"They are staying at Duddon at this moment," said Tatham, watching his effect; "arrived last night—penniless and starving."
Faversham flushed.
"You're sure they are the right people?" he said after a pause.
Tatham laughed.
"My mother remembers Mrs. Melrose twenty years ago; and the daughter, if it weren't that she's little more than skin and bone, would be the image of Melrose—on a tiny scale. Now, look here! this is their story."
The young man settled down to it, telling it just as it had been told to him, until toward the end a tolerably hot indignation forced its way, and he used some strong language with regard to Melrose, under which Faversham sat silent.
"I've no doubt he's told you the same lies he's told everybody else!" exclaimed Tatham, after waiting a little for comments that were slow in coming.
"I was quite aware they were alive," said Faversham, slowly.
"You were, by Jove!"
"And I have already appealed to Melrose to behave reasonably toward them."