The place and the hour alike seemed to be pointed out for the exchange of tender confidences and happy day-dreams, but for the man, at any rate, the soft emotions had no charm. In the temple where money is enshrined as a god there is no welcome, and, indeed, no room, for love, and Melville Ashley's heart was such a temple. His interview with his uncle was impending, and the best use to which he could put this peaceful interval was to ascertain how Lavender Sinclair's own affairs were progressing.
He broke the silence which had fallen upon them.
"What is happening about Sir Ross Buchanan?"
Mrs. Sinclair threw the last handful of crumbs to the ravenous fish and leaned back with a weary sigh.
"Can't we forget everything horrid today?" she entreated.
"I can't," Melville answered; "besides, the real object of this trip is my visit to Sir Geoffrey, and—well, one thought leads to another, you know. Have you heard from Sir Ross?"
"I told you yesterday I hadn't," she replied; "but didn't we settle all this the other day? It was arranged that I should tell you anything he said when he said it, and in the meantime do nothing at all."
"I know," Melville said; "but a lot can happen in a few days. One thinks, for instance."
"Oh, yes! one thinks!" Mrs. Sinclair assented.
She seemed reluctant to pursue the subject, and Melville thought it might be well to give her a lead. As a general rule he refrained from making direct statements or asking direct questions, for anything straight-forward was foreign to his nature, but in the present instance the objection was lessened by his knowledge of his companion's story.