It was with Lord Crowborough that Sir William walked down to the meadow which he wanted to bring into his garden, while the rest of the party were still busy round the tea-tables. Lord Crowborough was a man of sixty, heavy in bulk and somewhat heavy in demeanour, though with a kindly expression of face and of speech that relieved him of the charge of pomposity. He was disturbed, it appeared, at the coolness that had arisen between him and his old friend and neighbour, Edmund Eldridge, and wanted a word about it alone with Sir William. "Such old friends!" was the burden of his regrets. And he enlarged on it: "Surely such old friends ought to be able to speak freely to one another—even lose their tempers; we both did that, but surely—"
Sir William was more silent under the complaints than would have seemed to be natural to him. "It was the charge of swindling," he said rather shortly.
"Oh, I know," said Lord Crowborough. "After all your kindness, one doesn't want—"
"Never mind about that," Sir William interrupted him almost peremptorily. There was a hint in his manner that spoke of another man than the one who grew his flowers and welcomed his friends at Hayslope Grange. Lord Crowborough, some years older, and of greater apparent importance, seemed to bow to it. "I know it was never to be mentioned," he said, apologetically. "Very well. But really, you know, William—! Well, the poor fellow's dead; but he was an out and out wrong 'un. I did do my best to hush it all up. Edmund must know that. If it had come out he'd have been kicked out of the regiment. I should think he must know that, too, if he thinks straight about it at all."
"Perhaps he doesn't think quite straight about it, poor old chap! You can hardly blame him. As far as I'm concerned I'm going to do all I can to encourage him to think that Hugo was just sowing his wild oats, and that he'd have settled down to be a credit to his name. I'm afraid it isn't true, but surely it's a good thing if Edmund can think so."
"Oh, yes, I quite agree. Poor old fellow! I'll ask him to dine. I remember him quite well as a little fellow—you too, of course. I believe I was even a sort of hero of his when I was a big boy and he was a little one."
Sir William laughed. "Of course you were," he said. "I think that's the line to go on, you know. Old times, and all that. At least, I shouldn't mention the affair again, if I were you. Treat him with—well, affection. I know you feel that for him. The row will pass over. He's sore all round. He's sore about Hugo. He's a little sore about my stepping into the position of heir to him—though, goodness knows, I've no wish to change places with him in any way."
"No, you've made yourself a bigger man than he is."
"Well, that's as may be. Anyhow, I'm in a different line altogether. He's nothing to be sore about there; and we stick together. I can help him in lots of ways, if he'll let me."
"He's stiff about things; he's got stiffer as he's got older."