“Indeed! They are at home now, poor fellows. They were just too late. I had this note from Jack—that’s the second son—no, the third—this afternoon.”
“I know Jack, too,” said Mr Stanforth, as he took the note. It was a very brief one, merely announcing his father’s death, and adding,—
“My brothers returned from Spain this morning. We hope that the journey has done Cheriton no harm.”
“Ah, poor Cheriton!” said Mr Stanforth. “I fear he must have run a great risk. It will be a terrible blow to him. We formed something more than a travelling acquaintance.”
“Poor Mr Lester was here only a fortnight ago, speaking with delight of Cheriton’s entire recovery,” said Lady Hubbard.
“Yes, he was much better,” said Mr Stanforth, a little doubtfully, “and full of enjoyment. But this will be indeed a startling change.”
“Yes,” said Sir John; “one does not know how to think of Alvar in his father’s shoes. It was a sadly mismanaged business altogether.”
“There is a great deal to like in Alvar Lester,” said Mr Stanforth; “but of course the circumstances are very peculiar.”
“Yes. You see while the elder brother, Robert, was alive, no one thought much of Gerald, and when this Spanish marriage came out, it was a great shock. And he was too ready to listen to all the excuses about the boy’s health. If he had come home and been sent to school in England he might have grown up like the rest, and black eyes instead of blue ones would have been all the difference.”
“I have always thought his long absence inexplicable.”