"He returned to-day."
"Returned to-day. H'm! And a night of it at Langton Hall to celebrate the occasion. But he's your father. I'll not say more."
"I thank you, sir. Perhaps you knew him when younger?"
"I knew his mother, too. Poor lady! she's not the first to die of heart-break for a bad son. No, I'm no friend to Steenie Berrington, but I'll stand yours, as I say,—if you'll have me. I think I read grandfather before sire in your face."
"Sir Henry was both to me."
"Ah, yes; I believe it. Well, lad, I don't take friends from every bylane as a rule, yet I'll trust you with three-fold reason."
He tapped his snuff-box significantly.
"The Oxford coach, your grandfather, and your own eyes. I am a reader of character rather than books."
Michael bowed.
The elderly gentleman with the loquacious tongue and beetroot nose was already more to his liking than the gay friends of Prince Florizel.