The Argosy — page 110: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

. 98 The Master of Greylands. *¢ Dead.” “Dead P” ‘¢So the young man wishes to make appear. My opinion is, he must be some impostor.” ‘‘An impostor, no doubt,” assented the banker, slowly. “I only wonder that we have not—under the circumstances—had people here before, claiming to be connected with us.” ‘And I am sure the matter has annoyed James very much,” pursued Mrs, Castlemaine. ‘‘ He betrayed it in his manner; he was not at all like himself all the afternoon. I should make short work of it if the man came again, were I James, and threaten him with the law.” Mr. Peter Castlemaine said no more, and presently rose to join other of his guests. But as he talked to one, laughed with another, listened to a third ; his head bent in attention, his eyes looking straight into their eyes; none had an idea that these signs of interest were evinced mechanically, and that his mind was far away. He had enough complexity and trouble of his own just then, as Heaven knew ; very much indeed on this particular evening; but this other complexity that appeared to be arising for his brother James added to it. To Mrs. Castlemaine’s scornfully expressed opinion that the man was an impostor, he had assented just in the same way that he was now talking with his guests—mechanically. For, some instinct, or prevision, call it what you will, lay on the banker’s heart that the man would turn out to be no impostor, but the veritable son of the exile, Basil. Peter Castlemaine was much attached to his brother James, and for James’s own sake he would have regretted that any annoyance or trouble should arise for him; but he had also a selfish motive for regretting it. In his dire strait as to money—for to that it had now come—he had been rapidly making up his mind that evening to appeal to James to let him have some. The appeal might not be successful under the most favourable auspices: he knew that: but, with this trouble looming for the Master of Greylands, he foresaw it must and would fail. Supper over—the elaborate, heavy, sit-down supper of those days, and the two dances following upon it—most of the guests departed. Mr. Blake Gordon, seeking about for the banker to wish him good-night, at length found him standing over the fire in the deserted card-room. Absorbed though he was in his own happiness, the young man could but notice the flood-tide of care on the banker’s brow. It cleared off, as though by magic, when the banker looked up and saw him. “Ts it you, Wiliam? I thought you had left.” ‘“‘T should hardly go, sir, without wishing you good-night.. What a delightful evening it has been !” ‘‘ Ay, I think you have all enjoyed yourselves.” ECORNICLOOO SS (C(O) —_) A