His father did not know Richard’s prudence. Like the fool every man of the world is, he judged from Richard’s greatness of heart, and his refusal to forsake his friends, that he was a careless, happy-go-lucky sort of fellow, who would bluster and protest. As to the march he had stolen on him on behalf of the Mansons he did not resent that. When pressed by no selfish necessity, he did not care all that much about money. His son’s promptitude greatly pleased him.

“The fellow shall go to college,” he thought. “And I won’t give my lady even a hint of it all before I have made of him the finest gentleman and the best scholar in the county! He shall be both! I will teach him billiards myself!

“By Jove, it is more of a pleasure than I had a right to expect at my years! To think of an old sinner like me being blessed with such a victory over his worst enemy! It is more than I could deserve if I lived to the age of Mephistopheles—or Methuselah—or whatever his name was! I shouldn’t like to live so long, there’s so little worth remembering! I wish forgetting things wiped them out! Damn it, it may be all over Barset by this time, that sir Wilton’s lost son has turned up!”

He rang the bell, and ordered his carriage.

“I must see the old fellow, the rascal’s grandfather!” he kept on to himself. “I haven’t exchanged a word with him for years! And now that I think of it, poor Robina’s father was a decent sort of fellow! If he had but once hinted what he was, every soul in the parish would have known it. I must find out whether he’s in on my secret! I can’t prove it yet, but perhaps he can!”

Simon Armour was not altogether astonished to see the Lestrange carriage stop at the smithy. He thought sir Wilton had come about the cheque. He went out, and stood in hairy arms and leather apron at the carriage door.

“Well, Armour, how are you?” said the baronet.

“Well and hearty, sir, I thank you,” answered Simon.

“I want a word with you,” said sir Wilton.

“Shall I tell the coachman to drive around to the cottage, sir?”

“No. I’ll get out and walk there with you.”

Simon opened the carriage door and the baronet got out.

“That grandson of yours—” he began the moment they were in Simon’s little parlour.

Simon started. “The old bloke knows!” he said to himself.

“—has been too much for me!” continued sir Wilton. “He got a cheque out of me whether I wanted to give it to him or not!”

“And got the money for it, sir!” answered the smith. “He seemed to think the money better than the cheque!”

“I don’t blame him, by Jove! There’s decision in the fellow! They say his father’s a bookbinder in London!”

“Yes, sir.”

“You know better! I don’t want humbug, Armour! I’m not fond of it! Tell me straight!”