“No coffee, eh?” he muttered. “Not suitable for invalids, I suppose; milk much better.”
But when he had finished his meal the glass of milk still remained untouched and he observed it thoughtfully. “I fancy Miss Wayne will see this tray when it goes down and she’ll feel hurt because I haven’t drunk that infernal stuff.” His gaze wandered around the room until it encountered the washstand. “Ah!” he said, as he arose. When he returned to the table the glass was quite empty. Digging his pipe and pouch from his bag he filled the former and was soon puffing enjoyably, leaning back in the easy-chair and watching the smouldering fire.
“Even if I have to get out of here,” he reflected, “I dare say there’s a hotel or boarding-house in the village where I could put up. I’m not going back North yet awhile, and that’s certain. But if there’s anything wrong with my title to Waynewood why shouldn’t they let me stay here now that I’m established? That’s a good idea, by Jove! I’ll get my trunk unpacked right away; possession is nine points, they say. I dare say these folks aren’t so well off but what they’d be willing to take a respectable gentleman to board.”
A fluttering at his heart warned him and he laid aside his half-smoked pipe regretfully and began to unpack his trunk and bag. In the midst of the task Phœbe appeared to rearrange his bed and bear away the tray, bidding him good-night in her soft voice as she went.
By half-past seven his things were in place and, taking up one of the books which he had brought with him, he settled himself to read. But voices in the hall below distracted his attention, and presently footsteps sounded on the stairway, there was a tap at his door and Phœbe appeared again.
“Excuse me, sir,” said Phœbe, “but Major Cass say can he see you——”
“Phœbe!” called the Major from below.
“Yes, sir?”
“You tell Mr. Winthrop that if he’s feeling too tired to see me to-night I’ll call again to-morrow morning.”
“Yes, sir.” Phœbe turned to Winthrop. “The Major say——”