“Permit me to present myself, sir,” said the newcomer. “I am Charles Carrington.”
“I am very glad to meet you, Captain Carrington,” said Croyden, taking the proffered hand.
“This is your first visit to Hampton, I believe, sir,” the Captain remarked, when they were seated under the trees. “It is not Northumberland, sir; we haven’t the push, and the bustle, and the smoke, but we have a pleasant little town, sir, and we’re glad to welcome you here. I think you will like it. It’s a long time since Clarendon had a tenant, sir. Colonel Duval’s been dead nearly ten years now. Your father and he were particular friends, I believe.”
Croyden assured him that such was the case.
“Yes, sir, the Colonel often spoke of him to me with great affection. I can’t say I was surprised to know that he had made him his heir. He was the last of the Duvals—not even a collateral 69 in the family—there was only one child to a generation, sir.”
Manifestly, it was not known in Hampton how Hugh Croyden came to be the Colonel’s heir, and, indeed, friendship had prompted the money-loan, without security other than the promise of the ultimate transfer of Clarendon and its contents. And Croyden, respecting the Colonel’s wish, evident now, though unexpressed either to his father or himself, resolved to treat the place as a gift, and to suppress the fact that there had been an ample and adequate consideration.
After a short visit, Captain Carrington arose to go.
“Come over and take supper with us, this evening, sir,” said he. “I want you to meet Mrs. Carrington and my granddaughter.”
“I’ll come with pleasure,” Croyden answered, thinking of the girl with the blue-black hair and slender ankles.
“It’s the house yonder, with the white pillars—at half-after-six, then, sir.”