“And they’d summon you, and dad would be annoyed, and there’d be no end of bother. Now, Eusty, be a good boy, won’t you, and—” But she had no time for further remonstrance, for the two men had by this time reached the arbour, and stood looking sheepish and awkward, as if each expected the other to begin.
“Ah! good day, Johnston. Anything I can do for you? But—who’s your friend?” said Eustace with a careless nod.
“I ask yer pardon, sir, and the young leddy’s, for intruding, but I thought ye might a’ heard from Mr Roland. And ye said if ye did ye’d kindly let me know.” This was a fact. Eustace, intending to “draw” the Scot, had promised him that much.
“Yes?”
“And—have ye, sir?”
“Yes.”
And Eustace, taking out his pouch, proceeded with the utmost coolness to refill and light his pipe.
“And, if I might make so bold, sir, what does he say?” asked the man anxiously.
“Well, to be candid with you, Johnston, I think you’ll get no change out of him at all. He won’t even listen to your idea.”
“Begging your pardon, sir,” said the stranger, in response to an appealing look from his companion—“begging your pardon, sir, but wouldn’t it be much better that Mr Dorrien should come to some understanding with my friend, here, instead of compelling him to go to law? Now, wouldn’t it?”