Part 49 (1/2)

An exclamation escaped me--(”Infamous Grosse!” spit out between my teeth in my own language). I could _not_ help it. I should have died if I had repressed it--I was in such a rage.

Lucilla laughed. ”There! there! It was my fault; I insisted on speaking to Oscar. As soon as I had my own way, I behaved perfectly. I never asked to have the bandage taken off; I was satisfied with only speaking to him.

Dear old Grosse--he isn't half as hard on me as you and my father--was with us, all the time. It has done me so much good. Don't be sulky about it, you darling Pratolungo! My 'surgeon optic' sanctions my imprudence. I won't ask you to go with me to Browndown to-morrow; Oscar is coming to return my visit.”

Those last words decided me. I had had a weary time of it since the morning; but (for me) the day was not at an end yet. I said to myself, ”I will have it out with Mr. Nugent Dubourg, before I go to my bed to-night!”

”Can you spare me for a little while?” I asked. ”I must go to the other side of the house. Your father wishes to speak to me.”

Lucilla started. ”About what?” she inquired eagerly.

”About business in London,” I answered--and left her, before her curiosity could madden me (in the state I was in at that moment) with more questions.

I found the rector prepared to favor me with his usual flow of language.

Fifty Mr. Finches could not have possessed themselves of my attention in the humour I was in at that moment. To the reverend gentleman's amazement, it was I who began--and not he.

”I have just left Lucilla, Mr. Finch. I know what has happened.”

”Wait a minute, Madame Pratolungo! One thing is of the utmost importance to begin with. Do you thoroughly understand that I am, in no sense of the word, to blame--?”

”Thoroughly,” I interposed. ”Of course, they would not have gone to Browndown, if you had consented to let Nugent Dubourg into the house.”

”Stop!” said Mr. Finch, elevating his right hand. ”My good creature, you are in a state of hysterical precipitation. I will be heard! I did more than refuse my consent. When the man Grosse--I insist on your composing yourself--when the man Grosse came and spoke to me about it, I did more, I say, infinitely more, than refuse my consent. You know my force of language--don't be alarmed! I said, 'Sir! As pastor and parent, My Foot is down'----”

”I understand, Mr. Finch. Whatever you said to Herr Grosse was quite useless; he entirely ignored your personal point of view.”

”Madame Pratolungo----!”

”He found Lucilla dangerously agitated by her separation from Oscar: he a.s.serted, what he calls, his professional freedom of action.”

”Madame Pratolungo----!”

”You persisted in closing your doors to Nugent Dubourg. _He_ persisted, on his side--and took Lucilla to Browndown.”

Mr. Finch got on his feet, and a.s.serted himself at the full pitch of his tremendous voice.

”Silence!” he shouted, with a smack of his open hand on the table at his side.

I didn't care. _I_ shouted. _I_ came down, with a smack of my hand, on the opposite side of the table.

”One question, sir, before I leave you,” I said. ”Since your daughter went to Browndown, you have had many hours at your disposal. Have you seen Mr. Nugent Dubourg?”

The Pope of Dimchurch suddenly collapsed, in full fulmination of his domestic Bulls.

”Pardon me,” he replied, adopting his most elaborately polite manner.

”This requires considerable explanation.”

I declined to wait for considerable explanation. ”You have not seen him?”

I said.