“She is the daughter of Rochdale of Feldenhall,” replied Carlyon.
The blue eyes started at him. “What! He who shot himself, and left his widow and family destitute?”
Carlyon bowed.
“Well!” Bedlington said, puffing out his lips. “If that is so, of course I perceive why he should not have cared to tell me! I do not like the match. I must have done my possible to have prevented it. This is marvelous indeed! And it was you who contrived the wedding? I do not know what to say! She told me all was left to her!”
Carlyon bowed again.
“Wonderful!” Bedlington said, shaking his head. “You are a strange man, Carlyon! There is no getting to the bottom of you!”
“You flatter me, sir. If you could but bring yourself to believe that I have never wanted to inherit Highnoons you would not find me at all unfathomable.”
“Well, Carlyon, I must own that I have wronged you!” Bedlington said, sighing. “But this tragedy has so overset me I do not know what I say!”
“It is very natural,” said Carlyon. “I dare say you will wish to be alone. Let me take you up to the rooms I have had prepared for you! Dinner will be served in an hour.”
“You are very good. I own I shall be glad of a period of quiet reflection,” said Bedlington, rising with a groan and tottering in his host’s wake to the door.