“And is he about to visit England?” asked Massingbred, in the same easy tone.
“So they say,” replied Scanlan, with an effort at the easy indifference of the other.
“On leave, perhaps?” said Jack, indolently.
“That 's more than I know,” replied he, and relapsed into a thoughtful silence, during which Massingbred continued to scan his features with a sly, downcast glance peculiar to himself.
“You've never been in Leicestershire, Mr. Scanlan?” said he, when he had fully satisfied himself with his examination. “Well, then, come over there in the spring—say about March next—and pay me a visit. I 've got a sort of hunting-box there, with a neat stable, and by that time I hope to raise funds for a couple of nags.”
“Trust me for the horseflesh, sir. I know where to mount you this very minute. You 're not much above eleven stone?”
“Eleven-eight,—at least, so I used to be. Is it a bargain? Will you come?”
“There's my hand on't,” said the attorney, overjoyed at the prospect.
“Mackworth, and Lord Harry Coverdale, and Sir Went-worth Danby, and a few more, are all my neighbors. Capital fellows, whom you 'll be delighted with. Just the sort of men to suit you,—up to everything that means sport.”
“Exactly what I like!” cried Maurice, in ecstasy.