“Well, I mean he’s a tolerably good cricketer, and he reads poetry, and quarrels with his father, and he’s just going to step into the poor old fellow’s shoes, for, jesting apart, he really is in an awful state from all I can hear.”
“Is it thought he may linger long?” inquired Mrs. Kincton Knox; “though, indeed, poor man, it is hardly desirable he should, from all you say.”
“Anything but desirable. I fancy he’s very shaky indeed, not safe for a week—may go any day—that’s what Sprague says, and he’s awfully anxious his son should come and see him; don’t you think he ought?” said Mr. Vane Trevor.
“That depends,” said the old lady thoughtfully, for the idea of her bird in the hand flitting suddenly away at old Sprague’s whistle, to the bush of uncertainty, was uncomfortable and alarming. “I have always understood that in a case like poor Sir Richard’s nothing can be more unwise, and, humanly speaking, more certain to precipitate a fatal catastrophe than a—a—adopting any step likely to be attended with agitation. Nothing of the kind, at least, ought to be hazarded for at least six weeks or so, I should say, and not even then unless the patient has rallied very decidedly, and in such a state as the miserable man now is, a reconciliation would be a mere delusion. I should certainly say no to any such proposition, and I can’t think how Dr. Sprague could contemplate such an experiment in any other light than as a possible murder.”
At this moment the drawing-room door opened, and William Maubray’s pale and sad face appeared at it.
“Howard says you wished to see me?” said he.
“We are very happy, indeed, to see you,” replied the old lady, graciously. “Pray come in and join us, Mr. Herbert. Mr. Herbert, allow me to introduce my cousin, Mr. Trevor. You have heard us speak of Mr. Vane Trevor, of Revington?”
“I had the pleasure—I met him on his way here, and we talked—and—and—I know him quite well,” said William, blushing, but coming out with his concluding sentence quite stoutly, for before Vane Trevor’s sly gaze he would have felt like a trickster if he had not.
But the ladies were determined to suspect nothing, and Mrs. Knox observed—
“We make acquaintance very quickly in the country—a ten minutes’ walk together. Mr. Herbert, would you object to poor Howard’s having a holiday?—and, pray, join us at lunch, and you really must not leave us now.”