“No doubt he thought so. They were here until recently.”
“I shall have my journey back again, then!” cried his lordship. “Will the town bankers give them up to me on my simple demand, or must they have your authority?”
“I will write to them,” responded George.
The viscount rose. Not a shade of suspicion had crossed his mind. But he could not help thinking that he should have made a better man of business than handsome George. “I wish you had told me!” he involuntarily repeated. “But I suppose,” he good-naturedly added, “that my poor bonds are too insignificant to have much place in the thoughts of a man surrounded by hundreds of thousands.”
George laughed. He was walking with Lord Averil to the front door. They stood together when it was reached, the street before them. Lord Averil asked after Mr. Godolphin.
“He seems a little better,” replied George. “Certainly no worse.”
“I am glad to hear it. Very glad indeed. You will not forget to write to town, Mr. George?”
“All right,” replied George Godolphin.
CHAPTER XII.
“I SEE IT: BUT I CANNOT EXPLAIN IT.”
The light of the setting sun streamed upon the fair hair of Cecil Godolphin. She had strolled out from the dining-room to enjoy the beauty of the late spring evening, or to indulge her own thoughts, as might be. To the confines of the grounds strayed she, as far as those surrounding Lady Godolphin’s Folly; and there she sat down on a garden bench.