“My dear Johann, I am not seasoned, like you, to sea breezes. Please pity my gray hairs, my son. I allow no draughts till I have gotten me my periwig. Hum—ha, what’s this! Will your honor put such and such a matter before the Duke of York? Yes, of course, dirty work, as usual. Let it bide. I hope you have got rid of the saddle-ache, Jack, my fellow. My business hour—this; look at all this infernal paper; it is an amazing pity that so many people should learn to write.” He was picking up letters and papers, and tossing them aside, stopping now and again to scribble notes upon his tablets. “I had a secretary, Jack, for a year, but I distrust the tribe. I find that they are always selling one’s secrets behind one’s back. Is this a filial visit, or am I to include it among my business?” John Gore was watching his father with those dark, intent eyes of his. “I want to speak to you about Barbara Purcell.” My lord threw his tablets upon the bed, and looked at his son with questioning keenness. It was still of vital interest to him to discover whether this sea-rover had lost his heart or no. “Tell me one thing first, Jack. Had you any strong fancy for the girl?” “It is four months since I smelled the sea, sir.” “Then she had some flavor for you—beyond the mere scent of a petticoat?” “Yes, a good deal more than that.” His father regarded him with sympathetic solemnity. Yet my lord’s attitude betrayed the fact that even a clever man of the world may prove shallowly pompous in dealing with a son. “I gave you all the information I have, Jack, last night. If you care to see the pistol-mark the poor child made on me, the coat is hanging in that cupboard.” John Gore kept his place. “You said, sir, that she believed that you knew the name of her father’s murderer.” “Some such madness, Jack. But I can assure you that it was a most unholy, startling incident. I can see her now standing like a young figure of Fate, with a pistol in her hand and her eyes like two live coals. I told her to go to bed, and then she fired at me. Southern blood—Southern blood! Not that I bear any malice against the poor thing, John, though she was so near sending me to my account with all my sins upon my head. What more do you want to know?” “Where she is.” My lord pushed some of the papers aside with a trace of impatience. “Safe, and well cared for, Jack. Dr. Hemstruther’s commands. We applied to the Chancery—” “Where, sir, did you say?” “The child has everything that can make life easy.” “You have not told me yet, sir, where she is.” My lord swung to one side of the bed, and, putting an arm round the carved corner-post, looked straight into his son’s face. “You want to know the one thing, Jack, that I have not the least intention of telling you.” “And why not, sir?”