n in
much anger, for Mr. Outhouse, with that mixture of obstinacy and
honesty which formed his character, had spoken hard words of Colonel
Osborne, and words which by implication had been hard also against
Emily Trevelyan. He had been very staunch to his niece when attacked
by his niece's husband; but when his sympathies and assistance were
invoked by Sir Marmaduke it seemed as though he had transferred his
allegiance to the other side. He pointed out to the unhappy father
that Colonel Osborne had behaved with great cruelty in going to
Devonshire, that the Stanburys had been untrue to their trust in
allowing him to enter the house, and that Emily had been "indiscreet"
in receiving him. When a young woman is called indiscreet by her
friends it may be assumed that her character is very seriously
assailed. Sir Marmaduke had understood this, and on hearing the word
had become wroth with his brother-in-law. There had been hot words
between them, and Mr. Outhouse would not yield an inch or retract
a syllable. He conceived it to be his duty to advise the father
to caution his daughter with severity, to quarrel absolutely with
Colonel Osborne, and to let Trevelyan know that this had been done.
As to the child, Mr. Outhouse expressed a strong opinion that the
father was legally entitled to the custody of his boy, and that
nothing could be done to recover the child, except what might be
done with the father's consent. In fact, Mr. Outhouse made himself
exceedingly disagreeable, and sent away Sir Marmaduke with a very
heavy heart. Could it really be possible that his old friend Fred
Osborne, who seven or eight-and-twenty years ago had been potent
among young ladies, had really been making love to his old friend's
married daughter? Sir Marmaduke looked into himself, and conceived it
to be quite out of the question that he should make love to any one.
A good dinner, good wine, a good cigar, an easy chair, and a rubber
of whist,--all these things, with no work to do, and men of his own
standing around him were the pleasures of life which Sir Marmaduke
desired. Now Fred Osborne was an older man than he, and though Fred
Osborne did keep up a foolish system of padded clothes and dyed
whiskers, still,--at fifty-two or fifty-three,--surely a man might be
reckoned safe. And then, too, that ancient friendship! Sir Marmaduke,
who had lived all his life in the comparative seclusion of a colony,
thought perhaps more of that ancient friendship