“The wire’s useful, but not always to be trusted, especially in country places like this. The young lady at the office is generally so curious, having so little to do, Mr. Bartley. I might have written, but I thought from what you said that time was important; so I ran down.”
“Yes, yes, I see you have,” said Bartley Bradstone, with ill-concealed impatience; “and now you’re here you had better stop to dinner——”
Mr. Mowle shook his head.
“No, no, thank you, sir. There is a train in an hour and a half’s time, and I’ve kept the fly——”
Bartley Bradstone frowned.
“There is no occasion for that,” he said, with bombastic pride. “I dare say I can find something to take you back to the station.” He rang the bell. “Pay the flyman and discharge him,” he said to the footman, “and order the dogcart.”
Mr. Mowle, pawing at his lank chin, watched the pompously attired footman with a vapid air, and then allowed his eyes to roam round the extravagant decorations and furniture of the room.
“You’ll have some wine?” said Bartley Bradstone.
“Thank you, sir; thank you, Mr. Bartley; but I’m a teetotaler, if you remember.”
Bartley Bradstone nodded.