"Mrs. Gum's not well, and I sent word I'd look
in for half-an-hour this evening."
Hedges had to go on his way also, for it was close upon the
countess-dowager's dinner-hour, at which ceremony he must attend. Putting
his best foot forward, he walked at more than an ordinary pace, and
overtook a gentleman almost at the very door of Hartledon. The stranger
was approaching the front entrance, Hedges was wheeling off to the back;
but the former turned and spoke. A tall, broad-shouldered, grey-haired
man, with high cheek-bones. Hedges took him for a clergyman from his
attire; black, with a white neckcloth.
"This is Hartledon House, I believe," he said, speaking with a Scotch
accent.
"Yes, sir."
"Do you belong to it?"
"I am Lord Hartledon's butler."
"Is Lord Hartledon at home?"
"No, sir. He is in France."
"I read a notice of his marriage in the public papers," continued the
stranger, whose eyes were fixed on Hedges. "It was, I suppose, a correct
one?"
"My lord was married the week before last: about ten or eleven days ago."
"Ay; April the fourteenth, the paper said. She is one of the Kirton
family. When do you expect him home?"
"I don't know at all, sir. I've not heard anything about it."
"He is in France, you say, Paris, I suppose. Can you furnish me with his
address?"
Up to this point the colloquy had proceeded smoothly on both sides: but
it suddenly flashed into the mind of Hedges that the stranger's manner
was somewhat mysterious, though in what the mystery lay he could not have
defined.
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