Christian stepped forward to meet them—and was suddenly conscious of the necessity for an apology. “I did not come down,” he murmured, as he shook hands with a grave smile—“I am not quite master of myself yet. It is still strange to me. But come to the window, and let us sit down.”
They followed him, and took the chairs he pushed out for them. He perched himself on the corner of the big table, and lightly stroked the glazed boot of the foot which was not on the floor. “I am glad to hear that Kathleen has come,” he said to his cousin. “I hope she is very well.”
“Extremely so,” replied Emanuel. Then, upon reflection, he added, “We had hoped that you would come to us, on your way down from London.”
“There was so much to do in town,” explained Christian, hazily. “My grandfather’s lawyers came up at once from Shrewsbury, and it was necessary to see a good deal of them—and then there were the tailors and outfitters. It was all I could do to get away yesterday morning. And of course—by that time I was needed here.” He turned to the other. “And you are very well, Uncle Julius?”
“I am well,” said the elder man, with what Christian suspected for the instant to be significant brevity. The father and son had exchanged a look, as well, which seemed to have a meaning beyond his comprehension. But then he forgot these momentary doubts in the interest of the discovery that there were tears in his great-uncle’s eyes.
Lord Julius unaffectedly got out a handkerchief, and wiped them away. He looked up at the young man as through a mist. “I never dreamed that I should feel it so much,” he said, huskily. “I am amazed at myself—and then ashamed at my amazement—but Kit’s death has somehow put me about and upset me to a tremendous extent. There was thirteen years between us—but when you get to be an old man, that seems no more than as many weeks. And Emanuel”—he addressed his son with the solemnity befitting a revelation—“I am an old man.”
Emanuel frowned a little in his abstracted fashion. “You are less old than any other man of your years in England,” he protested.
Christian, listening, somehow found no conviction in these reassuring words. It dawned upon him suddenly that Lord Julius had in truth aged a great deal. The perception of this disarranged the speech he had in his mind.
“There are a thousand things to be talked over,” he began, with an eye upon Emanuel, “but I do not know if this is quite the opportune time. I wished to lose no time in seeing you both, of course—but you will not be hurrying away. No doubt there will be a better opportunity.”
“I don’t think it will be found that there is so very much to say,” remarked Emanuel. A gentle but persistent melancholy seemed to pervade his tone.