"Mr. Yorke," said he, blandly, "I make no apology for introducing myself
to you; Carew and I have been just having a talk about you, and he has
no secrets from his ghostly adviser. I take your hand with pleasure. I
seem to feel it is the flesh and blood of my best friend. Sooner or
later, mark me, he will own as much, and, be sure, no effort of mine
shall be wanting to insure so desirable a consummation."
Yorke flushed with pleasure, not at the honeyed terms, nor the good-will
they evidenced, but at the news itself--the fact of his father having
revealed their relationship to him seemed so full of promise--and yet he
resented the man's professions, the audacity of which seemed certainly
to imply that he was taken for a fool.
"I am sure, Mr. Whymper," said he, stiffly, "I ought to be greatly
obliged to you."
"Hush! Not Mr. Whymper, if you please, for that's a fine here. Every
body at Crompton calls me 'Parson.' Obliged, Sir! Not at all. It is only
natural that, being what I am, I should wish you well. The law, it is
true, has decided against your legitimacy, but the Church is bound to
think otherwise. In my eyes you are the Squire's only son"--here he made
a whispering-trumpet of his brawny hands, and added with great
significance--"and heir."
"I see," said Yorke, smiling in spite of himself.
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