“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 fairly, don't you think?—Shoulders good; head well set on!”
“He looks a powerful man!” said Wingfold. “—We shall be happy to see you, Mr. Lestrange, as soon as you care to come to us.”
“That will be to-morrow, I hope, sir,” answered Richard.
“Stop, stop!” cried sir Wilton. “We know nothing for certain yet!—By the bye, if your stepmother don'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, now, don't you presume! Don't you 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 now?”