Nearly three-quarters of an hour passed before Mr. Faradeane, glancing at the clock on the mantelshelf, rose, and said:
“I have detained you an unconscionable time, Mr. Vanley; but, indeed, that is more your fault than mine.”
“You have not detained me at all,” responded the squire, in his quiet, direct way. “I am an old man, and am delighted to meet with one so well informed, and, permit me to add, so good a talker as yourself. You must have seen a great deal of life, Mr. Faradeane.”
A grave look seemed to settle for a moment on the handsome face, and the dark eyes grew momentarily sadder, and the squire instantly saw that he had touched a tender spot; but almost immediately the younger man replied, with a smile:
“Yes, more than most men of my years, sir.”
“I am afraid you will find Hawkwood rather dull, and the inhabitants very old fogies; but we must do our best to amuse you. I don’t know whether you care for fishing; if you do, I hope you will flog the river as often as you please. I am afraid to say how long it is since I threw a fly.”
“Thank you,” said Mr. Faradeane. “Yes, I am an angler.”
“And in the autumn I can promise you some fair shooting. The keepers tell me that the birds are looking well. I hope you intend staying with us. We’ve a very good pack of foxhounds, and I know that you ride, for I have heard one of my grooms expatiating on the fine qualities of your horse.”
“Thank you again, sir,” said Mr. Faradeane. “He is a fairish hunter, and a very good companion. Yes, I intend remaining for some time, I hope, in Hawkwood. I have purchased The Dell, as you may have heard.”
“Yes,” assented the squire, almost reddening angrily as he thought of the unwarranted suspicions Mr. Sparrow had given expression to about the newcomer.