"I hope I am not going to have a bad quarter of an hour," observed Claude, as he wrote out the telegram. The mystery of the matter ruffled his usual serenity.
"I sincerely trust you are not," replied the other, touching the bell for the waiter; "but I must say I do not like the look of those two epistles."
The telegram was duly dispatched, and after a few more conjectures as to the motive of the communications, Larcher went upstairs to luncheon with his friend. Halfway through the meal he was struck with an idea.
"Margaret Bezel must be old, Tait."
"How do you know?"
"If she knows anything of my parents she must have been their friend or servant, and as they died twenty-five years ago she can be no chicken."
"True enough! But don't go out and meet your troubles halfway, Claude. It will be time enough to worry should Hilliston give you bad news. By the way, I suppose you'll stay with him to-night?"
"No doubt. He has bought a new house in Kensington Gore, and wishes me to have a look at it. I shall be glad to see his wife again. Dear old lady, she has been a second mother to me, and he like a father."
"And I like a brother," interposed Tait, laughing. "As a lonely orphan you have to depend upon public charity for your relatives. But talking about new houses, you must see mine."
"What! Are you a householder?"