“God bless my soul, Richard,” he said, “I would rather have lost my right hand than that this should have happened.” “It was no fault of yours, Dick.” “Good Heavens, sir, how can I express my shame and regret! I wish my ugly carcass had never come within ten miles of this place. I am overwhelmed, sir, overwhelmed. I must leave your house at once.” Jeffray smiled and laid his hand on the painter’s shoulder. “It was my aunt’s fault, Dick,” he said, simply, “and we have both been made to dance like a couple of dolls. As for your leaving Rodenham, I shall not hear of it.” Wilson, still thoroughly ashamed, gripped Jeffray’s hand, and then turned away to blow his nose. “No, no, sir,” he said, “I have made an infernal mess of your affairs, and I cannot eat your food another day. Egad, though, I was forgetting that Mr. Hardacre may desire to justify his sister’s honor.” “That is my business, Dick.” “And do you think, sir, that Richard Wilson will run away? No, no. I tell you I will go down and take a room at the inn, and if Mr. Hardacre wants me he will find me there. I am ready to make him and his sister a handsome apology, Richard, for he is in the right and I am in the wrong. If he will not take my apology, sir, then he must put a bullet into me to satisfy his sister’s honor. It was my fault, Richard, for being such a damned egregious fool. Perhaps I can mend the quarrel for you, and I am not going to shirk the responsibility.” Jeffray could make no impression upon the painter, who was as stubborn as any Sussex boor in his determination to quit the house. “Well, Dick,” he said, as he lighted the painter to his room, “you can go down to the Wheat Sheaf to-morrow and put up there till the quarrel blows over.” Wilson shook his head as he stood to say good-night to Jeffray on the landing. “No, sir,” he said, “the quarrel has been of my making, and even if the lady forgives you for being my friend, it would not please her to know that I was still at Rodenham.” “But we are not betrothed yet,” Jeffray argued. “If you love her, sir, I presume this idle affair will make no change in your affection. There was nothing to shame her so far as I was concerned, and to be sure she is a little old for you, but then—” Wilson hesitated suddenly, screwed up his eyes, and looked at the lad with critical curiosity. It had not occurred to him before that there was some disparity between their years. He had been so immersed also in Miss Hardacre’s past that he had not given much thought to the present. “I suppose you like her, lad, eh?” “She has been very kind to me, Dick.” “So.” “I mean to act like a man of honor.” “One thing is certain, sir, that Dick Wilson is better out of the way. Good-night, Richard, you have been very kind to me, and I thank you. Egad, sir, I shall never forgive myself for having served you thus.” “We are still friends, Dick.”