"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 asserted, 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 asserted 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.
"I have _not_ seen him," echoed Mr. Finch. "My position towards Nugent Dubourg is very remarkable, Madame Pratolungo. In my parental character, I should like to wring his neck. In my clerical character, I feel it incumbent on me to pause--and write to him. You feel the responsibility?
You understand the distinction?"
I understood that he was afraid. Answering him by an inclination of the head (I hate a coward!) I walked silently to the door.
Mr. Finch returned my bow with a look of helpless perplexity. "Are you going to leave me?" he inquired blandly.
"I am going to Browndown."
If I had said that I was going to a place which the rector had frequent occasion to mention in the stronger passages of his sermons, Mr. Finch's face could hardly have shown more astonishment and alarm than it exhibited when I replied to him in those terms. He lifted his persuasive right hand; he opened his eloquent lips. Before the coming overflow of language could reach me, I was out of the room, on my way to Browndown.
