“Good-morning, my dear,” he said to Vane. “Constance”—to his wife—“I have received a most extraordinary surprise. Read that”—holding out a letter.
With ill-concealed impatience Mrs. Crosbie took the letter he held toward her.
“What sort of a surprise, dad?” asked Stuart, putting his hand for an instant into his father’s.
“Your mother will tell you,” answered the squire.
“From Douglas Gerant!” exclaimed Mrs. Crosbie, gazing at the end of the letter. “This is a surprise indeed! Why, Sholto, he is in England—has been for the last month—and wants to come to us for a visit!”
“By Jove!” was Stuart’s only utterance.
“It seemed like a letter from the dead,” said the squire, dreamily. “What years since one has heard or seen anything of Douglas Gerant! It must be fifteen, at least, since he left England.”
Mrs. Crosbie folded up the letter.
“He is not changed,” she observed—“at least, his letter is as strange and erratic as of old. Vane, you have heard your mother speak of Douglas Gerant, have you not?”
Miss Charteris puckered her brow.