Mr. Bragg rubbed his chin slowly with his hand, and answered with a certain embarrassment, but quite straightforwardly, "It's a matter private to me."
After this Jo Weatherhead had nothing for it but to take his departure, and to endeavour to calm the fever of his curiosity with tobacco.
Mrs. Dobbs remained alone with her visitor, wondering more and more what could be the subject of his proposed communication. Her thoughts, in connection with Mr. Bragg, persistently hovered about the house in Friar's Row. But his first words scattered them in widespread confusion.
"Your grand-daughter, Miss Cheffington, tells me that she is not going to Glengowrie Castle this autumn, Mrs. Dobbs."
"Why—no—I believe not," answered Mrs. Dobbs, looking at him curiously.
"In that case I don't think I shall go there myself. I'm no sportsman. I always feel lonely in a house full of strangers. And, besides—I was invited partic'larly to meet Miss Cheffington."
Mrs. Dobbs preserved her outward composure; but something seemed to whirl and spin in her brain; and, although she kept her eyes fixed on Mr. Bragg, she saw neither him nor anything else in the room for several seconds.
"I was asked through Mrs. Griffin. You may have heard speak of her?"
Mrs. Dobbs made an affirmative movement of the head. She could not have articulated a word at that moment to save her life.
"Mrs. Griffin is a well-meaning lady. But she's a lady who now and then gets out of her depth, along of not—what you might call minding her own business. But she always means to be kind. And the best of us make mistakes."