Peebles opened it, and Mr. Conseltine appeared.
‘My dear Henry,’ he said, advancing solicitously, ‘I trust you are better?’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Kilpatrick uneasily; ‘but——’
‘In that case,’ said Conseltine, smoothly interrupting him, ‘may I talk to you privately for a few minutes?’
‘If you desire,’ said his brother. ‘Don’t go, Peebles. Never mind Peebles, Dick He’s my conscience, my—my alter ego—eh, Peebles?’
‘As it is a family matter,’ said Conseltine, ‘I would prefer——’
‘Peebles is one of the family,’ said his lordship; ‘I’ve no secrets from him.’
‘Very good,’ said Conseltine, suffering no shade of annoyance to cloud his smooth face. ‘Mr. Peebles doubtless agrees with me that you exaggerate the gravity of your condition, and that, unless you specially desire it, the drawing up of a new will can be postponed. In the will already placed in my possession you, as is natural, devise the bulk of your estate to your next-of-kin. Do I understand that you desire to alter or modify that arrangement?’
His lordship, nervously interlacing his fingers, glanced at Peebles.
‘Tell your brother the truth, my lord. Tell him ye wish to leave the estates to your own begotten son.’