"He will come, sir, I think."
"Out of place makes a difference," remarked the banker; "we shall see. And now, what can I do for you, James?"
"Oh! nothing, nothing," he said hastily; "I ask no favours for myself—I'm doing well, thank you—very well indeed! Where's my stick and hat? I—I think I'll bid you good morning now, Geoffry."
"I shall see you again, I daresay—I can always send a message to you by your son, who will be here to-morrow, perhaps. Good-bye, old fellow—Maurice, see to your uncle."
Maurice Hinchford, noticing the feeble steps of the new relation, offered his arm, which was declined by a hasty shake of the head.
"I'm strong enough, sir—but the meeting has upset me just a little. Geoffry," turning back to address his brother, "we won't say anything more about that old affair—I think you meant well, after all."
"I hope I did. Good day."
"Good day, brother."
Maurice closed the door behind his uncle.
"He's getting quite the old man," said Mr. Hinchford to his nephew; "he had an iron nerve once. He seems very feeble to me—does he enjoy good health?"