“There is a man come over from Cullerne, my lord,” he said. “He is anxious to see Mr Westray at once on important business.”
“Show him into my sitting-room, and say that Mr Westray will be with him immediately.”
Westray met Lord Blandamer in the hall a few minutes later.
“I am sorry to say there is bad news from Cullerne,” the architect said hurriedly. “Last night’s gale has strained and shaken the tower severely. A very serious movement is taking place. I must get back at once.”
“Do, by all means. A carriage is at the door. You can catch the train at Lytchett, and be in Cullerne by mid-day.”
The episode was a relief to Lord Blandamer. The architect’s attention was evidently absorbed in the tower. It might be that he had already found the blameless herb growing by the wayside.
The nebuly coat shone on the panel of the carriage-door. Lady Blandamer had noticed that her husband had been paying Westray special attention. He was invariably courteous, but he had treated this guest as he treated few others. Yet now, at the last moment, he had fallen silent; he was standing, she fancied, aloof. He held his hands behind him, and the attitude seemed to her to have some significance. But on Lord Blandamer’s part it was a mark of consideration. There had been no shaking of hands up to the present; he was anxious not to force Westray to take his hand by offering it before his wife and the servants.
Lady Blandamer felt that there was something going on which she did not understand, but she took leave of Westray with special kindness. She did not directly mention the picture, but said how much they were obliged to him, and glanced for confirmation at Lord Blandamer. He looked at Westray, and said with deliberation:
“I trust Mr Westray knows how fully I appreciate his generosity and courtesy.”
There was a moment’s pause, and then Westray offered his hand. Lord Blandamer shook it cordially, and their eyes met for the last time.