“Certainly; thankfully. You’re a good fellow, after all, Thornton. Hale liked you. He spoke to me, only the other day, at Oxford. He regretted he had seen so little of you lately. I am obliged to you for wishing to show him respect.”
“But about Frederick. Does he never come to England?”
“Never.”
“He was not over here about the time of Mrs. Hale’s death?”
“No. Why, I was here then. I hadn’t seen Hale for years and years: and, if you remember, I came—No, it was some time after that that I came. But poor Frederick Hale was not here then. What made you think he was?”
“I saw a young man walking with Miss Hale one day,” replied Mr. Thornton, “and I think it was about that time.”
“Oh, that would be this young Lennox, the Captain’s brother. He’s a lawyer, and they were in pretty constant correspondence with him; and I remember Mr. Hale told me he thought he would come down. Do you know,” said Mr. Bell, wheeling round, and shutting one eye, the better to bring the forces of the other to bear with keen scrutiny on Mr. Thornton’s face, “that I once fancied you had a little tenderness for Margaret?”
No answer. No change of countenance.
“And so did poor Hale. Not at first, and not till I had put it into his head.”
“I admired Miss Hale. Every one must do so. She is a beautiful creature,” said Mr. Thornton, driven to bay by Mr. Bell’s pertinacious questioning.