Jack consented to the latter course, by turning in the direction of the “Albany” in silence.
He felt that Stephen was playing a part—why or wherefore he could not guess—and now that he had recovered from his surprise at Stephen’s sudden appearance, his old mistrust and dislike were returning to him.
They walked on in silence for some few moments, then Stephen said:
“I wanted to have a few words with you, my dear Jack. I should have written, but I felt that I could make myself understood better by word of mouth.”
Jack nodded.
“Of course, what I have to say concerns my poor uncle’s death and its consequences.”
Jack was silent still. He would not help him in the slightest.
“I cannot but feel that those consequences, while they have been distinctly beneficial to me, have—and to put it plainly, and I wish to speak plainly, my dear Jack—have been unfortunate for you.”
“Well,” said Jack, grimly.
“Well,” said Stephen, softly, “I had hoped, I still hope, that you will allow me the happiness of setting right, to some extent, the wrong—yes, I will say wrong—done you by my uncle’s will.”