“Do you happen to know,” he asked quite casually, “of any people here in Windsor named Harris?”
“Oh, yes, sir; there are two young gentlemen named 'Arris, whose mother died two years back, living in the Little Castle. Do you know them, sir?”
“I know of them.”
“Would you like to call there, sir?”
“No; I'd rather like to see the house, though.”
“It's a 'alf a mile back, sir, near the big Castle. We can take it in on our way 'ome.”
“No; turn round; if it's all the same to you we'll go there now;” and this last a little gruffly; for one has to be a good deal of a philosopher to continue on the friendliest of terms with a man that has just informed you that you look listless and lazy.
The driver was rather surprised at Mr. Belden's changed mood, but the little carriage was turned round promptly in obedience to orders, and the old horse whipped into a canter.
“Don't do that,” said Mr. Belden sharply; “there's no need to hurry and the horse was instantly jerked down to a pace more in accordance with his own ideas of comfort and propriety.
“Tell me what you know about these Harris boys,” said Mr. Belden imperiously.