"That's
the other!" said he; for he had heard about Lady Bassett by this time.
Then he turned pale. "They ring for him: then they are sure to toll for
me."
This foreboding was natural enough in a man so blinded by egotism as to
fancy that all creation, and the Creator himself, must take a side in
Bassett _v._ Bassett.
Nevertheless, events did not justify that foreboding. The bells had
scarcely done ringing for the happy event at Huntercombe, when joyful
feet were heard running on the stairs; joyful voices clashed together
in the passage, and in came a female servant with joyful tidings. Mrs.
Bassett was safe, and the child in the world. "The loveliest little
girl you ever saw!"
"A girl!" cried Richard Bassett with contemptuous amazement. Even his
melancholy forebodings had not gone that length. "And what have they
got at Huntercombe?"
"Oh, it is a boy, sir, there."
"Of course."
The ringers heard, and sent one of their number to ask him if they
should ring.
"What for?" asked Bassett with a nasty glittering eye; and then with
sudden fury he seized a large piece of wood from the basket to fling at
his insulter. "I'll teach you to come and mock me."
The ringer vanished, ducking.
"Gently," said Wheeler, "gently."
Bassett chucked the wood back into the basket, and sat down gloomily,
saying, "Then how dare he come and talk about ringing bells for a girl?
To think that I should have all this fright, and my wife all this
trouble--for a girl!"
It was no time to talk of business then; but about a fortnight
afterward Wheeler said, "I took the detective off, to save you
expense.
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