Volume I Part 23 (2/2)

Mrs. Dorriman also mentioned the glimpse they had had of Mr. Drayton, the man he had hoped so much from, who seemed so frank and who was so reserved, and who had disappointed and baffled him in so many ways.

He also wanted Margaret. He had been there by accident. Of course he would go back again, and Mr. Sandford rose and paced the room, stopping to stir the fire violently, so violently that the newly-lit sticks collapsed, the coal smothered the flickering flame and the fire went out.

With an exclamation of annoyance, Mr. Sandford rang the bell. It was answered by Jean, nerved for the occasion, who had been matching for an opportunity to speak to him, much too greatly in awe of him to walk in upon him without an opening.

She looked at the fire and understood what had happened, went off for fresh sticks, laid and new-lit the fire in a few seconds, and then confronted him, and asked him if he wanted anything else.

”When am I to have dinner?” he asked, abruptly.

”You can have something to eat now if you please; dinner can be any time after seven,” said Jean. ”You look cold, sir?”

”The house is like an iceberg,” he said in a grumbling and complaining tone, ”quite enough to give one cold.”

”It's cheerless and dull, and cold enough, sir, without any one, but just only a man,” said Jean. ”It's not much comfort to a man being alone.”

”Have you heard from Mrs. Dorriman?” he asked.

”Oh, certainly, sir, she writes whiles to me.”

”I have a letter, I suppose she is well?”

”She does not complain of ill health; not that Mrs. Dorriman's given to complaining,” said Jean; ”she'll put up with a great deal, will Mrs.

Dorriman, sooner than speak a word.”

Did she mean anything by this? Mr. Sandford glanced keenly at her, and thought it best to say nothing.

”What time do you wish to eat your dinner, sir?” inquired Jean.

”Oh! any time after seven,” he answered, and there was a certain weariness in his tone that struck her.

She said no more, but looked at the fire, now blazing, and went back to her domain.

It was still early in the afternoon, though the want of clearness in the air all round the place made it soon dark.

On a table, tidily set out and looking comfortable, was Jean's tea, though the teapot, one of those delightful brown earthenware affairs, producing somehow such superexcellent tea, was on a hot plate in front of the fire.

Jean made some delicate toast, and arranged a little tray; she poured off the first cup, resolving to give him of the best, and was soon in his room again. Her great panacea for all ill was in her hands, and Mr.

Sandford, who wanted comfort and warmth, and did not understand how much he wanted both, was sitting looking moodily at the fire, conscious that life was altogether wrong with him somehow.

He received Jean's attention without much apparent grat.i.tude, but when she had gone he did turn to it for consolation, and eat up all the toast, as Jean noted afterwards with much satisfaction.

Then he read his letters, feeling better; and one letter he held in his hand for a long while.

Mr. Sandford while known to be a rich man was never talked of as a speculative man. He was one of those people considered ”very safe all round.” No one took greater pains than he did to inquire into securities, no one was keener to detect a possible risk, and his investments, his financial ability, all together gave him a position he thoroughly valued.

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