“Ay, ay. But be a good lad. Be a good lad. Make up your mind to help me at the Great House.”
Basset shook his head.
“To help me, and twenty-four hours—only twenty-four hours, man—may make all the difference! All the difference in the world to me.”
“I have told you my views about it,” Basset said doggedly. He shifted uneasily in his chair. “I cannot do it, sir, and I won’t.”
John Audley groaned. “Well, well!” he answered. “I’ll say no more now. I’ll say no more now. When you and she have made it up”—in vain Basset shook his head—“you’ll see the question in another light. Ay, believe me, you will. It’ll be your business then, and your interest, and nothing venture, nothing win! You’ll see it differently. You’ll help the old man to his rights then.”
Basset shrugged his shoulders, but thought it useless to protest. The other sighed once or twice and was silent also. At length, “You never told me that you had heard from her,” Basset said.
“That I’d——” John Audley broke off. “What is it, Toft?” he asked over his shoulder.
A man-servant, tall, thin, lantern-jawed, had entered unseen. “I came to see if you wanted anything more, sir?” he said.
“Nothing, nothing, Toft. Good-night!” He spoke impatiently, and he watched the man out before he went on. Then, “Perhaps I heard from her, perhaps I didn’t,” he said. “It’s some time ago. What of it?”
“She was in great distress when she wrote.”