"I am sorry Knivett should have started off in this sudden way," he observed, his tone changed to ease, "but I suppose there was no help for it. Is there anything I can do for you?"
"No," returned George, "I fear not. I merely wanted to ask Mr. Knivett a question about a family in the neighbourhood."
"I dare say I could answer it," said Mr. Dobie. "I know all the best families as well as Knivett does, or better: been brought up among them."
"Do you know the Castlemaines?"
"Well, I ought to. My relatives, the Dobies of Dobie Hall, and the Greylands' Rest people used to be as thick as inkleweavers. Harry Castlemaine is one of my friends."
George North paused. An idea struck him that perhaps this young man might be able to give him some information: and, to tell the truth, though he had come to ask Mr. Knivett to do it, he had very little hope that the lawyer would. At least there would be no harm in his putting the question.
"I am a stranger here," he said. "Until some weeks back I never was in this part of the world or knew a soul that inhabited it. But I have become acquainted with a few people; and, amidst them, with the Castlemaines. Did you know the old grandfather, Anthony?"
"Just as well as I know my own grandfather."
"Greylands' Rest was his, I fancy?"
"Of course it was."