“No.”
“Nor heard of him?”
“No; have you?”
“Strange to say, not for a long time. But I have reason to believe that he must be doing well.”
“You surprise me! Why?”
“Because two years ago he sent for his mother. She went to him.”
“Is that all?”
“It is enough; for he would not have sent for her if he could not maintain her.”
Here the Hazeldeans entered, arm-in-arm, and the fat butler announced dinner.
The squire was unusually taciturn, Mrs. Hazeldean thoughtful, Mrs. Dale languid and headachy. The parson, who seldom enjoyed the luxury of converse with a scholar, save when he quarrelled with Dr. Riccaboeca, was animated by Randal’s repute for ability into a great desire for argument.