Dalrymple did not look offended; it was not his way to take offence easily.
"I hope I am come for no bad purpose, at all events," he rejoined lightly. "After eight years' absence, it is not so very astonishing that I should turn up again for a couple of nights. You can tell Mr. Fitzalan of my sudden appearance, and say that I would have called if anybody had been indoors. By-the-bye, I have not asked yet after Miss Fitzalan."
"Miss Marjory be as usual, sir. She don't never complain."
"And Mr. Harry?"
Sutton's face lighted up proudly.
"Mr. Harry do be growed a fine young gentleman, sir—as fine a young gentleman as ever I see. And they do say he be mighty thought of at the 'Varsity, he be that clever. And as fine a young gentleman! To see him a horseback now!"
The sight of Harry Fitzalan on horseback plainly went beyond old Sutton's descriptive powers. He nodded his head, and was mute.
"Good day. We shall meet again," Dalrymple said, with a friendly nod.
Sutton remained motionless, staring blankly after the retreating figure.
"Young Mr. Dalrymple, his very own self. And I to be talking of he to he, and never a thought in my head as he'd come back. And all them years in furrin parts. Well, well, he ain't too early nor he ain't too late neither. For the old squire he be living, and Miss Herminy she ain't married. And I shouldn't wonder—no, I shouldn't." Sutton shook his scant grey locks, leaving the sentence incomplete.