Again and again he wandered around the house, and through the gardens. Again and again he feasted his eyes upon the beauty of the park and the glory of the district. And it was his no longer! Could he not even now——
No; he could not! If Anthony Riggleton were alive, and was the true heir to old Charles Faversham's wealth, he should have it. The thought of doing what Romanoff had proposed made him shudder.
But he would not give up without a struggle. After all, he was in possession, and he was accepted as the owner of Wendover Park as well as heir to enormous wealth. Why, then, should he give it up? No; he would fight for what he held.
The day passed slowly away. He ate his lonely lunch in silence, and then, taking a two-seater car, ran it in the direction of Lord Huntingford's house. Just as he was passing the gates Lady Blanche appeared, accompanied by a girl of about her own age.
Almost unconsciously he lifted his foot from the accelerator and pressed down the brake.
"Alone, Mr. Faversham?" she asked, with a radiant smile.
"Quite alone, Lady Blanche."
"Your guest is gone, then?"
"He left this morning."
"Then—then please excuse the informality—but then we are neighbours; won't you come to dinner en famille on Thursday night? Father will be delighted to see you. And, oh, I want to introduce you to my friend here."