“You met him there, then?” said a fresh voice, and a handsome, dark young fellow, who had been leaning back in an easy chair in the dim drawing-room, sat up quickly, playing with his little black moustache.
“Oh, yes! I used to dine with Colonel Capel when we had business to transact.”
“But, here you say he led the life of a miser!” continued the young man, crossing his legs, and examining the toe of his patent leather boot.
“I beg your pardon, Mr Gerard Artis, I did not say that. Your great uncle was no miser. He spent money freely, sometimes, in charities. Yes,” he continued, turning to where two ladies were seated. “Colonel Capel was often very charitable.”
“I never saw his name in any charitable list,” said the darker of the two ladies, speaking in a sweet, silvery voice; and her beautiful regular features seemed to attract both the previous speakers.
“No, Miss D’Enghien, I suppose not,” said the old man, nodding his head and rising to begin walking up and down, snuff-box in hand. “Neither did I. But he was very charitable in his own particular way, and he was very kind.”
“Yes,” said the young man who had first spoken; “very kind. I have him to thank for my school and college education.”
“Well—yes,” said the old lawyer; “I suppose it is no breach of confidence to say that it is so.”
“And I have to thank him for mine, and the pleasant life I have led, Mr Girtle, have I not?” said the second of the ladies; and, but for the gloom, the flush that came into her sweet face would have been plainly visible.
At that moment the footman entered with a letter upon a massive salver, and as he walked straight to the old lawyer, he cast quick, furtive glances at the other occupants of the room.