“Your cordial, sir.”
“I don’t want the stuff!”
“Very well, sir. I’ll take my leave, then.”
“Damned, managing fellow!” snapped Sir Peter. “Sit down!”
John put the glass into his groping hand, and guided it to his mouth. Sir Peter drank a little, and was silent for a few moments. Then he said, in a stronger voice: “Do as you’re bid! I’m not so feeble I have to be spoon-fed!”
John obeyed him, drawing up the chair lately occupied by Nell, but he did not say anything. Sir Peter slowly drank the cordial. He made no demur when the empty glass was gently removed from his clasp; he appeared to be lost in thought, his eyes staring straight before him. Presently he turned them towards John, and said: “They think they can hoax me, but they can’t. All of them!—treating me as if I were a child, or an imbecile! I can’t get the truth from one of them—not even from Winkfield, though he’s served me for thirty years! Bacup is as bad! Thinks it would send me to roost if I knew what was going on in my house, I don’t doubt! Bottleheaded old woman! They’ve all gone, the men I knew and could trust. Birkin was the last of them, and he slipped his wind two years ago. It’s a bad thing to outlive your generation, my boy.”
“Will you tell me what’s in your mind, sir? If I know the answer to whatever it is you wish to be told, I’ll give it you.”
“I believe you will: you haven’t a cozening face. You’re a gentleman, too. I haven’t seen one for months—barring old Thorne, and he’s a parson, and not a man of my kidney. But you may believe I know when I’m being gulled, so don’t play off any cajolery! What brought my grandson and that Greeking fellow to Kellands?”
John met the searching eyes squarely. “I can’t answer you, sir, for I don’t know.”
“Henry didn’t come here out of affection for me, nor Coate to ruralize!”