Daniel's face reflected the astonishment upon his wife's.
“My soul!” he muttered. “Percy Hungerford! Why, that's—that's the cousin; the one Aunt Laviny cut out of her will; the one that would have had all this place and all the money if we hadn't got it. I thought he was in New York somewhere. Black said he was, and now he's here. What in the world does he want?”
Mrs. Dott rose. “I don't know,” she gasped. “I can't imagine. But I suppose we must see him. We've got to. Did you ask him to wait, Hapgood?”
Hapgood bowed respectfully. “Mr. Hungerford is in the drawing-room, ma'am,” he said.
To the drawing-room moved Serena, followed by her husband.
“Good evening, Mr. Hungerford,” said the lady, with a partially successful attempt at calmness. “How do you do? My husband and I—”
She paused. The expression on Mr. Hungerford's face was an odd one. She turned to Daniel, and his expression was odder still. He was standing in the doorway gazing at the visitor, his eyes opening wider and wider.
Mr. Percy Hungerford was the young man whom his friend had addressed as “Tacks,” the young man with whom Captain Dan had exchanged repartee in the Rathskeller of the Palatine Hotel.