As it happened, Colston’s suspicion that his host wished to consult somebody was correct, for Prescott was then driving in to the settlement to lay his visitor’s message before the man it most concerned. He found him lounging in the hotel bar, and, drawing him into the general-room, he sat down opposite him in a hard wooden chair. The apartment had no floor covering and was cheerless and dirty; there was not even a table in it; and only a railroad time-table and advertisements of land sales hung on its rough pine walls. Jernyngham, however, looked in keeping with his surroundings. The dirty bandage still covered his forehead, his clothes were stained and untidy, and he had an unkempt, dissipated air.
“Well,” he asked with a grin, “how are you getting on with your new friends?”
“I don’t know; I’m curious about what they think of me. Anyway, I found the thing harder than I expected. Why didn’t you tell me Mrs. Colston was bringing her sister?”
“If I ever heard she had one, I forgot it; suppose I couldn’t have read the letter properly. What’s she like?”
“Herself,” said Prescott. “I can’t think of anybody we know I could compare her with.”
He had endeavored to speak carelessly, but something in his voice betrayed him and Jernyngham laughed.
“That’s not surprising. If you want to play your part properly, you had better make love to her. It’s what would be expected of me, and it couldn’t do any harm, because these people would very soon head you off. Harry Colston’s sister-in-law would look for an assured position and at least five thousand dollars a year. When are they going?”
“I’ve asked them to stay a little longer and I think they’ll agree. But that is not what I came to see you about. Colston laid a proposition before me—you’re formally invited to return home.”
“On what terms?”
Prescott detailed them, watching his companion. The latter sat silent for a minute or two, and then he said slowly: