XVI
At two o’clock, just after Thorpe had breakfasted, Mr. Randolph’s card was brought to him, and he went at once into the general sitting-room. No one but Mr. Randolph occupied it at the moment. He was sitting listlessly on the edge of a chair, staring out of the window. Commonly the triggest of men, his face to-day was unshaven, and he looked as if he had not been out of his clothes for forty-eight hours. And he looked as if he had been picked up in the arms of Time, and flung across the unseen gulf into the greyness and feebleness of age.
As he rose mechanically, Thorpe took his hand in a strong clasp, forgetting himself for the moment.
Mr. Randolph did not return the pressure. He withdrew his hand hurriedly, and sat down.
“An explanation is due you,” he said, and even his voice was changed. “You have stumbled upon an unhappy family secret.”
Thorpe explained how he had come to enter the house.
“I supposed that it was something of the sort, or rather Cochrane did; he found the window and lower door open. It was a kind and friendly act. I appreciate the motive.” He paused a moment, then went on, “As I said just now, an explanation is due you, if explanation is necessary. As you know, I had recognised that as Nina’s right—to speak when she saw fit. That is the reason I did not explain the other day—I usually manage to have her in the country at such times,” he added, irrelevantly.
“Such attacks are always more or less unexpected, I suppose.” Thorpe hardly knew what to say.