"Aught you'd like doing at the house, Mr. Kitely?" he asked.
"No," answered Kitely, "no, I can't say that there is."
There was something odd, almost taciturn, in his manner, and Cotherstone glanced at him a little wonderingly.
"And how do you like Highmarket, now you've had a spell of it?" he inquired. "Got settled down, I suppose, now?"
"It's all that I expected," replied Kitely. "Quiet—peaceful. How do you like it?"
"Me!" exclaimed Cotherstone, surprised. "Me?—why, I've had—yes, five-and-twenty years of it!"
Kitely took another sip from his glass and set it down. He gave Cotherstone a sharp look.
"Yes," he said, "yes—five-and-twenty years. You and your partner, both. Yes—it'll be just about thirty years since I first saw you. But—you've forgotten."
Cotherstone, who had been lounging forward, warming his hands at the fire, suddenly sat straight up in his chair. His face, always sharp seemed to grow sharper as he turned to his visitor with a questioning look.
"Since—what?" he demanded.