“Why not?”
Mr. Paull looked at him curiously.
“Never mind. Tell me all—everything.”
It seemed that when Daisy Paull was staying at Mrs. Danvers’ house for a week, there had been also staying there a newly-ordained young clergyman, Herbert Pym, third son of Mr. Pym, the reputed millionaire. At the end of the week he had offered himself to Daisy.
“He is a nice young fellow,” added Mr. Paull. “Frank, no nonsense about him. He has expectations: will share equally with his eldest brother. He told me that his brother Roderick (the Captain Pym you mentioned) is to inherit nothing from his father, having been adopted by his uncle, Sir Roderick, who will leave him his whole fortune.”
“That is, to put it mildly, a mistake,” said Hugh. “You know that I stayed at the Pinewood, Sir Roderick’s place in Surrey, for a couple of days. Captain Pym is a favourite nephew, but is not an adopted son. Sir Roderick is wrapped up in his daughter.”
“His daughter? Now, Hugh, what is the mystery about that daughter? Is she an idiot? Don’t get angry! I have heard such queer tales.”
“Why did you listen to them?” said Hugh, disdainfully. “I thought you were above listening to gossip.”
“I was compelled, in Daisy’s interests, to investigate the matter,” said Mr. Paull, with a dignity which recalled Hugh to a sense of propriety his anxiety was tempting him to forget. “Mrs. Danvers hinted to me that, although Herbert was the nicest young man she knew, the family were eccentric. She had heard all sorts of things about them—untrue, doubtless; still, there seldom was so much smoke without some fire. Mr. Bullock, the banker, knew how much or how little there was in the stories. Now, Bullock being my banker, I called upon him.”
“Bullock,” said Hugh, thoughtfully. “He always seemed an honest, matter-of-fact sort of man. What did he say?”