"I am not so fond of an east
wind as to get more of it than can be helped. And, after all, it is best
to go independently to an affair of this sort. One may get bored and want
to leave early."
Kelson nodded with a grim appreciation of the man's trick of argument,
and went out to his waiting dog-cart. Henshaw's fly drove up as Gifford
turned back from the door.
"I suppose we shall see you towards midnight," he said lightly as he
passed Gifford, his tone clearly suggesting his utter indifference in
the matter.
"I dare say," Gifford replied, and as he went upstairs he heard an
order given for "Mr. Henshaw's fire in number 9 to be kept up against
his return."
Alone in the oak-panelled sitting-room Gifford settled down to wait for
his clothes. He skimmed through several picture-papers that were lying
about, and then took up a novel. But a restless fit was on him, and he
could not settle down to read. He threw aside the book and began thinking
of the old property which his uncle had muddled away, and recalling the
happy times he had spent there from his schooldays onwards. Memories of
the rambling old house and its park crowded upon him.
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