“The question of a gentleman’s profession is not one in which I should readily take your advice, Mr. Curtis,” Nicholas had replied, smiling gently.
Curtis had turned to the door.
“I did not come here to be insulted,” he had said.
“Neither,” Nicholas had retorted sternly, “have I paid you to insult my tenants. You have accused me of a system of spying. You yourself best know whether such a system was justified by the need. Though I can assure you that Mr. Gray was no spy. He believed in my death as fully as you did.”
There had been some further conversation,—remarks it might better be termed. The upshot had been that Curtis was leaving Byestry of his own accord on the morrow; Antony took over his new post immediately.
It had not been till Curtis had left that Nicholas had broached the subject of the tea-party the following day, and had requested Antony’s presence. The request had been firmly declined, nor could all Nicholas’s persuasions move Antony from his resolution.
“I am utterly unsociable,” Antony had declared.
Nicholas smiled grimly.
“So am I, or, at any rate, so I was till Miss Devereux took me in hand.”
“Miss Devereux!” Antony had echoed.