“Very unpleasant business for you,” said Mr Rimbolt.
“And,” asked the colonel, with a wink at his brother-in-law, “did he, like the prodigal, take his portion of goods with him? I mean what his father left him.”
Mr Halgrove for a moment raised his brows uncomfortably.
“No,” said he; “Benjamin Jeffreys was an eccentric man, and invested his money in eccentric securities. His son’s money, like the lad himself, went to the dogs, and left me decidedly out of pocket by my term of guardianship. I really advise neither of you to indulge your philanthropy in adopting somebody else’s sons; it doesn’t pay.”
“Yours certainly was not a lucky experience,” said Mr Rimbolt; “however, when you were last heard of, Fame reported that you could afford to drop a little.”
“Fama volat, and so does money. No one could repeat the libel now with truth. The fact is, this visit to an old college friend is a trifle interested. My journey to the West has turned out badly, and, greatly as I should like it, I could not offer to lend either of you fellows a hundred pounds at this present moment. So I hope you won’t ask me.”
The talk here took a financial turn, and Mrs Rimbolt presently joining the party, she and her brother were left to themselves while Mr Rimbolt and the colonel took a short stroll.
Mr Rimbolt took the opportunity of telling his brother-in-law what he knew, not only of Jeffreys but of young Forrester, and the colonel told him of his obligation to find if possible the child of his dead companion-in-arms.
“It’s a mixed-up business altogether,” said he, “and from all I can judge something of a family matter. My little girl, Rimbolt, whom you’ve been so good to, seems to me more interested in this librarian of yours than she would like any one to suspect—eh?”
“I have fancied so,” said Mr Rimbolt, “sometimes.”