Lord
Hartledon, with his natural vacillation, his usual shrinking from the
discussion of unpleasant topics relating to himself, had not entered upon
it at all on the previous night; and when breakfast was over that
morning, Mr. Carr had craved an hour alone for letter-writing. It was the
first time Mr. Carr had visited his friend at his new inheritance; indeed
the first time he had been at all at Hartledon. Lord Hartledon seated
himself on the gate; the barrister leaned his arms on the top bar whilst
he talked to him.
"What is the matter?" asked the latter.
"Not much."
"I have finished my letters, so I came out to look for you. You are not
changed, Elster."
"What should change me in so short a time?--it's only six months since
you last saw me," retorted Hartledon, curtly.
"I alluded to your nature. I had to worm the troubles out of you in the
old days, each one as it arose. I see I shall have to do the same now.
Don't say there's not much the matter, for I am sure there is."
Lord Hartledon jerked his handkerchief out of his pocket, passed it over
his face, and put it back again.
"What fresh folly have you got into?--as I used to ask you at Oxford. You
are in some mess."
"I suppose it's of no use denying that I am in one. An awful mess, too."
"Well, I have pulled you out of many a one in my time. Let me hear it."
"There are some things one does not like to talk about, Carr.
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