“Ah,” he continued, after a pause, “you may look as stern as you please; you know I’m telling the truth, and I shall do everything I can to upset your plans.”
He nodded, and sat sipping his wine.
“A scamp!” he said. “But one might have expected some good in him, perhaps, such as tempted him to send the old man money, but an utter, reckless scoundrel at heart. I loathe him, and he must not be allowed to marry our poor little girl. It would be too cruel.”
There was another sip or two of wine taken, as the old man gazed thoughtfully before him.
“No; he has not gone with Saul Harrington, but on some expedition of his own. Well, I can do nothing in that direction—I wish I could; but the money is his, and he has a right to spend it as he pleases. A pity, though—a pity. Eh?”
“Coffee, sir.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon, Denton. Yes; thank you.”
The old man helped himself to sugar and milk, before taking the cup from the tray, when he found the housekeeper’s eyes fixed upon him pleadingly.
“Yes, Denton; you wanted to say something.”
“Oh, yes, sir—so much. You knew master so well and he trusted in you.”