“Ah, poor old man, I am afraid he does not know anyone. He is quite childish.”
“So I understand.”
“Have you ever seen the family portraits at Hammerton?”
“Never.” I was determined to deny any particular knowledge of the family.
“Your mother is extraordinarily like some of the women. I do not know the present Earl, but I have visited Hammerton as an excursionist.”
“I have never been there.”
“And now will you come and have some lunch? I am a busy man and cannot afford to waste time.”
Either he was wonderfully softened, or the letter he had written me when I first applied to him was utterly unlike himself. I was unable to make out which was correct, but I inclined to the former conclusion.
“I have been wondering,” he said, when we were seated over some cutlets and a very good bottle of wine, “why you were so long in answering my letter.”
I replied, with every appearance of frankness, that it had taken some amount of thought before I could decide to put my pride in my pocket and swallow his former snub.