"He will have it, will he?" thought Mr. Gibson to himself; and he
girded up his loins for the battle. He did not follow Molly and Miss
Eyre into the drawing-room as he usually did. He remained where he
was, pretending to read the newspaper, while Bethia, her face swelled
up with crying, and with an aggrieved and offended aspect, removed
the tea-things. Not five minutes after the room was cleared, came
the expected tap at the door. "May I speak to you, sir?" said the
invisible Mr. Coxe, from outside.
"To be sure. Come in, Mr. Coxe. I was rather wanting to talk to you
about that bill of Corbyn's. Pray sit down."
"It is about nothing of that kind, sir, that I wanted--that I
wished--No, thank you--I would rather not sit down." He, accordingly,
stood in offended dignity. "It is about that letter, sir--that letter
with the insulting prescription, sir."
"Insulting prescription! I am surprised at such a word being applied
to any prescription of mine--though, to be sure, patients are
sometimes offended at being told the nature of their illnesses; and,
I daresay, they may take offence at the medicines which their cases
require."
"I did not ask you to prescribe for me."
"Oh, ho! Then you were the Master Coxe who sent the note through
Bethia! Let me tell you it has cost her her place, and was a very
silly letter into the bargain."
"It was not the conduct of a gentleman, sir, to intercept it, and to
open it, and to read words never addressed to you, sir."
"No!" said Mr. Gibson, with a slight twinkle in his eye and a curl on
his lips, not unnoticed by the indignant Mr. Coxe. "I believe I was
once considered tolerably good-looking, and I daresay I was as great
a coxcomb as any one at twenty; but I don't think that even then I
should quite have believed that all those pretty compliments were
addressed to myself."
"It was not the conduct of a gentleman, sir," repeated Mr. Coxe,
stammering over his words--he was going on to say something more,
when Mr. Gibson broke in,--
"And let me tell you, young man," replied Mr. Gibson, with a sudden
sternness in his voice, "that what you have done is only excusable
in consideration of your youth and extreme ignorance of what are
considered the laws of domestic honour. I receive you into my house
as a member of my family--you induce one of my servants--corrupting
her with a bribe, I have no doubt--"
"Indeed, sir! I never gave her a penny."
"Then you ought to have done. You should always pay those who do your
dirty work."