"Well, what about our Geoff?" asked Mr. Bowker, twisting round on his seat, and looking hard at his friend.
"You must have noticed, Bowker--probably much more than I have, for you're more accustomed to that sort of thing--that our Geoff's not right lately. There's something wrong up there at Elm Lodge, that I can't make out,--that I daren't think, of. You remember our talks both before and after Geoff's marriage? Well, I must hark back upon them. He's not happy, William--there, you have the long and the short of it! I'm a bad hand at explaining these matters, but Geoff's not happy. He's made a mistake; and though I don't think he sees it himself--or if he does, he would die sooner than own it--there can be no doubt about it. Mrs. Ludlow does not understand,--does not appreciate him; and our Geoff's no more like our crony of old days than I'm like Raffaelle. There, that's it, as clear as I can put it!"
Bowker waited for an instant, and then he said:
"Ive tried hard enough, God knows!--hard enough to prevent myself from thinking as you think, Charley; but all to no purpose. There is a cloud over Geoff's life, and I fear it springs from----Some one knocking. Keep 'em out, if possible; we don't want any one boring in here just now."
But the knocker, whoever he was, seemed by no means inclined to be kept out. He not only obeyed the regular directions and "tugged the trotter," but he afterwards gave three distinct and loud raps with his fist on the door, which was the signal to the initiated; and when the door was opened and the knocker appeared in the person of Mr. Stompff, further resistance was useless.
The great man entered the room with a light and airy step and a light and airy address. "Well, Charley, how are you? Come to give you a look-up, you see. Hallo! who's this?--Mr. Bowker, how do you do, sir?" in a tone which meant, "What the devil do you do here?"--"how are you, sir?--Well, Charley, what are you at? Going to the bad, you villain,--going to the bad!"
"Working for Caniche, eh? That's the same thing, just the same thing! Ive heard all about it. You've let that miserable Belgian get old of you, eh? This is it, is it? Gal in a cornfield and mowers? what you call 'em--reapers? That's it! reapers, and a little child. Some story, eh? O, ah! Tennyson; I don't know him--not bad, by Jove! not half bad it's Caniche's?"