He had no intention of doing that. He merely turned to his memories and spoke of the past, and he could hardly be blamed for the effect he had on Grant. He did not know the circumstances, or--as he might have put it himself--how the cards had been dealt.It came at the end of the week, on Grant’s third morning with the Wickhams. They were at leisurely breakfast together, that cool and golden morning, when a footman came from the Manor House carrying a note from Lord Barford. It was in his own laconic style, asking briefly for the company of Captain Grant at dinner that day.‘What shall I do?’ asked Grant.‘Go,’ said John. ‘You’ll get a decent dinner.’‘What does he want me for?’‘Talk about his son, I should guess. I gathered the other night you knew him.’‘Very slightly. In fact----’ He stopped, half irritated by the whole thing. ‘Are you going?’‘He knows I’m busy.’This meant his father’s affairs. He had been busy with them since his return, pressed by an attorney who seemed to think that the late Sir Harry Wickham had been more a soldier than a man of business.
