Aymer shrugged his shoulders and walked back into the hall, and almost as he did so, his father heard him cry out, "What, Guy! Is this you, old fellow? I hardly thought you could be here yet."
Sir Aymer looked in. His sons were shaking hands hurriedly, and he could not distinguish that any more words passed between them.
But, in fact, the elder was whispering rapidly, "Guy, for pity's sake, don't contradict him whatever he says, don't refuse bluntly."
Guy passed on to the terrace, and found himself face to face with his father, who seized his hand, looked earnestly into his face, and then drew him close and held him fast. He really loved Guy; yet his first words were not gracious.
"So you have obeyed me at last, Guy."
Guy made no answer, and his brother made his appearance on the terrace before Sir Aymer could speak again.
"Here, old boy—let's have a look at you," he said, with his cheery, careless smile. "What has ten years of wandering done for you? Not much—you look older than you ought, and yet you are not much changed."
"You don't look a day older than when we parted," answered Guy, "and neither does my father."
"Go in, Aymer; I told you I wished to speak to Guy alone," said Sir Aymer, imperiously.
And his son obeyed, with a furtive but expressive glance of caution at his brother.