"Going up to see your father, I suppose?" asked Silwood.
"Yes. Mr. Williamson, whom I met in the square, told me he was in," replied Gilbert Eversleigh, and with another nod went on upstairs.
"I'll just give you five minutes," said Silwood, under his breath, addressing the back of the unconscious Gilbert, who knocked at a door on the second floor and was admitted.
"I thought I'd look in, sir, to ask how they all are at home," said Gilbert to his father, Francis Eversleigh. Gilbert had his own chambers in the Temple, of which he was a member, and for the past three years had not lived at his father's house in Surbiton.
Francis Eversleigh gazed at his son before answering the implied question, and a father's pride expressed itself clearly in his face. The son was dear to the father's heart.
"They're all very well at home—your mother and your sister and Kitty," responded Francis Eversleigh, lingering somewhat on the last word. Glancing away from his son to the window, he remarked casually, "Really, I think Miss Kitty grows prettier and more charming every day."
"She is lovely," cried Gilbert, with rising colour.
"By the way," observed the father, pointedly, "Harry Bennet came in last evening, and it was not hard to see the attraction."
"Miss Kitty?"
"Yes."