“Thanks, no; much obliged. What made you come here? You don’t think he’s likely to know?”
“Yes, I do,” said Wilton, in a low voice. “I believe young Harry’s carried her off, and that he’s backing him up. You must come in with me: we must work together.”
“Mr Garstang will see you, gentlemen,” said the old clerk, entering.
“Gentlemen!” muttered Claud angrily, to his father.
“Yes, don’t leave me in the lurch, my boy,” whispered Wilton; and Claud noted a tremor in his father’s voice, and saw that he looked nervous and troubled.
Wilton made way for his son to pass in first, the young man drew back for his father, and matters were compromised by their entering together, Garstang, who looked perfectly calm, rising to motion them to seats, which they took; and then there was silence for a few moments, during which Claud sat tapping his teeth with the ivory handle of the stick he carried, keeping his eyes fixed the while upon his father, who seemed in doubt how to begin.
“May I ask why I am favoured with this visit, gentlemen?” said Garstang, at last.
This started Wilton, who coughed, pulled himself together, and looking the speaker fully in the face, said sharply,
“We came, Mr John Garstang, because we supposed that we should be expected.”
“Expected?” said Garstang, turning a little more round from his table, and passing one shapely leg over the other, so that he could grasp his ankle with both hands. “Well, I will be frank with you, James Wilton; there were moments when I did think it possible that you might come; I will not say to apologise, but to consult with me about that poor girl’s future. How is she?”