“You can’t; don’t you see that? Well, no matter. Will you wait until after lunch—until this evening? Then I will give you an answer.”
“My uncle is anxious to know you. He has been so good to us. We will repay him by being good to him. He needs it.”
“I know; I know.”
“Have you seen the Times?” asked the Member for Hackney, advancing with assurance and sitting down. The Times, he knew, was in the drawing-room; he had just put it down. He had also seen Paul Harvey’s face as he passed the window. Mr. Bolton had no particular feeling for Paul except that of wishing him out of the way. Harvey’s countenance looked as if he meant to go—somewhere. Such a resolution could only portend various developments with Mr. Wainbridge.
Mr. Bolton had just heard and seen in the Times, that he was beyond all doubt Lord Fairmouth.
Miss Cooper had hay fever for two days; no doubt this was due to the second crop of hay having just been cut. Her mother explained this at great length. Sylvia suffered intensely, and her eyes were very red. Everyone pitied her, and she stayed all day in her room; Mrs. Cooper could not stay with her for long, because hay fever is infectious.
“Poor Fairmouth is really dead,” said the Member for Hackney.
“And you are Lord Fairmouth now,” said Launa slowly.
She was thinking of something else; but it appeared to him as if her meditations were about him and his good fortune.
“Yes,” he replied.