He crossed the floor and, opening a cabinet, came back with a photograph, which he gave to his companion.
"Dick's father. He was famous as a daring rider across an Irish, stone-wall country, and was killed when taking a dangerous leap."
Greythorpe studied the face, which was of Irish type, with bold eyes in which a reckless twinkle showed. On the whole, it suggested an ardent and somewhat irresponsible temperament.
"No sign of weakness there," he said. "Though he might be careless and headstrong, this man would ride straight and stand fire. I can't hint at an explanation of his son's disaster, but I imagine that one might have been found if it had been diligently searched for. My opinion is that there's something hidden; but whether it will ever come out is another matter. But—your nephew hasn't forfeited my liking. If I can ever be of any service."
"Thanks; I know," responded Challoner. "It looks as if he meant to cut loose from all of us. While I'm sorry, I can't say that he's wrong or that it's not a proper feeling. And now I think we'll let the subject drop."
The next afternoon was bright and mild, and soon after Mrs. Foster and her party arrived Challoner offered to show them his winter shrubbery.
"I have lately planted a number of new specimens which you and Margaret have not seen," he said; "and you may be interested to learn what effects can be got by a judicious mingling of bushes remarkable for the beauty of their berries and branch-coloring among the stereotyped evergreens."
They went out and Millicent thought the front of the old house with its mullioned windows, its heavy, pillared coping, and its angular chimney stacks, made a picturesque background for the smooth-clipped yew hedges and broad sweep of lawn. Behind it a wood of tall beeches raised their naked boughs in pale, intricate tracery against the soft blue sky. The shrubs proved worth inspection, for some were rich with berries of hues that varied from crimson to lilac, and the massed twigs of others formed blotches of strong coloring. The grass was dry and lighted by gleams of sunshine, the air only cold enough to make movement pleasant.
When Challoner and his guests returned to the house, he showed them the best bits of the old carved oak with which it was decorated and some curious works of art he had picked up in India, and then he took them to the picture gallery which ran round the big square hall. A lantern dome admitted a cold light, but a few sunrays struck through a window looking to the southwest and fell in long bright bars on polished floor and somber paneling. On entering the gallery, Challoner took out a case of miniatures and, placing it on a small table, brought a chair for Mrs. Keith.
"You know the pictures, but this collection generally interests you, and I have added a few examples of a good French period since you were last here."