The late General Mountjoy had been supposed to be a great man
in his way, but had died before Tretton had become as valuable as it was
now. Hence the eldest son had been christened with his name, and much of
the Mountjoy prestige still clung to the family. But Harry did not care
much about the family except so far as Florence was concerned. And then
he had not been on peculiarly friendly terms with Septimus Jones, who
had always been submissive to Augustus; and, now that Augustus was a
rich man and could afford to buy horses, was likely to be more
submissive than ever.
He went down to Tretton alone early in September, and when he reached
the house he found that the two young men were out shooting. He asked
for his own room, but was instead immediately taken to the old squire,
whom he found lying on a couch in a small dressing-room, while his
sister, who had been reading to him, was by his side. After the usual
greetings Harry made some awkward apology as to his intrusion at the
sick man's bedside. "Why, I ordered them to bring you in here," said the
squire; "you can't very well call that intrusion. I have no idea of
being shut up from the world before they nail me down in my coffin."
"That will be a long time first, we all hope," said his sister.
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