Neal went to the door, and opened it. Lord Dunseveric stood outside, the reins of his horse’s bridle thrown over his arm, his riding whip in his hand.
“I suppose your father is within, Neal. I want to speak to him. Will you ask him if I may enter?”
“He bid me say that you were welcome,” said Neal.
Lord Dunseveric stared at him in surprise. “How did he know who was at the door? But it does not matter. Show me where to tie my horse, Neal, and I will enter.”
Neal led the way into the room where his father and his uncle sat. Lord Dunseveric bowed to Micah Ward, and then, with a glance at Donald, said—
“The matter on which I wish to speak to you, sir, is somewhat private. Is it your wish that this gentleman be present?”
“It is my brother, Donald Ward,” said Micah. “He knows my mind. I have no secrets from him.”
Lord Dunseveric bowed again, and said, with a slight smile—
“It is possible that Mr. Donald Ward may find some of your secrets rather embarrassing to keep.”
“I can take care of myself, master,” said Donald, “or, maybe, I ought to say, my lord. But your lordships and dukeships, and countships and kingships stick somewhat in my throat. I come from America, where we hold one man the equal of another.”