“Certainly. Who doubts it?”
“We will not discuss that matter now, sir. Recollect we live in days when impositions are practised.”
“Oh, I see. Of course. Quite right, my dear sir. As my grandfather’s executor, you are bound to be careful. Pray go on.”
“Mrs Hampton,” faltered Gertrude.
“Hush, my child; be calm,” whispered the old lady.
“Then, perhaps, sir, you will give me some proof that you are the gentleman you say.”
“Proofs? Are any needed?” said the young man laughingly, as if it was absurd that his word should be doubted. “Oh, well, then, first and foremost here I am, George Harrington, my father’s son, happily in the flesh, though I have had a very narrow escape from death.”
“Very good, sir; now some other proof. Gertrude, my child, had you not better retire?”
“No, Mr Hampton,” said Gertrude firmly.
“That’s quite right,” said the young man, giving her a keen, earnest look, so full of pleased admiration that Gertrude trembled, and her eyes fell. There was something so new in that look. “If any one ought to stay here, Miss Bellwood, it should be you. Well, Mr Hampton, you want proofs?”