The next day Mr. Henry came. He was a quiet, stern-looking man, of considerable intelligence and refinement¹, and so much taste for music as to charm Erminia, who had rather dreaded³ his visit. But all the amenities⁴ of life were put aside when he entered Mr. Buxton’s sanctum — his “office,” as he called the room where he received his tenants⁵ and business people. Frank thought Mr. Henry was scarce commonly civil in the open evidence of his surprise and contempt for the habits, of which the disorderly books and ledgers⁶ were but too visible signs. Mr. Buxton himself felt more like a school-boy, bringing up an imperfect lesson, than he had ever done since he was thirteen.

“The only wonder, my good sir, is that you have any property left; that you have not been cheated out of every farthing.”

“I’ll answer for it,” said Mr. Buxton, in reply, “that you’ll not find any cheating has been going on. They dared not, sir; they know I should make an example of the first rogue⁷ I found out.”

Mr. Henry lifted up his eyebrows⁸, but did not speak.

“Besides, sir, most of these men have lived for generations under the Buxtons. I’d give you my life, they would not cheat me.”

Mr. Henry coldly said:

“I imagine a close examination of these books by some accountant will be the best proof of the honesty of these said tenants. If you will allow me, I will write to a clever fellow I know, and desire him to come down and try and regulate this mass of papers.”

“Anything — anything you like,” said Mr. Buxton, only too glad to escape from the lawyer’s cold, contemptuous way of treating the subject.

The accountant came; and he and Mr. Henry were deeply engaged in the office for several days. Mr. Buxton was bewildered by the questions they asked him. Mr. Henry examined him in the worrying way in which an

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