He found Mr. Cardus and Dorothy by the fire in the sitting-room. Hard-riding Atterleigh was there too, in his place in the ingle-nook, a riding-whip in his ink-stained hand, with which he was tapping his top-boot. They turned as he entered, except his grandfather, who did not hear him.
“What sport have you had, Jeremy?” asked his sister, with a sad little smile. Her face had grown very sad of late.
“Three ducks,” he answered shortly, advancing his powerful form out of the shadows into the firelight. “I came home just as they were beginning to fly.”
“You found it cold, I suppose?” said Mr. Cardus, absently. They had been talking of Ernest, and he was still thinking of him.
“No, I did not think of the cold. I came home because I had an idea.”
Both his hearers looked up surprised. Ideas were not very common to Jeremy, or if they were he kept them to himself.
“Well, Jeremy?” said Dorothy, inquiringly.
“Well, it is this. I cannot stand it about Ernest any longer, and I am going to look for him. If you won’t give me the money,” he went on, addressing Mr. Cardus almost fiercely, “I will work my way out. It is no credit to me,” he added; “I lead a dog’s life while I don’t know where he is.”
Dorothy flushed a pale pink with pleasure. Rising, she went up to her great strong brother, and standing on tip-toe, managed to kiss him on the chin.
“That is like you, Jeremy dear,” she said, softly.