Apparently, however, solitude and firelight suggested serious thoughts, for gradually a far-off look came into the young man's eyes—a tender light which seemed to show that the object of his meditations was some person or thing lying very near his heart. Presently he leaned forward, joining his hands and resting his chin upon them; and was so completely absorbed that he did not hear Percivale, who, advancing through the conservatory, paused on the threshold, gazing at his visitor with a smile.
Reaching out for a spike of geranium bloom, he threw it with such exact aim that it struck Claud on the face, startling him so that he sprang instantly to his feet, and, facing about, caught sight of the laughing face of his assailant.
"Good shot," said Percivale, coming in. "Sorry to keep you waiting, old man."
His hands were full of lilies of the valley, which he laid down on a small table, and then saluted his guest.
"You told me to come early," said Claud.
"Yes," was the answer. "I wanted to have a talk with you before the ladies arrived."
"Delighted. What do you want to talk about?" asked Mr. Cranmer, as the two young men settled themselves in comfort.
"It is a subject I have never touched upon before," said Percivale, hesitatingly. "Not to you or any man. I hardly know why I should expect that you should listen. I have no claim on your attention. I want to talk about—myself."
"Yourself?" Claud set up with keenly awakened interest.
"Myself. It is not an interesting topic...."