having the power to redeem the mortgages he had lost the desire to do it. Almost from the day of his marriage it had been his fixed goal: it should have been his first thought on waking that morning, but he had not thought of it until Mr Chawleigh himself recalled it to his mind. He had thought instead of drainage, and new cottages, and of the experimental farm he had now the means to run. His old obsession suddenly seemed foolish. Mr Chawleigh giving rein to the Juggernaut within him might infuriate him, but he was perfectly capable of handling Mr Chawleigh. And, to do Mr Chawleigh justice, he had never shown the least disposition to interfere in the affairs of Fontley. He had once, in a grip of passion, threatened to foreclose, but Adam had known, even in the heat of the moment, that there was no intention behind the threat, or any comprehension of the effect so brutal a display of power would have on one of finer sensibility than his own. His vulgarity made him sometimes extremely trying, but under it there was much that was admirable, and a softer heart than his fierce aspect would have led anyone to suppose. Looking at him now, Adam knew that he was scowling because he was afraid he was going to be hurt. Well, he shouldn’t be: certainly not by the son-in-law who owed him so much and of whom he was so unmistakably fond.

“I’ll redeem them if you wish it, sir — of course!” Adam said.

The scowl lifted a little. “Why should I wish it? I’d a notion you couldn’t bear to think I’d aught to do with that place of yours — nor wouldn’t rest easy in your bed till you’d paid me back every penny you’ve had of me!”

“Good God, sir, I hope you don’t expect that of me?” countered Adam. “I could never repay all I owe you!”

“Don’t talk so silly!” growled Mr Chawleigh. “You know I don’t!”

“Yes, of course I do — and also that nothing pleases you more than to shower expensive luxuries on me,” Adam said, affection as well as amusement in his eyes. “As for Fontley, if you mean that I won’t let you carpet the Grand Stairway, or fill the park with deer, you are perfectly right! But I give you warning that I have every intention of trying if I can’t persuade you to dip that little finger of yours into a project I have in mind. I’ve no time to go into that now, however. About the mortgages — I have a much better scheme than to waste my money on redeeming them from you; I should infinitely prefer it if you will settle them on Giles.”

The scowl had entirely vanished. “Now, that is a good scheme!” exclaimed Mr Chawleigh, rubbing his hands together. “Ay, I’ll do that, bless him! I’ll have it drawn up legally, all shipshape and Bristol fashion, never fear!” A thought occurred to him; he said: “If you was to do something handsome by the Government you could get yourself made an Earl, couldn’t you?”

“To add to Giles’s consequence? Not for the world! He’s by far too top-lofty already — believes himself to be of the first importance!”

“Young varmint!” said Mr Chawleigh fondly. “I’d like him to have a proper title, though. Ay, and I’d like to see you made an Earl, my lord, and I don’t deny it.”

“If you set such store by titles, sir, why don’t you get one for yourself? I think you should be an alderman!”

He spoke at random, merely to divert Mr Chawleigh’s mind, but he instantly perceived that he had unwittingly hit the mark. Mr Chawleigh stared at him very hard, and said: “Now, where did you come by that notion, my lord?”

“Ah!”

“Well, maybe I will be an alderman before I’m much older,” admitted Mr Chawleigh. “But don’t you go blabbing about it, my lord, because it ain’t certain, mind! I’m not saying anything, but that there is a vacancy, which everyone knows, now that poor old Ned Quarm’s stuck his spoon in the wall, and it might be that I’ll be voted for.”