“You mustn’t stand here talking, Mr. Christian,” said Bram. “You are not so used to strong breezes as me.”
“Well, good-night; I won’t take you any further. You live somewhere about here, I know. But, I say.” He called after Bram, who was turning back. “There’s one thing I want to tell you. Don’t say anything to the guv’nor about meeting me at the farm.”
Bram stared blankly, and Christian laughed.
“My dear fellow, don’t you know that these matters require to be conducted with a little diplomacy? When a man is dependent upon his father, as he always is if he’s a lazy beggar like me, that father has to be humored a little. I must prepare him gradually for the shock, if I’m ever to marry Claire.”
“All right, Mr. Christian. I’ll say nothing, of course. But I shall be glad to hear that matters are straight. It seems hard on the young lady, doesn’t it?”
“Ah, well, life isn’t all beer and skittles for any of us.”
Christian called out these words, turning his head as he walked rapidly away on the road to Holme Park.
Bram had made such astonishing progress in the office since his promotion, not much more than a year before, that nobody but himself was astonished when he was called into the private office of the elder Mr. Cornthwaite, about a fortnight after his talk with Christian, and was formally invited by that gentleman to dine at Holme Park in the course of the following week. Bram’s first impulse was to apologize for declining the invitation, but Mr. Cornthwaite insisted, and with such an air of authority that Bram felt there was no escape for him.
But, meeting Christian later in the day, Bram related the incident rather as if it were a grievance.