‘Well, do not let the grass grow under your feet, for Speid is looking that way too, if I am not mistaken.’
Crauford made a sound of impatience.
Barclay leaned forward, his eyes keen with interest.
‘Then you don’t like him?’ he said.
‘Oh, I scarcely know him,’ replied Fordyce, a look that delighted the lawyer coming into his face.
‘He is one of those who will know you one day and look over your head the next. It would be a shame if you were set aside for a conceited coxcomb of a fellow like that—a sulky brute too, I believe. I hate him.’
‘So do I,’ exclaimed Crauford, suddenly and vehemently.
Barclay wondered whether his companion had any idea of the tissue of rumours hanging round Gilbert, but he did not, just then, give voice to the question. It was a subject which he thought it best to keep until another time. Fullarton might return at any minute and he would be interrupted. The friendly relations which he determined to establish between himself and Fordyce would afford plenty of opportunity. If he failed to establish them, it would be a piece of folly so great as to merit reward from a just Providence. All he could do was to blow on Crauford’s jealousy—an inflammable thing, he suspected—with any bellows that came to his hand. Speid should not have Cecilia while he was there to cheer him on.
‘You should get Mr. Fullarton to go to Morphie to-morrow, or even this afternoon; my business with him will not take long, and I shall make a point of going home early and leaving you free.’
‘You are really most kind to take so much interest,’ said Crauford. ‘How glad I am that I spoke to you about it.’