“Excellent property that, Sir,” observed Mr. Britain.
He made no answer; but turning round, when he had finished reading, looked at Clemency with the same observant curiosity as before. “You were asking me,” he said, still looking at her—
“What you would please to take, Sir,” answered Clemency, stealing a glance at him in return.
“If you will let me have a draught of ale,” he said, moving to a table by the window, “and will let me have it here, without being any interruption to your meal, I shall be much obliged to you.”
He sat down as he spoke, without any further parley, and looked out at the prospect. He was an easy well-knit figure of a man in the prime of life. His face, much browned by the sun, was shaded by a quantity of dark hair; and he wore a moustache. His beer being set before him, he filled out a glass, and drank, good-humouredly, to the house; adding, as he put the tumbler down again:
“It’s a new house, is it not?”
“Not particularly new, Sir,” replied Mr. Britain.
“Between five and six years old,” said Clemency: speaking very distinctly.
“I think I heard you mention Doctor Jeddler’s name, as I came in,” inquired the stranger. “That bill reminds me of him; for I happen to know something of that story, by hearsay, and through certain connexions of mine.—Is the old man living?”
“Yes, he’s living, Sir,” said Clemency.