“You are entirely wrong, sir,” I said, “in supposing that I speak from any prejudice against Sir Percival Glyde.  I may regret that he has so unreservedly resigned himself in this matter to his lawyer’s direction as to make any appeal to himself impossible, but I am not prejudiced against him.  What I have said would equally apply to any other man in his situation, high or low.  The principle I maintain is a recognised principle.  If you were to apply at the nearest town here, to the first respectable solicitor you could find, he would tell you as a stranger what I tell you as a friend.  He would inform you that it is against all rule to abandon the lady’s money entirely to the man she marries.  He would decline, on grounds of common legal caution, to give the husband, under any circumstances whatever, an interest of twenty thousand pounds in his wife’s death.”

“Would he really, Gilmore?” said Mr. Fairlie.  “If he said anything half so horrid, I do assure you I should tinkle my bell for Louis, and have him sent out of the house immediately.”

“You shall not irritate me, Mr. Fairlie—­for your niece’s sake and for her father’s sake, you shall not irritate me.  You shall take the whole responsibility of this discreditable settlement on your own shoulders before I leave the room.”

“Don’t!—­now please don’t!” said Mr. Fairlie.  “Think how precious your time is, Gilmore, and don’t throw it away.  I would dispute with you if I could, but I can’t—­I haven’t stamina enough.  You want to upset me, to upset yourself, to upset Glyde, and to upset Laura; and—­oh, dear me!—­all for the sake of the very last thing in the world that is likely to happen.  No, dear friend, in the interests of peace and quietness, positively No!”

“I am to understand, then, that you hold by the determination expressed in your letter?”

“Yes, please.  So glad we understand each other at last.  Sit down again—­do!”

I walked at once to the door, and Mr. Fairlie resignedly “tinkled” his hand-bell.  Before I left the room I turned round and addressed him for the last time.

“Whatever happens in the future, sir,” I said, “remember that my plain duty of warning you has been performed.  As the faithful friend and servant of your family, I tell you, at parting, that no daughter of mine should be married to any man alive under such a settlement as you are forcing me to make for Miss Fairlie.”

The door opened behind me, and the valet stood waiting on the threshold.

“Louis,” said Mr. Fairlie, “show Mr. Gilmore out, and then come back and hold up my etchings for me again.  Make them give you a good lunch downstairs.  Do, Gilmore, make my idle beasts of servants give you a good lunch!”

I was too much disgusted to reply—­I turned on my heel, and left him in silence.  There was an up train at two o’clock in the afternoon, and by that train I returned to London.