“Naturally, naturally,” interrupted Sir Douglas. “Let us say no more about it. So my cousin Constance is out? Well, I hope she will forgive me for taking her by storm in this way. And where is her boy?”
“Stuart has gone to Chesterham.”
“Hum! And is he a nice fellow? Do you like him?”
Miss Charteris hesitated.
“Yes,” she replied, slowly, “I like Stuart very much. You will see him this evening.”
“Hum!” observed Sir Douglas again; and at that instant the squire’s tall, thin figure appeared, a look of undisguised pleasure on his face.
“My dear Douglas!”
“Sholto, old fellow!”
The two men clasped hands; no words of stronger welcome were spoken, but their eyes looked all they would say; the handgrip testified more plainly than words. What memories filled the mind of each as they stood thus face to face—the traces of the world’s buffets in their worn lineaments—memories of two young forms with hope and vigor shining in their glowing eyes, determination and ambition strong in their hearts.
“Welcome—a thousand times welcome!” said the squire, after a moment’s silence. “I received your letter this morning. We expected you to-morrow.”