"Mr. Brandon, I have come to talk to you about some business," began Dick, who had prepared a dozen introductions, all forgotten at the needed moment; then abruptly, "Mr. Brandon, did you ever hear my name, the name of Heremore before?"
It would be false to say that Mr. Brandon showed any emotion beyond that of natural surprise at the abruptness of the question; but it is safe to add that the surprise was very great, almost exaggerated. He replied, coolly enough, as he hung up his hat and sat down, wiping his face with his handkerchief: "Heremore? It is not, so to say, a common name; and I may or may not have heard it before. One who has been in the world so long as I have, Mr. Heremore, can hardly be expected to know what names he has or has not heard in the course of his life. I suppose you ask for some especial reason."
"I do," said Dick, a little staggered by the other's unembarrassed reply, "Did you not once know a gentleman in Wiltshire, called Dr. Heremore?"
"This is close questioning from a young man in your position to an old gentleman in mine, and I am slightly curious to know your object in asking before I reply."
"I believe you were married twice, Mr. Brandon, and that your first wife's maiden name was Heremore?"
"Well—and then?"
"And that she died while you were away, believing you were dead; and and that she had two children," said Dick, who began to feel uneasy under the steady, smiling gaze of the other—"and that she had two children, a son and a daughter."
"Almost any one can tell you that my family consists of my first wife's daughter, and two sons by my second wife. But that's of no consequence. Two children, a son and a daughter, you were saying."
"Yes, two; although you may have been able to trace only one. She died in great poverty, did she not?"