“There are other of your neighbours,” Henry Ballaston surmised, with marked aloofness, “who can tell you much more of the affair. So far as I am concerned, it remains only an unpleasant memory.—We hope very much—my brother and I—Mr. Johnson, that you will give us the pleasure of your company at luncheon at the Hall.”
“You are very kind, I am sure.”
“If agreeable to you, and if you will pardon the short notice, we will say to-morrow at one o’clock,” the visitor suggested, rising. “My nephew is at home for a short time before proceeding abroad. Otherwise we shall be alone.—Once more, Mr. Johnson, I bid you welcome and trust that you will derive all the pleasure you anticipate from your residence here.”
The tenant of the Great House, a little speechless, escorted his visitor to the front entrance before which the carriage was waiting. At their approach a footman threw open the door of the brougham, the coachman sat up in his seat, the horses, fretted from the flies, pawed the gravel. Henry Ballaston, with a formal bow of farewell, took his seat and, with the sun glittering upon the silver of the harness and the brightly polished, shiny top of the brougham, this visit of ceremony was brought to an end.
Back through the village street, with eyes looking this time neither to the right nor to the left, through the lodge gates, where his hand sought the brim of his hat in mechanical salute to the curtseying doorkeeper, along the winding avenue, and through the iron gates up to the great front of the Hall, Henry Ballaston passed on his return journey and finally reached his destination. He entered the cool, lofty hall, handed his hat and gloves to the footman who was waiting, and hesitated for a moment. The door of the library was unexpectedly opened. Sir Bertram strolled out as though by accident.
“Well, my dutiful brother?” he asked, his tone, though apparently careless, betraying an underlying anxiety.
Henry waited until he had reached his brother’s side.
“The man appears to be perfectly harmless,” he confided. “He will take lunch with us to-morrow.”
“Good!” Sir Bertram approved. “I shall go and change now. I am going to have a few sets of tennis with Gregory.”
Henry Ballaston crossed the hall and, passing through the library, entered the smaller room which had been devoted to his use. Gregory in flannels and with a tennis racket under his arm, was apparently engaged in examining one of the catalogues. He turned around as his uncle entered.