That he had never gone there on any errand but business was a fact which he did not reveal to his hostess.
‘So many stories are afloat respecting his—his antecedents,’ said the lady, dropping her eyes, ‘one hardly knows what to believe. However, there he is, master of his—of the Speid property. I think bygones should be bygones, don’t you, Mr. Barclay?’
As she said this, she glanced towards a corner of the room in which Lucilla Somerville, a homely virgin in white muslin and red arms, was whispering with a girl friend.
Barclay knew as much as his hostess of Gilbert’s history, and very little more, whatever his conjectures might be, but he relapsed instantly from the man of the world into the omniscient family lawyer.
‘Ah!’ he exclaimed, raising two fingers; ‘forbidden ground with me, madam—forbidden ground, I fear!’
‘Well, I will not be naughty, and want to know what I should not hear,’ said the lady. ‘I fear it is a sad world we live in, Mr. Barclay.’
‘It would be a much sadder one if there were no fair members of your sex ready to make it pleasant for us,’ he replied, with a bow.
‘You are incorrigible!’ she exclaimed, as she turned away.
At this moment a voice rose from the neighbourhood of the piano, whence the doctor’s son, who had discovered an accompanist among the young ladies, sent forth the first note of one of a new selection of songs. It was known to be a new one, and the company was silent.
‘Give me a glance, a witching glance,