"Then what could have caused him to break out in the manner he did? I never was so taken to in my life."
"I don't know," said Mr. Arkell; "it is puzzling me still. But for his very emphatic denial, I should assume it to be as Mrs. Lewis suggested—that he must have got acquainted with this Hardcastle, and did not like to hear any ill of him."
"Is he a married man?"
"No. Not any of the squire's children have married, except Mrs. Lewis. And she's a widow, as you heard her say."
"I suppose she is the daughter that has entered into possession of my grandfather's house?"
"She is. Hoping, no doubt, to stay there."
"Tell me, Mr. Arkell," resumed Robert Carr after a pause, for he could not forget the recent occurrence, "did you see anything offensive in my allusion?"
"Certainly not. Neither would anyone else. I say I cannot make out Benjamin Carr."
Before starting for London that night, Robert Carr paid a visit to Mr. Fauntleroy. It was after office hours, but that gentleman received him in his drawing-room. One of Mr. Fauntleroy's daughters, a buxom damsel on the same large scale as her father, was thumping through some loud piece on the piano. She satisfied her curiosity by a good look at the intruder, as all Westerbury would like to have done, for his name had been in men's mouths that day, and then retired with a good-humoured smile and nod, carrying her piece of music.