Fred looked annoyed.
“I am sorry the old lady heard it. We must talk over the best way to shut that madman's mouth. Well, I shall go and get the business over at once. I will come in to Hans Place after I leave him, and let you know the result.”
It was not with very comfortable feelings that Fred Bingham knocked at Captain Bradshaw's door, for he felt that it was by no means improbable that orders might have been given that he was not to be admitted. The footman, however, opened the door and admitted him as usual.
“How are you, James? My uncle in?”
“Yes, sir, he's in; but he's not well—something wrong, sir,” he added, with the privileged loquacity of an old domestic.
“Oh, indeed!” Fred said, carelessly. “And Miss Heathcote, is she in?”
“She is in, but you won't see her, sir; she's poorly too—kept her room all yesterday and to-day. Master is in his study, sir.”
Fred Bingham braced himself up for a scene as he followed the footman to the study. The servant opened the door, and announced “Mr. Bingham.” Fred entered.
Captain Bradshaw appeared to have been dozing in his easy chair. He looked up, and to Fred's astonishment, instead of saluting him with a torrent of invective, he merely said,—
“Why, Fred, you are soon back again in town. Tired of your honeymoon already?”