“My regenerating influence!” said Gervase flippantly.
“I should be happy to think so.”
“But you don’t?”
“No,” Theo said. “I don’t!”
“Nevertheless, Theo, you will oblige me by going to Evesleigh tomorrow, as you have planned to do.”
“Very well. But I wish this business of Ulverston’s had not been disclosed!” Theo said.
The breakfast-party on the following morning was attended, inevitably, by a certain measure of constraint. It was the first time Martin and the Viscount had met since their encounter at Whissenhurst, and even Mr. Clowne seemed to be conscious of the tension. His nervous platitudes filled the gap between the exchange of cool greetings between these two and the entrance of the Earl, who made his appearance in a coat of such exquisite cut that the Viscount exclaimed at it, demanding to be told the name of the tailor who had made it. “Not Scott!” he said.
“No, Weston,” responded the Earl. “Martin, what’s this I hear of kestrels in the West Wood?”
He could have said nothing that would have made Martin more certainly forget, for the moment, his injuries. The dark eyes lit; Martin replied: “So Pleasley says! He swears there is a pair, and believes they may be nesting in one of the old magpies’ nests. I know the place.”
“Too early in the year, isn’t it?” asked the Viscount.