“What, and drop you?”
“Not that, old chap.” He linked his arm affectionately in mine. “We’ll be great friends when I come to town, and damn it all, I’ll be friends with Uncle Gascoyne whether my sister likes it or not.”
I was not particularly pleased at the idea of this attractive and well-bred nephew getting into his uncle’s good books; at any rate, not until Mr. Gascoyne had made me a definite promise as to my future.
I was very curious to see Miss Gascoyne. It was obvious that she was a strong character. After all, if she were distant it could not do me much harm, and I could leave soon after lunch.
We came upon the house suddenly. It was an old-fashioned place which had evidently been added to by degrees. Unexpected gables arose at every turn, and the red brick and ivy, clinging creeper, and gorgeous trails of passion flower and purple clematis were exquisitely mellow.
The place looked fairly well kept considering the limited means of the owners, and that very little of Harry Gascoyne’s eight hundred a year went towards its upkeep.
“We haven’t any horses since the guv’nor died—at least, that is, I’ve got a hack.”
“You were riding the first day I saw you.”
“When was that?”
I laughed. “I hope you won’t think my excellent memory bad taste, but I think I saw your horse tethered to a gate one morning while you were otherwise engaged.”