But Thorpe did not like old men who dyed their hair,
and he offered his visitors chairs, drawn up from the
table toward his desk, with a certain reserve of manner.
Seating himself in the revolving chair at the desk itself,
he put the tips of his fingers together, and looked
this gentleman with the Continental name and experience
in the face.
"Is there something you wish me to do?" he asked,
passively facilitating the opening of conversation.
"Ah, my God! 'Something'!"--repeated the other,
with a fluttering gesture of his hands over his thin,
pointed knees--"everything, Mr. Thorpe!"
"That's a tolerably large order, isn't it?"
Thorpe asked, calmly, moving a slow, inscrutable glance
from one to the other of his callers.
"I could ask for nothing that would be a greater personal
favour--and kindness"--Lord Chaldon interposed.
His tone bore the stress of sincerity.
"That means a great deal to me, as you know, my Lord,"
replied Thorpe, "but I don't in the least understand--
what is it that your friend wants?"
"Only that I shall not be buried in a bankrupt's grave,"
the suppliant answered, with a kind of embittered eagerness
of utterance. "That I shall not see disgraced the honoured
name that my father and his father bequeathed to my care!"
Thorpe's large, composed countenance betrayed
a certain perplexity.
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