The Mynns' Mystery. Fenn George Manville
yes,” said the old lawyer. “Mr George Harrington, welcome home, sir, and I hope we may be the best of friends.”
“And I add my congratulations, and the same wish, Mr George Harrington,” said the doctor, shaking one hand as his colleague shook the other; “but,” he added to himself, “as to the friendship, I have my doubts.”
“And now it is my turn, Cousin George,” said Saul Harrington, advancing with extended hand. “I apologise for playing the British bulldog to you, but you were a stranger, and you will be the last to blame me for showing a bold front in defence of your patrimony.”
“To be sure, Cousin Saul. How are you, old fellow? Stop and let’s all dine together. No more business to-day, I hope. Let’s have a glass of wine – champagne – and, Cousin Saul, suppose you and I have a good long talk over a cigar.”
“We will,” said Saul, as they stood hand in hand, eye gazing into eye, and, singularly enough, with similar thoughts agitating each breast.
For the successor to the estate left by the original of the picture on the wall said to himself:
“If we were out in some parts of the West, Saul Harrington, any office would find it a bad spec to insure your life.”
And Saul thought:
“If this man had not come back, I was master here – of the house, of the money, and of – ”
He stopped and gazed hard across the room, for at that moment, looking flushed and handsome, Gertrude stood hesitating at the doorway, as if asking if she might come in.
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