“Aren’t you going to sit down?” he said to him at last, forgetting that he had neither shaken hands with him nor spoken a word of welcome.

Richard moved a chair a little nearer and sat down, wondering what would come next.

“Well, what are you going to do?” asked his father.

“I must first know your wish, sir,” he answered.

“Church won’t do?”

“No, sir.”

“Glad to hear it! You’re much too good for the church!—No offense, Mr. Wingfold! The same applies to yourself.”

“So my uncle on the stock-exchange used to say!” answered Wingfold, laughing as he turned to the baronet. “He thought me good enough, I suppose, to be a priest of Mammon.”

“I’m glad you’re not offended. What do you think of that son of mine?”

“I have long thought well of him.”

At the first sound of his voice, Richard had risen, and now approached him, his hand outstretched.

“Mr. Wingfold!” he said joyfully.

“I remember now!” returned sir Wilton. “It was from him I heard of you, and that was what made me seek your acquaintance. He promises to turn out fairly, don’t you think? Shoulders good, head well set.”

“He looks like a powerful man!” said Wingfold. “We shall be happy for a visit, Mr. Lestrange, as soon as you care to come to us.”

“That will be tomorrow, I hope, sir,” answered Richard.

“Stop, stop!” cried sir Wilton. “We know nothing for certain yet! By the way, if your stepmother doesn’t make you particularly welcome, you needn’t be surprised, my boy!”

“Certainly not. I could hardly expect her to be pleased, sir.”

“Not pleased! Not pleased at what? Now, don’t you presume and take things for granted! How do you know she will have reason to be displeased? I never promised you anything! I never told you what I intended! Did I ever?”

“No, sir. You have already done far more than ever you promised. You have given me all any man has a right to from his father. I am ready to go to London at once and make my own living.”

“How?”

“I don’t know yet. But I would have the freedom of a choice—thanks to you and my uncle.”

“In the meantime, you must be introduced to your stepmother.”

“Then—excuse me, sir Wilton—” interposed the parson, “do you wish me to regard my old friend Richard as your son and heir?”

“As my son, yes. As my heir—that will depend—”

“On his behaviour, I presume!” Wingfold ventured.

“Nothing of the sort!” replied the baronet testily. “Would you have me doubt whether he will carry himself like a gentleman? The thing depends on my pleasure. There are others besides him.”

He rose to ring the bell.