“Perhaps. Some crotchety old men make very singular wills. I wonder how it happened that he had no business friend in whom he could confide?—why he must choose a stranger, and entrust to that stranger such a large sum? I wish I knew what the girl’s name is, and what she is like, and what possible position she may occupy? For if you receive the trust, I presume I shall have the felicity of playing the part of chaperon.”
“It is perfectly useless discussing the matter until we know something more certain,” Captain Desfrayne said, his irritation again displaying itself unaccountably.
“One cannot help surmising, my dearest Paul. Perhaps the girl is a nursemaid, or a milliner’s apprentice, and misuses her aspirates, and is a budding Malaprop,” Mrs. Desfrayne persisted. “However, we shall see. Go with me this evening to the opera, if you have nothing better to do. Lady Quaintree has lent me her box.”
As she was folding her opera-cloak about her youthful-looking person the good lady said to herself:
“There is some mystery here; but of what kind? Paul is not quite his own frank self. What has happened? He has kept something from me. I could not help fancying something occurred during his absence in Venice three years ago. I wonder if he knows more about this girl, the fortunate legatee of the eccentric old iron-founder, than he chooses to acknowledge? But he must have some most powerful reason to induce him to hide anything from me; and he said twice most distinctly that he had never seen her and did not know her name. I do not believe Paul could be guilty of deceit.”
CHAPTER II.
CAPTAIN DESFRAYNE’S PERPLEXITY.
The midday sun made an abortive effort to struggle down between the tall rows of houses on either side of busy, hurrying Alderman’s Lane, glinting here and glancing there, showering royal largesse.
The big building devoted to the offices of Messrs. Salmon, Joyner & Joyner was lying completely bathed in the golden radiance; for it occupied the corner, where the opening of a street running transverse allowed the glorious beams to descend unimpeded.
A great barracklike edifice, more like a bank than a lawyer’s city abode. A wide flight of steps led up to a handsome swing door, on which a brightly burnished plate blazoned forth the name of the firm. This opened upon an oblong hall, in which were posted two doleful-looking boys, each immured in a kind of walled-off cell; a spacious staircase ran from this hall to a succession of small, cell-like apartments, all furnished in as frugal a manner as was compatible with use; a long table, covered with piles of papers of various descriptions; three or four hard chairs; a bookcase crammed with tall books bound in vellum, and morose-looking tin deed-boxes labeled with names.