'And why not?'
'Because, for one thing, I shouldn't write in that way now; and, for another, the essay seems to imply more than I meant when I did write it.'
'"Seems to imply"----? I understand. You wish to represent that this attack on M'Naughten involves no attack on Christianity?'
'Not on Christianity as I understand it.'
Buckland's face expressed profound disgust, but he controlled his speech.
'Well, I foresaw this. You attacked a new sophistry, but there is a newer sophistry still, and uncommonly difficult it is to deal with. Mr. Peak, I have a plain word to say to you. More than a year ago you asked me for my goodwill, to aid you in getting a social position. Say what you like, I see now that you dealt with me dishonestly. I can no longer be your friend in any sense, and I shall do my best to have you excluded from my parents' house. My father will re-read this essay--I have marked the significant passages throughout--and will form his own judgment; I know what it will be.'
'You are within your rights.'
'Undoubtedly,' replied Buckland, with polished insolence, as he rose from his seat. 'I can't forbid you to go to the house again, but--I hope we mayn't meet there. It would be very unpleasant.'
Godwin was still pressing down the tobacco in the bowl of his pipe. He smiled, and glanced about the room. Did Warricombe know how far things had gone between him and Sidwell? Whether or no, it was certain now that Sidwell would be informed of this disastrous piece of authorship--and the result?
What did it matter? There is no struggling against destiny. If he and Sidwell were ever fated to come together, why, these difficulties would all be surmounted. If, as seemed more than likely, he was again to be foiled on the point of success--he could bear it, perhaps even enjoy the comedy.
'There is no possibility of arguing against determined anger,' he said, quietly. 'I am not at all inclined to plead for justice: one only does that with a friend who desires to be just. My opinions are utterly distasteful to you, and personal motives have made you regard me as--a scoundrel to be got rid of. Well, there's an end of it. I don't see what is to be gained by further talk.'
This was a dismissal. Godwin felt the necessity of asserting himself thus far.
'One question,' said Warricombe, as he put the periodical back into his pocket. 'What do you mean by my "personal motives"?'
Their eyes met for an instant.
'I mean the motives which you have spoken of.'
It was Buckland's hope that Peak might reveal his relations with Sidwell, but he shrank from seeming to know anything of the matter. Clearly, no light was to be had from this source.
'I am afraid,' he said, moving to the door, 'that you will find my motives shared by all the people whose acquaintance you have made in Exeter.'
And without further leave-taking he departed.
There was a doubt in his mind. Peak's coolness might be the audacity of rascaldom; he preferred to understand it so; but it _might_ have nothing to do with baseness.
'Confound it!' he muttered to himself, irritably. 'In our times life is so deucedly complicated. It used to be the easiest thing to convict a man of religious hypocrisy; nowadays, one has to bear in mind such a multiplicity of fine considerations. There's that fellow Bruno Chilvers: mightn't anyone who had personal reasons treat him precisely as I have treated Peak? Both of them _may_ be honest. Yet in Peak's case all appearances are against him--just because he is of low birth, has no means, and wants desperately to get into society. The fellow is a scoundrel; I am convinced of it. Yet his designs may be innocent. How, then, a scoundrel?----
'Poor devil! Has he really fallen in love with Sidwell?----
'Humbug! He wants position, and the comfort it brings. And if he hadn't acted like a blackguard--if he had come among us telling the truth--who knows? Sidwell wouldn't then have thought of him, but for my own part I would willingly have given him a hand. There are plenty of girls who have learned to think for themselves.'
This was an unhappy line of reflection. It led to Sylvia Moorhouse--and to grinding of the teeth. By the time he reached the house, Buckland was again in remorseless mood.
He would have it out with Sidwell. The desire of proving to her that he had been right from the first overrode all thought of the pain he might inflict.
She was in the library. At breakfast he had noticed her heavy eyes, and that she made only a pretence of eating. She was now less unlike herself, but her position at the window showed that she had been waiting impatiently.
'Isn't mother coming down to-day?' he asked.
'Yes; after luncheon she will go out for an hour, if it keeps fine.'
'And to-morrow you return?'
'If mother feels able to travel.'
He had _The Critical_ in his hand, and stood rustling the pages with his fingers.
'I have been to see Peak.'
'Have you?'
She moved a few steps and seated herself sideways on a small chair.
'My business with him was confoundedly unpleasant. I'm glad it's over. I wish I had known what I now do half a year ago.'
'Let me hear what it is.'
'You remember that I told you to be on your guard against Peak?'
Sidwell smiled faintly, and glanced at him, but made no answer.
'I knew he wasn't to be trusted,' pursued her brother, with gloomy satisfaction. 'And I had far better means of judging than father or you; but, of course, my suspicions were ungenerous and cynical.'
'Will you come to the point?' said Sidwell, in an irritated tone.
'I think you read this article in _The Critical_?' He approached and showed it to her. 'We spoke of it once, _a propos_ of M'Naughten's book.'
She raised her eyes, and met his with a look of concern she could not disguise.
'What of that?'
'Peak is the author of it. It seems to have been written just about the time when I met him and brought him here as a visitor, and it was published after he had begun to edify you with his zeal for Christianity.'
She held out her hand.
'You remember the tone of the thing?' Buckland added. 'I'll leave it with you; but just glance at one or two of the passages I have marked. The Anglicanism of their writer is decidedly "broad", it seems to me.'
He moved apart and watched his sister as she bent over the pages. There was silence for five minutes. Seeing that Sidwell had ceased to read, he ejaculated, 'Well?'
'Has Mr. Peak admitted the authorship?' she asked, slowly and distinctly.
'Yes, and with a cool impudence I hardly expected.'
'Do you mean that he has made no attempt to justify himself?'
'None worth listening to. Practically, he refused an explanation.'
Sidwell rested her forehead lightly upon the tips of her fingers; the periodical slipped from her lap and lay open on the floor.
'How did you find this out?'
'In the simplest way. Knowing perfectly well that I had only to get familiar with some of his old friends to obtain proof that he was an impostor, I followed up my acquaintance with Miss Moxey--got hold of her brother--called upon them. Whilst I was there, a man named Malkin