Lady Bynd expresses her surprise that Mr. Harold should have printed Mr. Mansell’s letter in the current issue of the “Stubbington Gazette.” She asks that he will refrain from giving himself the trouble of calling on Sunday afternoon next, as previously arranged.

That cleared the air a little. Then she wrote to the paper:

To the Editor,

The “Stubbington Gazette.”

Sir,

As one who has read with horror and indignation your correspondent’s ill-informed and worse-natured letter about the recent concert in aid of the County Charity, I wish to point out that the concert was an amateur effort made possible by the kindness and devotion of dwellers in the district who gave their services to a most deserving cause. I fail to see how abuse of men and ladies who have done and given of their best can alter the fact that they at least gave of their best and helped the cause according to their power. Perhaps a stranger to the district, who has in more ways than one helped to bring unrest and disorder here, may henceforth make himself more of a stranger. If he dislikes us, let him consider that the feeling may be returned, with perhaps better grounds, by those responsible for the concert in question.

This helped a little further.

The withdrawal of advertisements was a more ticklish business, but she was not one to shrink. One of the big grocers in Stubbington High sued to advertise in the Gazette. His daughter had sung in a duet about a cat and a mouse, which Frampton had judged to be the worst song of the evening. Laetitia put on her fur coat and had herself driven to the grocer’s.

There had been a time, not long past, when a word from Lady Bynd would have made a Stubbington tradesman consider his policy; the time had passed, but she did not yet admit the fact. The grocer had not seen the letter; he read it, at her bidding, and expressed his indignation.

“You can show your indignation,” she said, “by withdrawing your advertisements from a paper which prints insults to your daughter.”

The grocer had lived a long life in a small country town; he was pliant as a reed while the gale blew. He temporised, by saying, that a town in the Far West an editor might be shot for printing a letter of that sort. He went on to say that he wondered at their daring to print it, and then suggested “might not the Law of Libel be invoked?” Many of those who took part in the concert were quite poor people, unable to fee lawyers, “but the Law, my lady, the Law will set them right.”

This struck Laetitia as a possible solution. She had not thought of the Law; what she longed for was a party of young men with cudgels catching Mansell in a dark lane. The time had been when a Bynd might have arranged that; but the times were now out of joint.

“I shall see my own lawyer, you may depend upon it, my lady,” the grocer said. “Fair criticism is one thing; but this is going too far.”

This was something to the good; she felt that she had done one good deed; although, later, she learned that the grocer did nothing. She moved on to the ironmonger.

The ironmonger’s daughter had danced at the concert. She felt that she had a good deal of power over an ironmonger. The Bynd Estate was big, and needed a good deal of iron-work, and many farm implements every year. The Bynd account was well worth having. If this man would not see reason, he might find his account closed. However, as it chanced, the ironmonger was away, and could not be back for two days; her schemes for the ironmonger to withdraw his advertisements would have to wait. There remained the corn and forage merchants; she would see them.

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