Two Sides of the Face | Page 7

ejaculated Mr. Jose, pacing the room with his hands clasped
beneath his coat-tails.
"Do you know," Roger continued musingly, "I'm not altogether sorry
the woman showed her hand. Sooner or later she had to be got rid of,
and a thing like that is easier done when your blood's up. But Lord!
could anyone have thought such wickedness was to be found in the
world!"
The lawyer rounded on him impatiently. "Mr. Stephen," said he, in the
very words the widow had used two minutes before, "you're very
foolish man, if you'll excuse my saying it."
"Certainly," Roger assured him. "But be dashed to me if I see why."
"Because, sir, you're on the wrong side of the law. Your father executed
that will, and it's genuine; or the vermin--as you call him--would never
have taken that line with me."
"I daresay. But what of that?"
"What of that? Why, you've cut yourself off from compromise--that's
all. You don't think a fellow of that nature--I say nothing of the
woman--will meet you on any reasonable terms after the way you've
behaved!"
"Compromise? Terms? Why, dang it all, Jose! You're not telling me the
old fool could will away Steens, that has passed as freehold from father
to son these two hundred years and more?"
"The law allows it," began Mr. Jose; but his outraged client cut him
short.
"The law allows it!" he mimicked. "How soon d'ye think they'll get the

country to allow it? Why, the thing's monstrous--'tis as plain as the nose
on your face!"
"Oh, you'll get sympathy, no doubt!"
"Sympathy? What the devil do I want with sympathy? I want my rights,
and I've got 'em. What's more, I'll keep 'em--you see! Man, if that limb
of Satan dared to come back, d'ye think the whole countryside wouldn't
uphold me? But he won't; he won't dare. You heard him squeal,
surely?"
"Drat the very name of politics!" exclaimed Mr. Jose so inconsequently
that Roger had good excuse for staring.
"I don't take ye, Jose."
"No, I daresay not. I was thinking of Sir John. He's up at Westminster
speechifying against corruption and Long Parliaments, and, the
pamphleteers say, doing ten men's work to save the State; but for your
sake I wish he was home minding the affairs of his parish. For I do
believe he'd be for you at the bottom of his heart, and, if he used his
influence, we might come to a settlement."
"'Settlement'?" Roger well-nigh choked over the word. He took three
paces across the room and three paces back. His face twitched with fury,
but for the moment he held himself in rein. "Look here, Jose, are you
my lawyer or are you not? What in thunder do I want with Sir John?
Right's right, and I'm going to stand on it. You know I'm in the right,
and yet, like a cowardly attorney, at the first threat you hum and haw
and bethink you about surrender. I don't know what you call it, sir, but I
call it treachery. 'Settlement?' I've a damned good mind to believe
they've bought you over!"
Mr. Jose gathered up his papers. "After that speech, Mr. Stephen, it
don't become me to listen to more. As your father's friend I'm sorry for
you. You're an ill-used man, but you're going to be a worse-used one,
and by your own choice. I wish indeed I may prove mistaken, but my
warning is, you have set your feet in a desperate path. Good-day, sir."

And so Roger Stephen quarrelled with his wisest friend.

VII.
Young Mrs. Stephen awoke in her bed of nettles, and sitting up with
her back to the wall, pressed her hands to her temples and tried to think.
She could not. For the moment the strain had broken her, and her mind
ran only on trifles--her wardrobe, a hundred small odds and ends of
personal property left behind her in the house.
She could not think, but by instinct she did the wisest thing--found her
feet and tottered off in the direction of Nansclowan. She had barely
passed the turning of the road shutting her off from his sight when Mr.
Jose came riding out by the stable gate and turned his horse's head
towards Helleston.
When Lady Piers heard that Mrs. Stephen was below in the
morning-room and wished to speak with her, she descended promptly,
but with no very goodwill towards her visitor. She suspected something
amiss, for the maid who carried up the news had added that the widow
was "in a pretty pore," and wore not so much as a shawl over her
indoor garments. Also she knew, as well as her commoner neighbours,
that the situation at Steens must be a difficult one. Now Lady Piers was
a