As they passed down the street, David shivered and buttoned his light overcoat closer about him.
"Cold?" said the older man.
"Your air is a bit keen here already. I hope it will be the needed tonic for that little chap."
"What were his s—secrets?" David told him.
"He's imaginative—yes—yes. I really would rather hurt myself. He may come on—he may. I've known—I've known—curious, but—Why—Hello—hello! Why—where—" and Doctor Hoyle suddenly darted forward and shook hands with another old gentleman, who was alertly stepping toward them, also thin and wiry, but with a face as impassive as the doctor's was mobile and expressive. "Mr. Stretton, why—why! David—Mr. Stretton, David Thryng—"
"Ah, Mr. Thryng. I am most happy to find you here."
"Doctor Thryng—over here on this side, you know."
"Ah, yes. I had really forgotten. But speaking of titles—I must give this young man his correctly. Lord Thryng—allow me to congratulate you, my lord."
"I fear you mistake me for my cousin, sir," said David, smiling. "I hope you have no ill news from my good uncle; but I am not the David who inherits. I think he is in South Africa—or was by the latest home letters."
Mr. Stretton did not reply directly, but continued smiling, as his manner was, and turned toward David's companion.