When Lord Glengall reached Carrickmoyle, he went straight to Mr. Graydon's room. Mary was sitting by her father, stitching a piece of fine white stuff in the twilight.
"Ah! Glengall," said the invalid briskly. "Have you come in to smoke a last pipe with me? Come and tell me what prices were like at the fair to-day. Run away, Molly child, and rest your eyes, and let Glengall have your seat."
The two men lit up soberly, and smoked away for a while, discussing prices and cattle and crops in a desultory fashion.
At last Lord Glengall knocked out the ashes from his stumpy clay against the top bar of the grate, and stuffed the pipe into his pocket.
"I wanted to talk to you about Pam, Graydon," he said.
"What about Pam?"
"Only that I did the child an injustice in wanting to marry her. I am too old."
"Does Pam say this? Are you speaking for her?"
"Poor little Pam! There were some love-passages, Graydon, between her and your pupil Trevithick."
"I guessed as much, but how far the thing went I have no idea. I don't believe in probing into those things, Glengall. It is better to let them die."