“How is he?”
“I think he’s failing.”
“I hope there is no immediate danger,” said Bolton, anxiously.
“No; but he’s worrying about Miss Florence. It’s my belief that if she were at home, he’d live a good while.”
“Doesn’t he ask for her?”
“Mr. Curtis tells him she’ll come round soon if he’ll only be firm. I don’t see, for my part, why Mr. Linden wants her to marry such a disagreeable man. There’s plenty better husbands she could get. Come in, sir, and I’ll tell him as soon as he comes in. Shall you see Miss Florence soon?”
“I think so.”
“Then tell her not to give up. Things will come right some time.”
“I’ll tell her.”
Bolton was ushered into the library, where, amid the fashionable furniture he looked quite out of place. He did not feel so, however, for he drew a cigar out of his pocket and, lighting it nonchalantly, leaned back in a luxurious armchair and began to smoke.