Next morning, although he was not up until twelve, he was before my lord, who only appeared in time for lunch, which was served as before in the oak parlour.
He entered the room in his usual leisurely yet decided fashion and made Mr. Warburton a marvellous leg. Then he bore him off to inspect his mare, Jenny, of whom he was inordinately proud. By the time they returned to the parlour luncheon was served, and Mr Warburton realised that he had scarcely any time left in which to plead his cause.
My lord’s servant hovered continually about the room, waiting on them, until his master bade him go to attend to the lawyer’s valise. When the door had closed on his retreating form, Carstares leaned back in his chair, and, with a rather dreary little smile, turned to his companion.
“You want to reason with me, I know, Mr Warburton, and, indeed, I will listen an I must. But I would so much rather that you left the subject alone, believe me.”
Warburton sensed the finality in his voice, and wisely threw away his last chance.
“I understand ’tis painful, my lord, and I will say no more. Only remember—and think on it, I beg!”
The concern in his face touched my lord.
“You are too good to me, Mr. Warburton, I vow. I can only say that I appreciate your kindness—and your forbearance. And I trust that you will forgive my seeming churlishness and believe that I am indeed grateful to you.”
“I wish I might do more for you, Master Jack!” stammered Warburton, made miserable by the wistful note in his favourite’s voice. There was no time for more; the coach already awaited him, and his valise had been hoisted up. As they stood together in the porch, he could only grip my lord’s hand tightly and say good-bye. Then he got hurriedly into the coach, and the door was slammed behind him.
