"What is he doing in London?" Mrs. Wyndham inquired.
"He is merely stopping here a few days, with relations of his wife's, on his way home from Devonshire. His mother still lives, and he has been to see her. I did not know he had a wife until to-day, but it appears he has been married sixteen years and has an only child, a girl, of whom he spoke very affectionately. I told him that, in one way, I am richer than he," Mr. Wyndham concluded with a smile.
"In what way, Clement?" asked his wife wonderingly.
"I have three daughters and two sons, my dear, and he has only that one girl."
The children laughed, whilst their mother smiled and looked pleased.
"Not but that he seemed very satisfied with his single chick," Mr. Wyndham proceeded; "one could tell that she is as the apple of his eye. You cannot imagine what a pleasure it was to me to renew my acquaintance with my old friend; he regrets, as I do, that we failed to keep in touch with each other after he left town, and he expressed a desire to see you, my dear Mary—" Mr. Wyndham smiled at his wife— "and our little flock."
"You did not suggest his coming here, I suppose?" Mrs. Wyndham said quickly.
"Yes, I did," Mr. Wyndham admitted; "I invited him to spend Sunday with us. It won't matter, will it? You needn't make any difference for Andrew Reed."
"But, Clement, we always have cold dinners on Sundays, and I expect your friend is accustomed to have everything very nice," expostulated Mrs. Wyndham, glancing expressively around the room.
"I daresay he is, nowadays," Mr. Wyndham answered, "but you must remember he was not born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth. He is a thorough man of the world, in the best sense of the term, and I should like you all to know him. I couldn't well ask such an old friend as he is to dine with me at an hotel or a restaurant when I've a home in London to invite him to."