Mr. Edwin Barley took a step backwards, and looked at the white blinds, closely drawn behind, the windows. The tidings took him by surprise. Having gone out shooting before the letters and papers were delivered, he was in ignorance of the morning's news. "I am sorry to hear it," he said. "It is an additional blow for Lady Chandos; and she does not need it. Sir Thomas was the best of the three sons: I had no grudge against him. But Mr. Harry Chandos does not take the title, my man." "Oh yes, he does, sir. He is now Sir Harry Chandos." "I tell you _no_," returned Mr. Edwin Barley, with a grim smile. "He is just as much Sir Harry Chandos as I am: it is not he who comes into the title. Let it pass, however." "Did you want him, sir?" inquired Hickens, quitting at once the controversy like a well-trained servant. "I do. But I would very much have preferred to see Lady Chandos first." "That is quite out of the question, sir," concluded Hickens, as he conducted his visitor to the state drawing-room. Oh, but it was a relief to me—shivering just inside the oak-parlour—to hear him pass it! As will readily be understood, I have to relate things now that did not at the time come under my personal sight or hearing: they only reached me later. Mr. Edwin Barley looked upon his prisoner as _his_; as much his own, with those two keen policemen posted outside the house and he inside it, as though George Heneage had lain at his feet manacled and fettered. He could not resist the temptation of entering the house that contained his long-evading enemy. Hickens took out his revenge. Returning with his master to the large drawing-room, he contrived to let it be known that he maintained his own opinion; giving the introduction with great emphasis— "Mr. Edwin Barley, Sir Harry." CHAPTER XXIX. MR. EDWIN BARLEY IN THE WEST WING. Mr. Edwin Barley, standing with his back to the door, his thumbs in the button-holes of his waistcoat, as a man at complete ease, wheeled round at the words. Sir Harry Chandos waited for him to speak, never inviting him to sit. "Good morning, Mr. Chandos." "Good morning," coldly returned Sir Harry. "To what am I indebted for the honour of this visit?" "I will tell you. One object of it is to demand an explanation of your treatment of Mrs. Penn. She has brought her wrongs to me; her only living relative, as she puts it. I suppose, as such it lies with me to ask it. Mrs. Penn was engaged by Lady Chandos; engaged as a lady: and you have turned her away as a menial, subjecting her to gross indignity." Sir Harry stared at the speaker, scarcely crediting his own ears. The exceeding impudence of the proceeding, after Mrs. Penn's treacherous conduct, was something unique.