A little later Dick found himself on the drive leading to Hugh Stanmore's cottage. He had not intended to take this road, but when he realised that he was in it, he did not turn back. Rather he hurried on with almost feverish footsteps.
Sir George Weston had been spending a week at the cottage, had he? Why? Was it because he was an Egyptologist, and interested in Hugh Stanmore's previous researches, or was he there because of Beatrice, as the servants' gossip said? It was nothing to him, but he had an overwhelming desire to know. Was Beatrice Stanmore a beautiful girl? She had not appealed to him in this light when her grandfather brought her to see him months before; but girls often blossomed into beauty suddenly. Still, wasn't it strange that Weston should stay at the cottage a week?
Of course he would not call. He was simply taking the longer road to the station. Yes, he could plainly see the house through the trees, and——
"Is that Mr. Faversham? Well, this is a surprise; but I am glad to see you."
It was old Hugh Stanmore who spoke, while Dick in a strangely nervous way took the proffered hand.
"Come to look at your old house, eh? I see you've come from that direction."
"Yes, I have been—talking with my old housekeeper," he stammered.
"And you've never been here before since—you left?"
Dick shook his head.
"Well, well, life's a strange business, isn't it? But come in, my dear fellow. You're just in time for lunch."