“Yes, sir, till you are married to Miss Hardacre. Well, it’s a queer world. Good-night, lad, good-night.” The Lady Letitia kept her bed next day, but sent down a sealed note to her nephew in which she expressed herself as being greatly distressed by what had passed the previous night. She advised Richard “to persuade that unfortunate creature Wilson to take his departure with all despatch.” The dowager threw out many broad hints reflecting upon the sincerity of the painter’s statements, and suggested to Richard that Miss Hardacre must have compromised herself with the man many years ago. Jeffray threw the letter in the fire. He was beginning to discover how much veracity there was in Aunt Letitia’s world-wise soul. Richard ordered Peter Gladden to go down in person and engage a room for Wilson at the Wheat Sheaf. Wilson’s pack and red bundle were carried down to the inn by a very scornful and unobsequious servant who believed that no real gentleman would travel with such luggage, and who also doubted the likelihood of such a “shabby creature” being able to distribute decent largesse. Richard and the painter breakfasted together, smoked their pipes in the library afterwards, and discussed the dilemma once again. It appeared to Wilson that the young Squire of Rodenham was not madly enamoured of Miss Jilian Hardacre. “She had been very kind to him, yes. He thought her a sweet woman, despite his aunt’s scandalous innuendoes. Certainly he had paid his cousin a great deal of attention, and he would act honorably by her like an English gentleman.” Wilson screwed his face up a little over the lad’s chivalrous sentiments. He did not venture to meddle with so delicate a question, however, having had sufficient excitement to satisfy him for months.