Second Period Third Narrative - Chapter II

"Walk in, Mr. Franklin," he said, opening the door behind him, with his
quaint old-fashioned bow. "I'll ask what brings you here afterwards--I
must make you comfortable first. There have been sad changes, since you
went away. The house is shut up, and the servants are gone. Never mind
that! I'll cook your dinner; and the gardener's wife will make your
bed--and if there's a bottle of our famous Latour claret left in the
cellar, down your throat, Mr. Franklin, that bottle shall go. I bid you
welcome, sir! I bid you heartily welcome!" said the poor old fellow,
fighting manfully against the gloom of the deserted house, and receiving
me with the sociable and courteous attention of the bygone time.

It vexed me to disappoint him. But the house was Rachel's house, now.
Could I eat in it, or sleep in it, after what had happened in London?
The commonest sense of self-respect forbade me--properly forbade me--to
cross the threshold.

I took Betteredge by the arm, and led him out into the garden. There
was no help for it. I was obliged to tell him the truth. Between his
attachment to Rachel, and his attachment to me, he was sorely puzzled
and distressed at the turn things had taken. His opinion, when he
expressed it, was given in his usual downright manner, and was agreeably
redolent of the most positive philosophy I know--the philosophy of the
Betteredge school.

"Miss Rachel has her faults--I've never denied it," he began. "And
riding the high horse, now and then, is one of them. She has been trying
to ride over you--and you have put up with it. Lord, Mr. Franklin, don't
you know women by this time better than that? You have heard me talk of
the late Mrs. Betteredge?"