This was spoken with Wrentham’s usual gay rapidity, allowing his unexpected guest no opportunity to protest, as he ushered him into a tidy little drawing-room which was apparently very much in ‘reception order.’ Chairs, tables, nick-nacks were almost too primly arranged to accord with the free-and-easy ways which the owner professed. He was, however, so seldom in the room that he was ignorant of its condition. The dining-room, on the other side of the passage, was his ‘snuggery,’ and there he spent his evenings when at home, which was seldom until late at night; and frequently he was absent for days on business.
But he was an affectionate husband and father. He was particular about having his wife and daughter always dressed in the newest and finest fabrics, and regularly took them out for a treat on Saturday or Sunday. Mrs Wrentham was a delicate, nervous lady, apparently content with her lot, and glad to escape from the toil of visiting and receiving visitors. Her whole existence was filled by her child Ada, a bright creature of eight years, nicknamed by her father ‘Pussie,’ on account of her passionate attachment to cats.
‘Will you take a chair?’ Wrentham went on. ‘You are such a fellow for taking one by surprise—always a pleasant surprise; but you give one no chance of doing anything to show how it is appreciated. You dropped down upon me in Golden Alley, just as you have dropped down upon me here, without the least warning.’
Mr Hadleigh listened patiently, his cold, dreaming eyes staring vacantly at him, but closely noting every change on his face.
‘I hope I do not disturb you?’ he said quietly, taking the proffered chair.
‘My dear sir!—as if I should not be delighted to see you under any circumstances—at any time—in any place!’
‘You are very kind. I come to you for the same reason that I visited your office—I want some information which I think you may be able to give me.’
‘About your son? I am afraid there is not much I can say in regard to him that will be satisfactory to a man of business like yourself.’
Wrentham shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, as if the subject were one he would rather not discuss.
‘It is not about my son that I desire to speak to you this time.’