Unable for the moment to catch sight of Kelson, he had to
introduce himself to his host, who had heard of his mishap and gave him a
cheerily sympathetic welcome. Richard Morriston was a pleasant-looking
man of about five or six-and-thirty, the last man, Gifford thought, he
would bear a grudge against for possessing the old home of the Giffords.
"I'm afraid you must look upon me rather in the light of an intruder
here," Morriston said pleasantly.
"A very acceptable one so far as I am concerned," Gifford responded with
something more than empty civility.
"It is very kind of you to say so," his host rejoined. "Anyhow the least
I can do is to ask you with all sincerity to make yourself free of the
place while you are in the neighbourhood. Edith," he called to a tall,
handsome girl who was just passing on a man's arm, "this is Mr. Gifford,
who knows Wynford much better than we do."
Miss Morriston left her partner and held out her hand. "We were so
sorry to hear of your annoying experience," she said. "These railway
people are too stupid. I am so glad you retrieved your luggage in time
to come on to us."
Gifford was looking at her with some curiosity during her speech, and
quickly came to the conclusion that Kelson's description of her had
certainly not erred on the side of exaggeration.
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