“I will go, if you like.”
“At three o’clock, then. Oh! by the way, don’t be surprised if you see a young gentleman fishing here to-morrow.”
Angela reflected to herself that she had never yet seen a young gentleman to speak to in her life, and then asked, with undisguised interest, who he was.
“Well, he is a sort of connection of your own, through the Prestons, who are cousins of ours, if any of them are left. His mother was a Preston, and his name is Arthur Preston Heigham. George told me something about him just now, and, on thinking it over, I remember the whole story. He is an orphan, and George’s ward.”
“What is he like?” asked Angela, ingenuously.
“Really I don’t know; rather tall, I think—a gentlemanly fellow. It really is a relief to speak to a gentleman again. There has been a nice disturbance at Isleworth,” and then he told his daughter the history of the great dog fight.
“I should think Mr. Heigham was perfectly in the right, and I should like to see his dog,” was her comment on the occurrence.
As Arthur dressed himself for dinner that evening he came to the conclusion that he disliked his host more than any man he ever saw, and, to say the truth, he descended into the dining-room with considerable misgivings. Just as he entered, the opposite door opened, and Sir John Bellamy was announced. On seeing him, George emerged from the sulky silence into which he was plunged, and advanced to meet him.
“Hullo, Bellamy! I must congratulate you upon your accession to rank.”
“Thank you, Caresfoot, thank you,” replied Mr. Bellamy, who, with the exception that he had grown a size larger, and boasted a bald patch on the top of his head that gave him something of the appearance of a jolly little monk, looked very much the same as when we last saw him as a newly married man.