“Mr. Edward!” pronounced Greenlaw awfully. “That is, my Lord Carlyon!”
“Yes?”
The doctor stared down at him with a fulminating eye. “Nothing!” he said, and went back to his patient.
Carlyon was met at the foot of the stairs by the landlord, who came out of the coffee room to intercept him. “My lord, the lady would not partake of any refreshment,” he said. “And Parson took a fancy to a drop of Hollands, as is his custom.”
“Very well. Have you a pen, ink, and some paper?”
The landlord admitted, with a puzzled frown, that he had these commodities. His brow cleared suddenly. “To be sure! Mr. Eustace will be wishful to make his will!” he discovered. “But it queers me a trifle to know—well, my lord—the lady!”
“The lady is betrothed to Mr. Eustace.”
Hitchin’s eyes started at him. “Betrothed to Mr. Eustace!” he gasped. “And her so pleasant-spoken and genteel!”
“And Mr. Eustace,” pursued Carlyon, ignoring this involuntary outburst, “is desirous of marrying her, so that she may be provided for after his death.”
The landlord appeared to have difficulty in controlling his voice. He succeeded in enunciating,