“I don’t want to be inquisitive or troublesome, uncle,” she said, as they sat opposite each other in the train, “but I am sure there is something wrong.”
“Yes, Pamela, there is something wrong; but it is something which will come right again in good time, I hope. All we can do is to be patient.”
His look of quiet pain, and the haggard lines which told of sleepless nights and brooding thoughts, touched Pamela’s tender heart; but she was wise enough to know that a sorrow big enough to part husband and wife is not a sorrow to be intruded upon by an outsider.
Mr. Greswold drove with his niece to the hotel, established her there with her maid and her terrier in a private sitting-room, and then started for Lincoln’s Inn Fields in a hansom.
Messrs. Pergament’s office had a solid and old-established air, as of an office that had only to do with wealth and respectability. The clerks in the outer room seemed to have grown old on the premises.
“I should like to see the senior member of the firm, if he is at liberty,” said Mr. Greswold.
“Mr. Champion Pergament is at Wiesbaden. He is a very old gentleman, and seldom comes to the office.”
“The next partner, then—”
“Mr. Danvers Pergament is at his place in Yorkshire. If you would like to see his son, Mr. Danvers jun.—”
“Yes, yes, he will do if there is no one else.”