“Who, indeed?” said Peter, who had two separate contempts for parsons and his brother George, now strengthened by combination.
“Well, pass me the port anyhow. Look here, I want to talk to you—first time I’ve got you alone. What are you going to do now you’re back?”
“I don’t know, Sir. I’ve scarcely had time to think.”
“You’re the heir now, remember. I’d rather you stayed here. You weren’t thinking of going back into Lightfoot’s, were you?”
“I don’t see myself in the city again. Anyhow I’d sooner be at Conster.”
“That’s right. That’s your place now. How would you like to be Agent?”
“I’d like it very much, Sir. But can it be done? What about Greening?”
“He’s an old fool, and has been muddling things badly the last year or two. He doesn’t want to stay. I’ve been talking to him about putting you in, and he seemed glad.”
“I’d be glad too, Sir.”
“You ought to know more about the estate than you do. It’ll be yours before long—I’m seventy-five, you know. When Hugh was alive I thought perhaps a business career was best for you, so kept you out of things. You’ll have to learn a lot.”