“As I told you just now, we are very pleased to see you for yourself, as a cousin of dear Isobel, at least I am certainly very pleased.” A faint colour suffused her cheek.
Farquhar bowed. No barrister can blush, but into his rather cold eyes there came a softer light which might be taken to express emotion.
“Lady Mary, I am certain you are not a woman who would ever say anything you did not mean.”
“Of course, there was an ulterior motive,” continued Mary, with her usual frankness. The flush on her cheek had not quite died away; it had rather been revived by a compliment that she felt was meant to be sincere.
“There was an ulterior motive, as I have candidly admitted. We are very anxious about Guy. Greatorex will tell us nothing, my father has been to him this morning, and he keeps his mouth shut. We hear nothing from Guy, of course, he does not wish to alarm us. Isobel writes short, chatty letters; naturally Guy does not tell her anything; she knows no more than we do. The question is, Mr Farquhar, do you know anything? You can easily understand how anxious we are.”
Farquhar smoked on steadily. It was some time before he spoke. Lord Saxham was now slumbering peacefully after his heavy dinner and his third glass of port. He looked just a little contemptuously at the somnolent figure. At Lord Saxham’s age, he expected to be Lord Chancellor, alert and vigorous.
When he spoke, he did not answer her question. Rather, he pursued the train of his own thoughts.
“It seems to me. Lady Mary,” he said, speaking very softly, so that he should not disturb the slumbers of his host, “that in a measure you bear upon your shoulders—very capable shoulders, I will admit—the entire burden of your family.” Mary protested feebly. “Oh, no, don’t think that for a moment. My father is very vigorous as a rule. Eric is quite a nice boy, just a little wild, perhaps. And Guy has got lots of grit; he will make good yet. I cannot thank Isobel enough for teaching us how cowardly we were for wanting to have him recalled.”
“Isobel has tons of grit,” said Farquhar shortly. “She comes from a fighting line.”
“Yes, Isobel, as you say, has tons of grit.” Lady Mary looked at him curiously. “You are very fond of your cousin, are you not, Mr Farquhar?”