“Watthier’s? Mr. Tom Grantley used to go there a great deal,” said Mrs. Lockhart, blushing a little after she had spoken.
“Aye, so he was; I have seen him, too—a very handsome man. But I was still quite young when he died. You knew him, madam?”
“I believe mamma knew him very well,” put in Marion, with a touch of mischief. “He was to have danced at your wedding, was he not, mamma?”
“He was very kind to me when I was very young and foolish,” replied her mother, with quiet simplicity. “He was not in England when I married.”
“Grantley was a relative of mine—or would have been, if he had lived ten years longer,” Lancaster remarked. “My father and he both married daughters of old Seabridge. By-the-by, didn’t he have a daughter who disappeared, or something of that sort?”
“It was a son. I believe he was a very promising young gentleman, but he came to a sad end. Probably you may have met him, Mr. Grant?”
“Never, madam.”
“What end was that?” Lancaster demanded.
“He was discovered in some crime about money—embezzlement, I think. He was a junior partner in the bank; Sir Francis Bendibow trusted him entirely. It almost broke his heart when Charles ran away. But Sir Francis behaved very nobly about it.”
“Ah! he had been recently ennobled, had he not?” inquired Mr. Grant in a dry tone. But if he intended any innuendo, Mrs. Lockhart did not perceive it.