CHAPTER XXXIV. SIR WITHIN’S GUESTS
A short, somewhat plump, dark-eyed young man, with a low but wide forehead, and a well-formed but rather thick-lipped mouth, lay in his dressing-gown on the sofa smoking, and at intervals conversing with a smart-looking valet. These were Mr. Adolphus Ladarelle, and his man Fisk. The time—a little past midnight; the place—a bedroom in Dalradern Castle.
“The governor gone to bed yet, Fisk?”
“No, Sir; he’s still talking with the old gent. They seemed to have had high words of it awhile ago, but they’ve got quiet again.”
“The governor came down expressly for that! He likes a bit of a breeze, too, and I believe it does him good.”
“Well, indeed I think you’re right, Sir! I never seed him in such health as after that trial where Mr. Hythe, the cashier, was sentenced to fourteen years. It was just like putting so much to the master’s own life.”
Whether the prospect of such longevity was so agreeable to the young gentleman, I cannot say, but he winced a little under the remark, and said, half moodily: “This old cove here ought to be thinking of that same journey. It’s slow work waiting for the death of a man, after he passes seventy-four or five. The assurance offices know that much.”
“It’s to be all yours, Master Dolly, ain’t it?” asked the man, in a coaxing sort of tone.
“Every stone of it, and every stick that the old boy doesn’t manage to cut down in the mean while.”