Guy looked around at the familiar features of the old butler’s sanctum. Nothing seemed to have changed. His glance rested on the decanter which Braxfield had set on the table just before hearing the tap at the window.
“Give me a drink, Braxfield,” he said suddenly. “I guess you’ve some of our old whisky left, even after seven years. And some soda-water. Get one yourself—it’s a long time since you and I had a drink together—though we’ve had many a one in this very room in the old days!”
He laughed cynically as he lifted the glass which Braxfield presently handed to him—but there was no answering laugh from the old butler. Braxfield, indeed, respectfully raising his own glass with a murmured expression of his good wishes, seemed inclined to become sentimental.
“It is a very long time, sir,” he said. “Yes, a very long time, Mr. Guy! But I humbly trust it’s over, sir—I hope you’re coming home for good.”
“Then your hopes are doomed to disappointment, Braxfield,” replied Guy, with another cynical laugh. “I’m not! No more Markenmore Court for me. I’ve done very nicely without it and I don’t propose to grow cabbages here when I can grow more profitable things elsewhere. No, Braxfield. I’m not coming back.”
“But, Mr. Guy—your father?” said the old butler. “He can’t last long, sir. And—the title—and the estates, Mr. Guy!”
“I can’t help succeeding to the baronetcy, Braxfield, though I don’t care twopence about it,” answered Guy; “and as for the estates, they can be managed well enough without my help or presence. As a matter of fact, I don’t want ’em! I’m a well-to-do man—I’ve been on the Stock Exchange, Braxfield, for over six years, and made a pot of money. But now look here,” he continued, interrupting the old butler’s congratulations, “you say that Harry is acting as a sort of steward; does he do well?”
“Very well indeed, sir, as far as I can judge,” replied Braxfield. “Charlesworth—our old steward—you remember him, well enough, Mr. Guy—he let things get into a bad way, and your father didn’t check him. But when your brother became of age, he and your father made some arrangement, and Mr. Harry took hold of things, and he pensioned Charlesworth off, and since that he’s seen to everything. Helped a good deal, of course, sir, by Miss Valencia—a very clever young lady your sister’s turned out, Mr. Guy. You’ll—you’ll let me fetch them down, sir, before you go to bed?”
Guy finished the contents of his glass, mixed himself another drink, and sitting down in a big chair by the blazing logs, shook his head.
“I’m not going to bed, Braxfield,” he answered. “I came down from town on special business, and I’m going to return to town by a very early morning train, which I shall catch at Mitbourne station. But I shall see the two youngsters—in fact, my business is with them. First of all, though, I want you to tell me one or two things: then you can go and tell them I’m here—quietly, and not disturbing Sir Anthony—I don’t want him to know I’m anywhere about. Now, first—you say Mrs. Tretheroe has a house-party at the Dower House?”