“Er—indeed, sir. Mr. Richard is eager for you to return.”
The handsome young face clouded over. My lord shook his head.
“Impossible, my dear Warburton. I am convinced Dick never voiced so foolish a suggestion. Come now, confess! ’tis your own fabrication?”
Warburton ignored the bantering tone and spoke deliberately.
“At all events, my lord, I believe him anxious to make—amends.”
Carstares shot an alert, suspicious glance at him.
“Yes, sir. Amends.”
My lord studied his emerald with half-closed eyelids.
“But why—amends, Warburton?” he asked.
“Is not that the word, sir?”
“I confess it strikes me as inapt. Doubtless I am dull of comprehension.”
“You were not wont to be, my lord.”
“No? But six years changes a man, Warburton. Pray, is Mr. Carstares well?”
“I believe so, sir,” replied the lawyer, frowning at the deft change of subject.
“And Lady Lavinia?”
“Ay.” Mr. Warburton looked searchingly across at him, seeing which, my lord’s eyes danced afresh, brim full with mischief.
“I am very delighted to hear it. Pray present my compliments to Mr. Carstares and beg him to use Wyncham as he wills.”
“Sir! Master Jack! I implore you!” burst from the lawyer, and he sprang up, moving excitedly away, his hands twitching, his face haggard.
My lord stiffened in his chair. He watched the other’s jerky movements anxiously, but his voice when was even and cold.
“Well, sir?”
