“Here, stop a bit, sir. This is The Mynns. I came and stayed here once.”
“Ah!” said the lawyer slowly; “then you recollect all about the place?”
“No,” said the young man thoughtfully, “I was such a little kidling. No; I don’t recollect anything. I don’t know, though; have you any portrait of the old man? I might remember him.”
“Was that anything like him?” said the lawyer, pointing to an oil painting of Gertrude’s father, which was over the mantelpiece.
“No; not a bit,” said the young man shortly. “Not a bit.”
Gertrude’s spirits rose a little, as in secret she began to wish that their visitor’s words were true, though she did not doubt it herself.
“Shall we walk into the dining-room?” said the lawyer; “there are several portraits there.”
“By all means. I want to clear my character, ladies. Rather hard on a man to be taken for a trickster and a cheat.”
“No one accuses you, sir, of being either,” said the old lawyer gravely. “I am one of the executors of Mr Harrington’s will, and I have a duty, greater than you realise, to perform.”
He led the way to the dining-room, where their visitor immediately fixed his eyes on the portrait of the late owner of The Mynns, to the exclusion of three other portraits on the walls.