“That is what I mean,” Mr. Bonamy answered doggedly, a slight flush as of shame on his sallow cheek. “I have explained, my lord, that I have been constantly opposed to this young man, but my opposition has been of a public nature and upon principle. I have no doubt that he and others consider me his chief enemy in the place, and to that I have no objection. But I am unwilling that he or others should think that private interest has had any part in my opposition, and therefore, being churchwarden, I would prefer, though I must necessarily offend your lordship, to decline undertaking the business.” “But why? Why?” cried the earl, between anger and astonishment. “I have tried to explain,” Mr. Bonamy rejoined with firmness. “I am afraid I cannot make my reasons clearer.” The earl swore softly and took up his hat. He really was at a loss to understand; principally because, knowing that Mr. Bonamy had risen from the ranks, he did not credit him with any fineness of feeling. He had heard only that he was a clever and rather sharp practitioner, and a man who might be trusted to make things unpleasant for the other side. So he took up his hat and swore softly. “You are aware,” he said, turning at the door and looking daggers at the solicitor, “that by taking this course you are throwing away a share of my work?” Mr. Bonamy, wearing a rather more gaunt and grim air than usual, simply bowed. “You will act for the other side, I suppose?” my lord snarled. “I shall not act professionally for any one, my lord!” “Then you are a damned quixotic fool—that is all I have to say!” was the earl’s parting shot. Having fired it, he flung out of the room and in great amaze roared for his carriage. A man is seldom so much inclined—on the surface, at any rate—to impute low motives to others as when he has just done something which he suspects to be foolish and quixotic. When Mr. Bonamy, a few minutes later, entered his rarely used drawing-room and discovered Jack and the two girls playing at Patience, he was in his most cynical mood. He stood for a moment on the hearth-rug, his coat-tails on his arms, and presently he said to Jack, “I am surprised to see you here.” Jack looked up. The girls looked up also. “I wonder you are not at the rectory,” Mr. Bonamy continued ironically, “advising your friend how to keep out of jail!” “What on earth do you mean, sir?” Jack exclaimed, laying down his cards and rising from the table. He saw that the lawyer had some news and was anxious to tell it. “I mean that he is in very considerable danger of going there!” was Mr. Bonamy’s answer. “There has been a scene at Mrs. Hammond’s this afternoon. By this time the story must be all over the town. Lord Dynmore turned up there and met him—denounced him as a scoundrel, and swore he had never presented him to the living.” For a brief moment no one spoke. Then Daintry found her voice. “My goody!” she exclaimed, her eyes like saucers. “Who told you, father?”