“No, no, sir, we weren’t drawn down to that—quite.”
“We were mighty near it, my lad. And easily might have been.”
“Yes,” said the banker; “we shall not forget it, Rodd. But, after all,” with a faint smile, “it’s Bourdillon we have to thank.” And he explained the motives which, on the surface at least, had moved the Squire to intervene. “If I had not taken Bourdillon in when I did——”
“Just so,” Clement assented drily. “And if Bourdillon had not——”
“Umph! Yes. But—where is he? Do you know?”
“I don’t. He may be at his rooms, or he may have ridden out to his mother’s. I’ll look round presently, and if he is not in town I’ll go out and tell him the news.”
“You didn’t quarrel?”
Clement shrugged his shoulders. “Not more than we can make up,” he said lightly, “if it is to his interest.”
The banker moved uneasily in his chair. “What is to be done about him?” he asked.
“I think, sir, that that’s for the Squire. Let us leave it to him. It’s his business. And now—come! Has any one told Betty!”