“Look here, Willie,” answered Joan, who by now was almost beside herself: “if you say another word about me and Sir Henry Graves, I’ll get out and walk.” “Well, I dare say the old horse would thank you if you did. But I don’t see why you should take on so just because I’ve been answering your questions. I expect it’s all true, and that you do want to marry him, or else you’re left on the beach like the dogfish. But if you are, it’s no reason why you should be cross with me.” “I’m not cross, Willie, I am not indeed; but you don’t understand that I can’t bear this kind of gossip.” “Then you’d better get out of Bradmouth as fast as you can, Joan, for you’ll have lots of it to bear there, I can tell you. Why, I’m downright sick of it myself,” answered the merciless Willie. Then he lapsed into a dignified silence, that for the rest of the journey was only broken by his exhortations to the sweating horse, and the sound of the whacks which he rained upon its back. At length they reached Monk’s Lodge, and drove round to the side entrance, where Joan got down hurriedly and walked to the servants’ door. CHAPTER XIX. RIGHTEOUS INDIGNATION. On the day before Sir Reginald’s funeral Mr. Samuel Rock presented himself at Monk’s Lodge, and was shown into the study. As he entered Mr. Levinger noticed that his mien was morose, and that dejection beamed from his pale blue eyes, if indeed dejection can be said to beam. “I fancy that my friend’s love affairs have gone wrong,” he thought to himself; “he would scarcely look so sulky about a cow shed.” Yet it was of this useful building that he began to speak. “Well, Mr. Rock,” he said cheerfully, “have they dug out the foundations of that shed yet?” “Shed, sir?” answered Samuel (he pronounced it _shodd_): “I haven’t come to speak to you about no sheds. I have come to speak to you about the advice you gave me as to Joan Haste.” “Oh! yes, I remember: you wanted to marry her, didn’t you? Well, did you take it?” “I took it, sir, to my sorrow, for she wouldn’t have nothing to do with me. I went so far as to try and kiss her.” “Yes. And then?” “And then, sir, she pushed me off, that’s all, and stood there saying things that I would rather forget. But here’s the story, sir.” And with a certain amount of glozing and omission, he told the tale of his repulse. “Your case does not seem very promising,” said Mr. Levinger lightly, for he did not wish to show his vexation; “but perhaps the lady will still change her mind. As you know, it is often darkest before the dawn.” “Oh yes, sir,” answered Samuel, with a kind of sullen confidence, “sooner or later she will change her mind, never fear, and I shall marry her, I am sure of it; but she won’t change her heart, that’s the point, for she’s given that to another.”